Page 9 of Emmy's Ride

Hell, no. I didn’t need them. I could handle this on my own.

I grabbed my jacket off the back of the couch and threw it on, checking my reflection in the mirror by the door. I looked normal. Maybe a little tense, my brown eyes darker than usual,lips pressed into a firm line. I took a breath, trying to relax the tightness in my chest, and pulled my wavy brown hair into a loose ponytail.

My gun sat in the small safe tucked away on the top shelf of the closet by the entryway. I had to move a stack of blankets and books out of the way and then I hesitated. I’d never carried before, never wanted to be the kind of person who needed a weapon. Luke had made sure I knew how to handle a gun and shoot accurately. He was the reason I had it in the first place, insisting a single woman living on her own needed one. I wasn’t afraid to do what was necessary in a life-and-death situation.

This was different, though. This wasn’t just about me.

Shaking off my doubt, I grabbed the safe, punched in the code, and pulled the small Glock out, along with a loaded magazine. The weight of it felt strange, but reassuring. After sliding the magazine into place and racking the slide, I tucked the pistol into the inside pocket of my jacket and stepped out the door.

The night air was cool against my skin as I climbed into my car, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. I wasn’t looking forward to another long drive, but at least it was only about an hour to Juno’s. With every passing mile, the tension in my gut twisted tighter.

I parked down the block, scanning the lot outside the bar. A few bikes lined the front—none I recognized—but it wasn’t packed. Juno’s wasn’t the kind of place that saw a weekend crowd. It was dark, a little rundown, mostly locals.

A place for men who wanted to be left alone.

I was about thirty minutes early, so I sat in the car, jumping at every little sound. Finally, at five minutes before ten, I swallowed past the lump in my throat and stepped out of the car. My boots hit the pavement, the sound drowned out by the lowhum of music spilling out when someone pushed through the bar’s front door.

I forced myself forward, slipping inside and letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

Juno’s smelled like cheap beer and fried food, the air thick with cigarette smoke and pot. A couple of men sat hunched over the bar, a few more scattered at tables along the walls. A pool game was in progress near the back, but no one paid me any attention.

Good.

I kept my steps steady, scanning the room for anyone who looked like they might be waiting for me. Nothing.

I reached the bar and flagged down the bartender, a woman in her fifties with dyed red hair and assessing eyes.

“Club soda,” I said, climbing onto a stool.

She gave me a knowing smirk but didn’t comment, just poured my drink and slid it over.

Minutes ticked by. The ice in my drink melted. And the feeling that I’d just made a huge mistake grew stronger with each second. I was about to leave when I felt it.

A presence. Heavy. Familiar. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and before I even turned around, I knew who I’d see. Knew it before I heard the slow, measured steps of his boots against the wooden floor. Before the heat of his body ghosted over my skin as he stepped up beside me. Before his voice sent a shiver down my spine.

“Didn’t take you long to get yourself into trouble.”

I turned my head, meeting Austin’s storm-blue eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You really gotta ask?”

My heart pounded. “You had me followed.”

“Of course I did.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

Austin let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, Em. I’ve known you half your life. You really think I didn’t know you’d run straight into the fire the first chance you got? You should be impressed that I got here so quick.”

My hands curled into fists beneath the bar. Damn him.

I forced a breath through my nose, keeping my voice level. “Like I’ve already told you, I don’t need a babysitter or a bodyguard.”

He leaned in, the scent of leather and smoke emanating from him so familiar. “Yeah? Then why do I get the feeling you wouldn’t have made it out of here tonight if I hadn’t shown up?”

A slow, awful realization settled in my gut. I had been set up.

The person who texted me wasn’t here. And either they’d changed their mind, or they never planned on showing at all.

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