Page 77 of Wild Ride

Thank God I’ve got shoes now.

Although I’m not sure it would matter if I did or didn’t at this point, I can’t feel anything anyway. I am completely numb.Nobody stops me or even notices me as I rush through the bar and toward the front door.

As soon as I push the door open and step out into the makeshift parking lot, I suck in a deep breath of mountain air. I’m not sure if it helps me gain clarity, but at the same time, my body somehow decides it’s time to run.

And run I do.

Hard and fast.

I take off down the long gravel driveway and head toward the gates of the property. I’m not sure where I’m going because I don’t know where anything is in this damn town, and I’m somewhere in the country.

But I don’t care.

I need to go.

I need to get away.

Far, far away.

BULLET

Groaning, I roll onto my side. My head feels heavy as fuck. Foggy too. It feels like I just woke up from a three-day bender, which included lots of drugs and booze. Lifting my hand, I scrub my palm down my face in an attempt to gain some clarity. I’m not sure it works. Pushing myself up to sitting, I blink a few times.

The room is blurry.

And my head fucking hurts. Like a goddamn migraine.

“What the fuck,” I whisper.

Shifting my gaze to the side, I look at the naked body in my bed that’s covered to the waist by the blanket and sleeping on her stomach. At the sight of the mass of dark hair, I let out a relievedsigh. At least I didn’t do anything stupid in my blacked-out state last night.

But then, as I sit and go over the events of the night, I realize that I should never have been blacked out to begin with. I had all of six beers, no hard liquor, and no drugs at all. Not even a bump or a joint—nothing.

“What the fuck,” I whisper again, my head pounding so hard that I wonder, if I looked at my reflection in the mirror, would I actually see my veins moving in and out? Because it sure feels like that’s something I could see right now.

When the body next to me moves, I look over and watch in abject horror at the face that greets me. Her lips curve up into a smile, and she reaches out, placing her hand on my chest. I blink, trying to make her face disappear and be replaced with the one that I want to see. But it doesn’t work.

Exorcist looks up at me with a soft and lazy smile. As soon as my body and brain sync up with this situation, I jump out of the bed. I’m dizzy as fuck and try to keep from falling down, my legs feeling incredibly unstable beneath my body.

She sits up, her tits on full display, as she has the nerve to appear confused by my actions. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“I should ask you the same fucking shit,” I snap.

Her eyes widen as she watches me, pure confusion laced in her expression. “Why the fuck am I in here?” I ask as I stand naked as the day I was born in front of her. Although it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, so I don’t bother attempting to cover up.

“You wanted my mouth last night, begged for it,” she says, her voice coming out in a purr.

I highly fucking doubt that shit happened. I don’t say that, though. At least not yet. I need to find out what the hell actually went on and why I can’t remember a goddamn thing. And why my head is pounding.

I also need to find Dakota before she finds me.

“Did I?” I ask. “I don’t remember shit,” I confess.

My eyes search hers as I try to read her. I can’t imagine Exorcist would do something so fucking stupid as to drug a patched member of the Vicious Reapers, let alone their president. But as I take her in, really look behind those faux innocent eyes, I know that she’s full of shit.

“Want to tell me what actually happened?” I ask. “You have five minutes to make it right before I drive you to the edge of town, kick your ass out on the curb, and leave you there.”

She looks down at her lap, then, in a strange turn of events, she shifts to her knees. She spreads her thighs apart, her gaze never leaving mine before she grips her breasts and squeezes them.

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