Page 89 of Banshee
I turned and looked around the room again, searching the faces, the clothing, even the shoes of everyone in the bar.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since you came in.”
The sheriff stared at me, then looked at King. His jaw was tight. Without thinking, I reached up and rubbed my fingers over his cheek, feeling the tension leave immediately.
“Why were you here?” King asked.
I let my hand fall back to my side. He’d never let this go. He’d want to lock me up and never let me out again. It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to do it. Before the man who had assaulted Aspen had disappeared, King tried to make me stop working. It was one of the many things we fought about.
“You weren’t scheduled to work tonight?” the sheriff asked.
“No, one of the other girls called out. Her mom was hurt.”
“I’ll need her name.”
I turned to the sheriff. “Why? She wasn’t here.”
When he didn’t answer me, I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Mary Ann.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Banshee
When Mimic ran out of the clubhouse and told us the bar had been attacked, we moved. And we moved fucking fast. Aspen was worried about Grace, but I’d seen Johnny in the clubhouse so I knew Grace wasn’t working.
Kytten jumped on behind Cash, and Indie climbed on behind Mimic. Bane ran to one of the SUVs we had in the lot. We left the keys in them, seeing as they were parked in the lot behind the locked gates.
It took minutes to ride through town to the bar. As we were pulling in, I saw a truck barreling out of the lot from behind the bar. Without a word, I took off after the truck.
My brothers would handle whatever shit had gone on inside. This might be our only link to who had shot up the bar. Though it didn’t take a genius to figure out it was the Death Dogs.
I hit the throttle and followed after the truck. I’d been living in Nebraska for almost six years now. I knew these roads like the back of my hand. If whoever was in that truck had grown up here, they might be able to lose me. But if it was someone unfamiliar with the roads, they wouldn’t get away.
I followed the truck onto the I-80 and sped up. I needed to get up next to it and see if I recognized the driver before they got too far out of town. Nebraska might be flat, but there were a lot of dirt farm roads that led nowhere and yet still gave options for hiding in plain sight.
I pushed my bike hard and got up next to the truck. I turned to my right and looked at the driver. He turned his head and winked. The fucking dick winked at me as if I weren’t looking at a goddamn ghost.
I shook my head, trying to clear my vision, convinced I wasn’t looking at who I thought I was. He veered to the left toward my bike and forced me off the road.
Before I could get control, I was sliding through the grass on my side. My bike slid out from under me and stopped about ten feet ahead of where my body lay.
I couldn’t move yet. My body was too fucking old for this shit. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laid my bike down. Though technically, I didn’t do shit.
JudefuckingPeterson had run me off the damn road.
How was the son of a bitch alive? More importantly, why hadn’t he shown his face before now? I didn’t like where my mind went, but there was no stopping it.
Was he working with Skinner?
I heard bikes coming up the road and sat up. Getting to my bike, I stood her up and walked her back to the road. I’d just kicked down the stand when the bikes came into view.
I dropped my chin to my chest.
I was fucked.
I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a text, then dropped it at my feet. I didn’t know if my bike would be left here, but I knew there was no way in hell they’d leave me here.
