Page 56 of My Hotshot

Thankfully, this wasn’t Boone and Gibbs.

But it had been close enough to remind us thatBoone and Gibbs still existed. That they were still watching. Still a threat.

Leo and Brynn were helping, but until those bastards were six feet under, none of us were out of the clear.

I glanced at Lainey, her hands white-knuckled in her lap, and her eyes scanning every sign we passed.

“She’s okay, babe,” I said softly.

She didn’t answer, but I saw her jaw twitch. Relief. Rage. Guilt. Confusion. She was feeling it all, and I knew damn well most of it had to do with me.

I should’ve told her earlier.

About the club. About the threats. About Boone and Gibbs.

Instead, I’d let her fall into my world without warning, and now she was drowning in it with no time to catch her breath.

“There it is,” she cried suddenly and pointed ahead.

The gas station lit up the night like a beacon. A tired little island of flickering fluorescent bulbs and dented vending machines.

The four bikes peeled off and slowed as we pulled in behind them. The low rumble of their engines echoed off the concrete, surrounding the station with the sound of raw power and control.

Lainey threw her door open before I even stopped.

“Dammit, Lainey!” I shouted, slamming the SUV into park. “You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

But she was already on her feet, stumbling forward like she was being pulled by an invisible cord. I jumped out after her, my boots hitting the pavement hard as I jogged in.

The guys were right behind me.

“Lottie!” Lainey’s voice cracked as she spotted her by the bathroom hallway.

“Mom!” the girl cried.

They collided next to the chip rack, arms thrown around each other in a tangle of tears and relief.

“I’m so sorry,” Lottie sobbed. “I didn’t know what to do, and I just figured—”

“You figured you’d get in a car and drive yourself home?” Lainey pulled back, her voice scolding now. “You don’t even have your license, Lottie. You should’vecalled me.”

“You would’ve been mad,” Lottie reasoned.

Lainey’s eyes widened. “And you don’t think I’m fumingright now? I thought you weredead, Lottie!”

She turned then and caught sight of us—five leather-clad bikers standing still and silent by the door.

“I trusted you,” she said, softer now, shaking her head.

“Uh, Mom?” Lottie asked.

“What?”

“Who arethose guys?”

Lainey waved toward us without looking. “That’s Duane and his friends. They were helping me find you when I thought you were kidnapped or dead.”

“You knowbikers?” Lottie asked, like she’d just been told her mom had moonlighted as a rock star.

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