Page 65 of Splintered Security
“Yes, I am. And you’re taking me.”
“No bitches on the back of my bike. And certainly not a married one. So, no, I’m not. Get comfortable.”
“I won’tget comfortable.” I make air quotes with my fingers.
“Get comfortable with being uncomfortable then.”
“My mom is not okay.”
“Not my problem.”
“But it is mine.” My voice rises on every word.
“It’s Ren’s.”
That stops me cold.
“What?”
“You have a man. One who knows his shit. Let him handle this.”
“But my mom?—”
He grabs his phone and thumbs out a message. “Done. He knows. Now leave him to it.”
“You think it’s that simple?” I slam my hands down on my hips.
“Yep.”
“Then you don’t know a thing.”
“Beg to differ, lady.”
I stare at him. Brown eyes, reddish-brown beard well past his collar. He’s not tall, but he’s solid. For some reason, he reminds me of the Kool-Aid Man without the smile or the jovial nature. He could probably bulldoze a wall.
I take two steps back.
“Smart.”
I slice my eyes to him. That’s rude. I don’t say it, but we both know it. He’s insulting me in my own home.
But because I’m me and I can’t be rude, I tilt my head to the kitchen. “Coffee is hot, though maybe not fresh. Mugs are in the cabinet above it.”
“You gonna run if I walk away from this door?”
All my bravado comes crashing down. I drop my chin and shake my head. All the fight I had is gone. I certainly won’t take on the man in the kitchen. I’m barely able to take on Ren.
I don’t know where the keys are to my husband’s motorcycle in the garage, much less how to turn it on. If I managed to get onto it and get it rolling, it would be a crap shoot if I made it down the interstate. And I’m sure not hugging scary Liam all the way to Colorado Springs, even if he let “bitches” on the back. Come to think of it, my car never made it back from the club.
Me: Remind me to ask about my car.
My text to Ren goes unanswered. I forget about it immediately as my phone rings with an unknown caller again.
Liam is instantly on alert. “Who’s calling?’
I shrug. “Unknown number. Not Ren. Not my mom.”
He extends a palm with a gimme gesture. I hand it over because that gnawing in the pit of my gut is threatening to introduce itself as vomit.
