Page 11 of Burning Ember
“Good girl.”
I scowl at his reflection. “They aren’t just going to trust me overnight.”
He smirks. “I’ll give you two weeks. Two weeks of freedom for every good piece of intel you give me. You have a pussy. I suggest you use it and use it well.”
Did he seriously just say that?Christ, what kind of cop is this guy?
Sauntering away, he unlocks the door, peeks out, and leaves me alone in the bathroom.
I push off from the sink and rage coils through me. “Goddamn it!” I punch out and cry out when my knuckles hit glass. It doesn’t shatter but a stinging pain shoots up from my knuckles to my forearm. “Ow! Crap! Shit!”
I cradle my hand.
A few minutes later, the door swings open again. This time I see Lily’s reflection in the doorway. “You still want to come with me?”
I don’t. But the choice is no longer mine to make.
The den of the Devil is no place for the innocent.
Lily’s letting me stew about my dilemma in peace. Not that she’s aware of how complicated my life’s just become. We talked for a moment after first getting in the car. She told me where she was taking me. What I’d find there. A place to hide, along with a few other things. Namely, bikers and whole lot of peoplehaving fun.
I didn’t ask questions. I just nodded. I had a good idea what I was in for.
We’re flying down the freeway in Lily’s black two-door beamer, heading south out of Albuquerque, while Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel” plays softly through the speakers. In the side mirror, I can see the young biker, Rigor, following on his motorcycle. And two cars behind him, a police cruiser. The same cruiser that’s been tailing us since we left the grocery store.
I’ve been sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window, using the scenery as a distraction. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t ignore the knots in my stomach twisting tighter and tighter with each mile.
Part hunger. Part rising panic.
I feel Lily’s eyes on me a second before she speaks. “You all right? You look a little pale. Do you need me to pull over?”
“Um . . . no.” My gaze darts to hers. “But do you mind if I crack the window? I get a little carsick sometimes. I think I just need some fresh air.” It’s close enough to the truth—that I can no longer stand to be confined. That it feels like I’m slowly suffocating in this metal box. I was a little claustrophobic before Warner. It’s worse now.
“Sure. Whatever you need.”
Cracking the window down three inches, I let the hot breeze hit my face, inhale the fresh air, and let it fill my lungs.
Better.
“I can promise you this is better than hooking. In a way, it’s a lot like a frat house only . . .”
“Worse?”
She shrugs. “In some ways. Better in others. Lots of the partying, but these guys are serious too. About riding. About the club. They take care of business and when the business is done, they like to party. But it’s more than that. They’re a family too. Sure, they like their women, alcohol, and other things. But it’s more about a brotherhood, a family that doesn’t live by societies standards. The life’s not for everyone. And if it’s not for you, you’re free to leave . . . anytime.”
“How did you know? You know . . . about what I was planning to do?”
Sparing me a quick glance, she says, “I know what rock bottom looks like.”
“But why are you doing this? Helping me?”
She pushes her Gucci glasses to rest on top of her head. Her eyes flicker over to me for a moment. With another small shrug, she replies, “I may not look like it now, but I’ve been where you are. It’s been years, but I remember all too well how it is. I saw the same look in your eyes I used to see in my own.”
I study her face. For a minute I think that’s all the explanation I’m going to get, but then she continues. “I ran away from home when I was fourteen. At the time I thought nothing could be worse than what I was going through. I was wrong of course, but by the time I figured that out I’d gotten myself in a situation I couldn’t get out of. A couple years ago, somebody took an interest in me and pulled me out it. They dusted me off. Gave me a place to stay and a few nice things to call my own. Gave me a family. Gave me a second chance at life. It meant a lot to me then. Means even more to me now.”
Looking out her side window for a moment, she adds, “This is my way of repaying the favor, paying it forward, or whatever. Back there, with Davis, I could tell you needed help. To tell the truth, I’m not even sure why I came back. I don’t know what you’re running from; if it’s the law or something else, but I felt this”—her hand waves over her chest—“I don’t know this . . . feeling like I needed to do something”—another shrug—“so I did. Plus, you look a lot like . . .”
My pulse quickens.
