Page 13 of The Biker's Brother

She was embarrassed to have jerked away from nothing. More than embarrassed. Humiliated. She hadn’t always been a skittish little mouse. There’d been a time when she’d had enough confidence to roar like a tiger. After a couple of years with Trey, she cowered when a hired driver slash bodyguard tried to reach toward her side of the car.

She turned her head toward the window so that he wouldn’t see the single tear that escaped and ran down her face. She swiped at it like it was offensive.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s my problem. Not yours.”

Brandon had to give the girl credit. She was defiant in the face of something that had tried to break her. Since she was running from an ex, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was that had tried to break her. The same person who had vowed to protect and care for her.

Without waiting for permission she opened the door on her side, got out, and started walking toward the entrance.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled to himself as he scrambled out of the car, looking around the parking lot and up and down the highway. He had to jog to catch up to her just before her hand wrapped around the door pull. He grabbed her wrist and stopped her. “If you won’t let me do my job, I will dump your ass on the side of the road and go home.”

“You would not,” she hissed.

“Try me,” he shot back.

“What do you suggest then? That I urinate in the car?”

He pressed his lips together, eyes searching hers until he found what he was looking for. Truth.

“Come on. Stick to me like a shadow.” He waited for her to respond. “I need a sign that you understand and agree.”

With the height difference it was impossible to look him in the eyes without tilting her head back.

“Okay!”

She sounded as exasperated as a teenager being told she had to be home at midnight.

He stepped in closer to her, fully aware that it was an intimidation tactic. He hated doing that, since she’d already demonstrated being skittish, but her life might depend on them having an understanding.

“You’re not going to give me a hard time. Your father has sworn to end my life if I fail to deliver you unharmed. So youwillcooperate. Understand?” She nodded, but rolled her eyes in a rebellious, but feeble attempt at maintaining autonomy. He opened the door and guided her inside. “Restrooms?” he asked the cashier as they passed.

The woman didn’t even look up. She just pointed toward the back.

He opened the door marked “WOMEN” and gently shoved her forward.

Fortunately it was a single room. One toilet. One sink. One trash can. No windows.

“Here you go,” he said. “I’ll be outside.”

When he left, she locked the door and looked around. White tile on the floor and halfway up the walls. She liked white tile. It was easy to see if it was dirty. Not that it would have mattered. She needed to go badly enough that a lack of cleanliness wouldn’t have been a deterrent.

Before leaving, she took a look in the mirror and almost gasped. She’d forgotten that she looked like somebody else. Somebody else with smudgy eye makeup made even more smudgy by sleeping against a vinyl seat for hours.

She wet a paper towel and tried to do a little damage control. She didn’t think looking like a raccoon was a good way to lay low. Running a hand over her head, she wondered how long it would take to get used to looking like she was either homeless or well on the way to being homeless. She hadn’t had short hair since she was a baby and it felt… strange. Maybe not more so than a road trip with a total stranger who didn’t want to let her go to the bathroom.

Brandon had the sandwich shop make up a variety of sandwiches. He grabbed bags of chips, two apples, two bananas, a carton of orange juice, a dozen bottles of water, chocolate chip cookies and most of their supply of peanuts without ever taking his eye off the restroom door. He left one bag of peanuts just in case somebody came in who needed them like he did.

When she emerged, he caught her eye.

“Anything in particular you need for the night?” She shook her head. “You like chocolate chip cookies?”

She looked around at the convenience store offerings with mild disdain.

“Not if they’re prepackaged.”

“Oh. You’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

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