Page 29 of Her Obsessed Biker
I don’t look back.
Outside, the sky is brighter now, but it might as well be storming in my chest. Grizz Calloway didn’t say a word to me. Not one.
And for reasons I don’t fully understand, that hurts more than I thought it would.
I don’t even remember walking out the door. One moment I’m in the bar, Red’s voice echoing in my ears, the next I’m halfway down the side street behind The Black Crown, trying to breathe past the pressure building in my chest.
Why didn’t he say anything?
Why couldn’t he just look at me and see?
He loved my mother, if his letter was anything to go by…so why can’t he accept the fruit of their affair?
Maybe because your mother was an engaged woman who threw her conscience away for a night and ghosted the man for twenty-two years,says a mocking voice in my head.
I’m so caught up in my own thoughts I don’t notice the shadow stepping out from behind the dumpster until it’s too late.
A hand clamps around my upper arm, yanking me back. I spin on instinct, but the moment I see his face, the world seems to tilt sideways.
No.
No, no, no.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he says, like we’re meeting at a church picnic.
My stepfather.
The monster I ran from. His breath reeks of alcohol, his eyes looking more sunken that when I last saw him three days ago.
It feels like a lifetime.
I open my mouth to scream, but I don’t get the chance. His fist comes down hard on my neck. A flash of white pain blurs my vision, my body instantly going weak. My legs give way beneath me as I give in to the darkness that’s rapidly consuming me.
And as I go under, the only thought that surfaces is ofhim.
My Rock.
I should’ve told him that I love him.
Now, it’s too late.
Chapter Ten
Rock
She should be back from The Black Crown, but she isn’t. Her truck isn’t in the driveway, and she isn’t answering my goddamn calls.
I push the front door open, my gut tightening at the silence that greets me. The house feels eerie. Too damn silent.
“Piper?”
I check the kitchen. Bedroom. Back porch.
I dial her number again. It goes straight to voicemail.
Something’s wrong.
My Harley roars to life like it knows we’re hunting. The tires burn rubber down the long gravel path leading from my place back into town, gravel spitting behind me as I push it hard.
