Page 2 of Her Outlaw Biker
“Yes.”
I swallow hard. “Fine. I’ll do it,” I say shakily, forcing the words past my lips.
His smile returns, smug and victorious. “Atta girl. Cutter will send you his location. This mission is top secret. Move with stealth.”
I don’t answer, just turn and walk away. I try to hold my head high, but the weight of my mission rests heavily on myshoulders. My dad is officially out of the MC, so I thought I could finally catch a break.
Turns out that was wishful thinking.
What did I expect? That a vicious MC like the Iron Vultures would just let me be?
Of course not. An alliance with them can only be broken by bloodshed.
Just like Ghost. I’ve heard terrifying whispers. I’ve seen things, but this man is capable of things beyond the imagination of a girl like me.
And I’m supposed to lure that kind of man back to a place he doesn’t want to be…to do a job he doesn’t want to do.
I step outside the club, the glaring desert sun making me squint. The air is warm, but we’re nowhere near the hottest part of the year, so I know I’ll be grateful for my jacket once the sun sets.
I straddle my dad’s old Harley, the one I rebuilt with my own hands, and reach for my helmet. When my phone dings, I take it from the front pocket of my leather jacket and glance at the screen; it’s an encrypted message from an unidentified number.
Ghost’s location.
It’s on the outskirts of town. I’ve never ridden that far from town alone. Never had a reason to.
But now I do.
I start the engine. It sputters, coughs, then roars to life. As I pull onto the highway and the club disappears in my rearview mirror, I try to ignore the knots forming in my stomach, try not to think to hard about what a girl like me can do to “persuade” a ghost tocome out of hiding. The road ahead of me stretches out into the desert like a bad dream.
How do I find a ghost who doesn’t want to be found?
It isn’t long before my thighs ache from gripping the bike too tight. My back is stiff, and my fingers are numb from the wind, but I don’t stop. Can’t.
The weight of the deal Rigs offered me is pressing down harder than the desert sun.
The bike starts sputtering again.
“Don’t do this,” I mutter, giving it a little throttle. It jerks, coughs, then steadies out with a low growl.Good girl.
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck, soaking into my shirt. I’m running on fumes, gas, energy, and hope. My mouth is dry, lips cracked. If Ghost isn’t here, if this is all a wild goose chase, I don’t even know what I’ll—
There.
I crest a ridge, and a structure appears like a mirage—small, boxy, sunbaked and forgotten. A lone trailer parked like it’s hiding from the world, tucked behind a stand of dying mesquite trees and one battered truck with flat tires.
My heart kicks hard. This has to be it.
I kill the engine and coast to a stop, the quiet settling around me thick and strange. No dogs. No music. No signs of life.
I swing off the bike and stagger a little, my legs stiff. I walk up the dirt path, boots crunching gravel, and stop in front of the door. It’s dented, scorched around the edges. Bullet holes pepper the siding.
This is the kind of place where people disappear.
I raise my fist and knock.
Nothing.
I wait. Sweat drips down my temple. I knock again, louder this time.
