Page 15 of Wild Side
“Help you?” he asks when I don’t immediately speak.
“I’m here to see Maverick,” I state.
His brows lift, and the expression he wears I can only describe as surprise. “Maverick?” he asks.
“Maverick,” I confirm.
He tilts his head to the side, his eyes searching mine before he clears his throat. “He know you comin’?”
“No,” I say.
I’m beginning to get a bit nervous. Maybe there is a reason he doesn’t want me to come through these gates. Just because my dad’s club is pretty chill, that doesn’t mean every club is the same. There are countless Vicious Reapers all over the country, hell, all over the world, and I am under no illusion that they are all good men with morals and values.
His lips twitch into a smirk while his eyes keep searching mine. “Go ahead, girl. Straight ahead to the concrete building. He should be back soon.”
“Back?” I ask.
He slams his palm down on the hood of the Jeep, then turns and slips back into the shack. The gate creaks, taking my attention straight ahead, and I watch as it slides open. I look at the shack again but don’t bother trying to get his attention. His head is tipped, and he’s got his phone in his hand, a smile on his face. He’s playing a game or something. I’m no longer a thought in his mind.
Moving forward, I take my sweet-ass time driving down the narrow lane. I can hear the crunch of the rocks against my tires. I wish I could go even slower. I can’t, though. I’m moving at a snail’s pace, and if I go any slower, I’ll stop dead in my tracks, and I don’t want that.
So, five miles an hour forward it is.
Until there is nothing left of the driveway. Until the concrete building greets me. And then I have no choice but to stop. Shifting the Jeep intoPark, I stare straight ahead for a long moment, then I decide to tear my eyes from the building and look around the parking lot.
There isn’t much going on. There are a bunch of bikes, but not an extreme amount, and there are two pickup trucks—no other cars. If the music were loud, I would probably hear it from my car, but I don’t hear anything at all.
It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and still.
That is, until the door to the building flies open. I’m taken aback by the man standing in the doorway. It’s him, but also… It’s not. When his eyes find mine, I can tell, even through the windshield, that he is not Maverick.
The man moves toward me, stopping at the driver’s side of the door. He reaches for the handle and pulls it open, his eyes searching mine in silence. I wait for him to speak first, mainly because I don’t know what to say.
“Prospect at the gate called me. Maverick is on the way back from a run. I don’t know you.”
It’s odd, the way he says he doesn’t know me, like he’s supposed to know me just because I know Maverick. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen him, and even when I did, it was dark. But I can’t help but think that he looks a lot like Maverick. Not just a little bit, but a whole hell of a lot.
“Are you supposed to?” I ask.
His lips twitch into a smirk. “I know everyone Mav knows.”
Interesting. Then it hits me. This must have been the other guy. The one who ran off with Sable. I wish she were here. She’s got a lot quicker wit than I do. I can never think about what to say or when to say it. I’m always a day late and a thought behind.
“I can wait for him here,” I whisper.
He tilts his head to the side, his gaze staying one me. “Where are you from?” he demands.
I think about telling him to mind his business, but I’m on his turf. I don’t have a choice. I don’t say that. I need to play nice. This man is a stranger. They all are. Just because they wear the Vicious Reapers cut doesn’t mean they’re my friends. And it definitely doesn’t mean they love me like family or that I’m safe with them.
“California,” I state.
His eyes widen for a moment. He looks at me, his gaze searching, then he leans down slightly as he narrows his gaze on mine.
“California?” he asks.
“California,” I confirm.
He straightens and takes a step backward. “Well, then,” he says. “By all means, come on inside, take a load off.”
