Page 28 of Nightmare

Moving to a quieter spot down the street a little, I see the wait is about fifteen minutes. Exhaling, I consider a cab instead. Maybe that’ll be quicker.

The rumbling of a motorcycle has my head whipping up. I see Western’s bike coming to a stop where I’m standing on the sidewalk, and my heart leaps up into my throat as I stare at him, watching in fascination as he puts a booted foot down and his eyes meet mine. “Get on.”

For a minute, I’m speechless.

Did he just tell me to get on?

The bike?

With him?

“What?” I croak, shaking my head in confusion.

“Get. On.”

This is one of those moments in life where you make a choice. I have to make one right now. Get on the bike and one of two things will happen, he’ll either take me into the middle of nowhere and murder me or he’ll take me home. Do I risk it? Do I trust my gut enough to get on his bike with him? What if I am wrong about everything and he is a killer and I’m just handing myself over to him?

“I’m not goin’ to hurt you, Bonnie. Get on.”

Jerking a little, I stare into his deep brown eyes. He said my name, and it made everything inside me feel a little funny.

It’s probably the alcohol, no, it’s definitely the alcohol, because I find myself walking toward his bike and throwing my leg over. I’m either the world’s biggest idiot, or I’m making the right choice and he’s going to start letting me in.

“Arms,” he orders gruffly and reaches back, jerking my arms around his waist.

Swallowing, my eyes widen as I realize just how big this man truly is.

He’s solid as a rock, warm, and he smells like whiskey. Should he even be riding after drinking that much? How much, exactly, did he drink?

Or does Western just do whatever he wants?

Closing my eyes, I pray that I’m making the right choice as he takes off into the night.

~*~*~*~

I’M SQUEALING WITHutter delight as Western rides down the long stretch of highway, nothing but pure darkness surrounding us, the cool night air brushing against my cheeks as my hair blows back behind me. This is, without a doubt, the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done. I have never felt such freedom, such joy, such adrenalin in all my life. Throwing a hand up into the sky, I whoop with pure joy.

We ride for a little while, and as Western begins to slow down, I can’t help but feel disappointed. I would love to spend a whole lot longer on the back of this bike. It’s when I realize where we are, that I quickly forget that thought. We’re at the club. Eyes widening, I curl my fingers into his jacket that much tighter as he rides through the two large, open gates that lead into the compound.

It's huge in here.

I’ve seen it before, of course. Everyone does drive bys of the club, but I’ve never been inside the gates. It’s surrounded by eight-foot-high barbed wire fences, and there is graffiti on any surface you can find on the outside of those fences, most of which is the wordmurderer. The club has never bothered to clean it off. Why would they, I guess? It won’t stop what the people in town believe.

My eyes dart to the large structure in the middle. A huge concrete hall, with two rollers doors to the right and a closed in building on the left, all joined, all currently open and filled with people. Bikes are parked on the outside, scattered around, and there are two fires roaring in the yard, with large amounts of both males and females standing around, drinking. I can’t deny that I’m fascinated and a little nervous to be in the actual compound. I’ve never been this close.

All eyes are on us as Western comes to a stop just outside one of the open garages and when he turns the bike off, I nervously slide a leg over, pushing to my feet. Judging by the expressions on multiple people’s faces, this isn’t a common occurrence. I’m taking a wild guess that Western doesn’t bring people into this club. Ever.

Standing, a little awkwardly, I watch as another biker approaches. He’s a tall drink of water, if I do say so myself. Blond, thick hair that’s long and hanging around his neck, a beard that is as long and perfectly sculpted as Western’s, eyes that are so green they shimmer under the garage lights and a smile so devilish, he screams trouble. He is well muscled, slightly leaner than Western, and on his jacket, the wordsVice Presidentcan be seen.

“You’ve either kidnapped her or he has no idea who you are, because there is no way I’m seein’ a girl on your bike, Pres.”

A voice smooth like butter, the man stops in front of us, eyes raking over me.

“Hello, darlin’, blink if you’re in danger.”

I can’t help it, a smile breaks out over my face. I don’t even know his name, but I like him already.

“No danger here. Not yet at least,” I drawl, extending my hand. “I’m Bonnie. The only reason he brought me here is because I won’t stop talking to him, and I think he’s trying to figure out how to make me stop.”

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