Page 72 of Nightmare

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“Ican’t release whatI’ve found, Pete. I think it would be dangerous.”

Sitting across from Pete the next day, I am trying to explain to him that I can’t release the story on Western. I think it’ll be too dangerous for those involved and will land the club in some serious hot water. The problem is, I already sent him information on what I discovered. I’ve already partially written the story, mostly about Western and the kind of person he is, what I’ve discovered about him so far, and then what he told me about Bill Whart and the swamp that day.

I didn’t mention the missing foster children, or my suspicions surrounding that.

The story isn’t complete, far from it, but Pete had asked me to deliver something and so that’s what I had done. I didn’t know it at the time, but that information is deadly, and I cannot be shared with the public. If something like that is released, Bill is only going to seek revenge and that revenge will be directly laid upon the club and Western. I can’t be responsible for that.

“I agree,” Pete nods. “Naming Bill Whart is something we cannot do. I understand where you’re coming from. I think this story would cause an explosion that turned the town upside down and we don’t want that kind of publicity. I will admit, though, your story is fantastic. What you have written is incredible. I want to see more from you. You’ve convinced me you’re worth giving the chance to.”

Pride explodes in my chest, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

“Really?”

Pete nods, grinning. “Really. You’re a good writer. I think it’s time you spread your wings and really dig deeper into that talent. What do you say? Will you keep delivering that kind of material?”

Nodding quickly, I can’t stop the joy spreading through my body.

Finishing with Pete, and floating on cloud nine at the good news, I make my way out of the office. I run into one of the editors, Jerimiah, as I’m waiting for the lift. He and I don’t have a great deal to do with one another, but he’s good at his job and he’s responsible for getting the stories out there. Without him, nothing would make it on time. I offer him a polite smile.

“I saw the story you wrote,” he tells me, “It was very good.”

“Thanks,” I say, a little concerned that someone else saw it. “It was good, but we’re not going to publish it.”

He nods. “Yeah, definitely not.”

With that, he walks away.

That was awkward.

Leaving the building, I see Mex waiting for me outside, his truck still idling in the parking lot. He came with me today, Western refusing to leave me unsupervised. I told him I had a job interview, not wanting to give away that I worked here. Climbing into his truck, I glance over at him. He’s got the window wound down, a cigarette in his hand. Moving his gaze to me, he nods when I close the door.

“How’d you go?”

I force a smile. “Good, I think.”

Pulling out, we drive back to the club without another word. I’m on lockdown, and I don’t like it. I’m able to work at the club only because Western is there every night. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t go there, either. I told Leo I was sick, so that’ll give me a couple of days grace there. He would lose it if he knew where I really was. Gosh, he would really flip.

Arriving back at the club, I get out of the truck and walk to the spare room in the house that I’ve been given. I can’t say I’m overly fond of sleeping here. It’s night two and I’m more than a little ready to sneak out and go home to my bed. The room locks, which I’m thankful for, and I washed the sheets three times, just to be safe, but I still feel out of place. Bikers and their women move around all day long, and I hear more than my fair share of sex going on. The girls that come to this club, they’re easy pickings and they love it. They’re all pretty enough, dressed scantily, and willing to take any biker that hasn’t settled down.

One of the old ladies, Shirl, belonging to an older biker, Bear, told me that if you’re with a biker and he claims you, you make it known very quickly to those women that he is no longer free. Otherwise, they will continue to throw themselves at your man. She then proceeded to tell me that one tried to touch Bear after he claimed her, so she threw her to the ground and broke her nose.

Sosokind.

Commotion outside has me walking over to the window that I make note to give a good cleaning later. Glancing out, I see a group of about six men standing outside the gates, yelling something I can’t hear. Taking the window in my hands, I push it up so I can better see what’s going on. The man at the front, who looks Mexican, is shouting for Western to come out.

Except he’s calling him Nightmare.

This can’t be good.

Movement catches my eye and I see Western walking towards the group of men, and behind him, at least ten bikers. It’s quite the sight, and it’s incredibly confronting. They’re terrifying like that, like a pack of wolves. Their faces stony, their hands by their sides, their eyes focused solely on the men out front. They’re approaching them, unafraid, because together, they’re a force.

Holding my breath, I wait, a little scared at what is about to happen.

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