Page 7 of Blade's Runaway Bride
"Clubhouse?" She raises an eyebrow.
"My club. Outlaw Order MC. It's the safest place in Pine Haven, especially for someone running from the Vultures MC."
I don't tell her that bringing her there might be signing her death warrant if she's not what she seems. The club is in the middle of a war, and strangers aren't welcome. But she's connected to Charles somehow, and that makes her valuable, assuming she's telling the truth.
If she's not, well... Reaper will decide what to do with her.
She follows me outside to the Vultures MC's SUV. I pop the trunk, finding two duffel bags. The first contains weapons: handguns, ammo, a compact shotgun. The second is filled with cash. A lot of cash.
"What the fuck," I mutter, counting quickly. There's at least fifty grand here.
Kelly peers over my shoulder. "That's a lot of money to send after one runaway bride."
"Unless you weren't the only reason they were in Pine Haven tonight."
She meets my gaze evenly. "I don't know what other business they had. I was just trying not to become Mike's punching bag and cum dumpster."
The crude words sound strange in her mouth, but I appreciate the honesty. Fear makes most people lie or sugarcoat things. She's done neither.
I zip the duffel bags and hand them to her. "Hold these."
She takes them without question as I search the rest of the vehicle, finding a laptop in the backseat. This just gets more interesting. The Vultures MC don't usually travel with this kind of hardware unless they're planning something big.
"Do you know how to drive?" I ask her.
She nods.
"Good. Take this to the pond about half a mile down the road." I toss her the keys. "Drive it in as deep as you can, then get out and walk back. I'll follow on the bike to pick you up."
"You trust me not to just drive off?" There's a challenge in her voice.
I glance at her. The torn dress, the scratched legs, the determined set of her jaw. She's running from something worse than me.
"If you wanted to run, you'd have tried already."
She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then nods. "I'll be back."
I watch as she climbs into the SUV, adjusting the seat to reach the pedals. She's small, but there's nothing fragile about the way she handles the vehicle, reversing smoothly and then driving off down the gravel path.
While she's gone, I do a final sweep of the warehouse, making sure we've left nothing that can be traced back to us. The bodies will be found eventually, but with any luck, it'll be days rather than hours. By then, it won't matter.
Ten minutes later, I hear the crunch of gravel under boots. Kelly emerges from the darkness, the duffel bags slung over her shoulders, her now wet white dress almost entirely brown with dirt and blood.
"It's in," she says. "About fifteen feet out. You can still see the roof, but the rest is underwater."
I nod, satisfied. "Let's go."
As we walk to my bike, I notice she's shivering. The night air has grown colder, and her dress offers little protection. Without thinking, I shrug out of my cut and hold it out to her.
She stares at it, then at me. "You're giving me your cut?"
"Just until we get to the clubhouse. You're freezing."
She takes it slowly, as if handling something sacred. In a way, she is. A man's cut is his identity in the MC world. Letting someone else wear it isn't done lightly.
She slides her arms into the leather, which swallows her smaller frame. The bottom of my cut reaches almost to her knees, covering most of the ruined dress. The sight of her in it does something strange to my gut, something I immediately shut down. This isn't about that. It's about keeping a potential intel source alive.
We mount the bike, her arms wrapping around my waist with more confidence than before. I feel her press against my back, her cheek resting between my shoulder blades. It's been a long time since a woman has been this close to me without it being about sex. I'm not sure I like it.
