Page 3 of Sentinel

But there are no illusions to be had; the bunnies know exactly what they’ve signed up for, when they walk through that door. And when they crawl into my bed, I don’t make any promises or insinuations. It’s just sex, and that’s it.

Now, have I been thinking about more lately?Yeah, I have.I’m getting tired of the same old shit and the same easy pussy. But finding a woman who accepts this life is no easy feat. And I don’t do complications.

“You sure, man?” Throttle asks me again.

“Yeah, I need to drive around anyway. Follow up on the prospects. I know they’re out on patrol, but if I expect them to be doing what they’re supposed to, then I damn well better do an inspection.”

“Always keeping watch, huh?”

“Always.”

I tell Throttle I’ll catch up with him later, before heading out to my bike. She’s fucking gorgeous—a blacked-out, custom-made piece I built myself.

Dad would be proud.

I got my first bike from my old man when I was just starting school. He was a mechanical engineer and a fucking genius with machines. And by some miracle, I got his brains and learned everything I know about motorcycles while under his guidance. He wasn’t part of any MC, but he loved bikes and loved to ride.

Bikers came from all over this part of the country for his custom work, and he beamed with pride every time someone rode off on one of his creations. I couldn’t wait to get home from school and spend every second I could with him out in the garage.

Then, one day, I came home and saw something I’d never forget. He was laid out on the cold concrete, eyes wide open… still clutching his chest. My old man died suddenly of a massive heart attack at age forty-five. After that, my world went black, and I was left to care for my mom and kid sister when I was only fifteen.

Being friends with Venom, who was born and raised in the club, meant that the Disciples always looked out for my family. They took me into the fold, treating me like I was one of their own. So, when Venom started prospecting for the MC, I did the same. And the rest is history.

I bring my baby to life and pull out of the lot, driving through the gate and onto the highway. I love night rides, when there’s no one on the roads and I can just think and breathe for a while. Yeah, I could’ve stayed at the club since it’s so late, but I want to get to my own bed, and my own shit, in my own house. Besides, the clubhouse has been too rowdy these days. Or maybe I’m just getting too fucking old.

I turn the corner off the main road and head down a few side streets, coming up on some of the newer apartments that should be pretty quiet at this time of night. Except… they’re not.So, what’s going on here?I kill my engine, pull over to the shadows, and watch.

There’s a fucking raven-haired stunner I’ve never seen before, carrying two huge bags from a car with out-of-state plates, headed to the top floor.Who the fuck is she?I’m not sure if that’s my dick or my brain asking. But both are at full attention, which is surprising, considering what time it is and how tired I am.

She’s fucking killing me in those cut-off shorts and flip-flops—showing miles of smooth, long legs, leading up to thick thighs and a luscious ass.Fuck.I have never seen a sexier woman in my whole damn life, and I’m a grown-ass man.

But there’s no time to think with my dick. So, the better question is: what the fuck is she doing in my city? And why is she sneaking in at 2 a.m.? There are usually only two reasons for something like that: you’re either up to no good, or you’re hiding out.

But there’s no way this gorgeous girl is full of bad intentions, and the way she keeps looking over her shoulder tells me she’s scared someone’s coming for her. I’m known for having killer instincts about people, and I can already tell—just by looking at this sweet thing—she couldn’t hurt anyone. So that means I need to find out who’s trying to hurt her.

3

EMMA

Iwake in the morning with a start; it takes me a minute to realize I’m safe and that David isn't here. Somehow, my life went from being everything I wanted it to be—or so I thought—to being some kind of made-for-TV movie nightmare in a matter of seconds.

After throwing off the covers, I climb out of bed, brush my teeth, and wash my face. I dress for the day in my favorite jeans, a pair of simple tan sandals, and a sleeveless navy chiffon blouse. I leave my long, wavy black hair down but comb it back with my aviator sunglasses resting atop my head. I finish my look with light makeup and tinted rose-colored lip gloss.

Pete’s Diner doesn’t look like much from the outside, but the food is fantastic. And it’s just what I need after being on the road without a decent meal for days. I still need to make time to stock my fridge and cabinets, but I’ll get to that later today.

I’m surprised to see how busy it is here at 7 a.m., but I guess a lot of people would rather havePetemake their breakfast than cook their own at home. I know I would, considering how yummy the food is.

“You want a refill on your coffee, hun?” My server is a sweet, older lady named Millie. When I asked her where I could buy a newspaper, she just smiled and patted my hand before grabbing today’s edition off the counter, handing it over, and telling me to keep it.

“I’d love a refill. Thanks, Millie.”

She pours more coffee into my mug as she glances down at what I’m doing. “Seems like someone’s looking for a job. Where you from, Sarah?”Who? Oh, right, that’s the fake name I gave her.

Not wanting to tell her the truth, I respond vaguely with, “I recently moved up from Texas. Just wanting a change.”

“And you chose Carnage, Nevada, huh?”

“Yep. Just picked a place randomly on the map.” At leastthatwasn’t a lie.I quickly bring my coffee to my lips, hoping to end her line of questioning.

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