Page 37 of Ride Hard
“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” I asked, watching as he tossed the pieces into thetrash.
“What makes you saythat?”
“One, you’re not making eye contact, and two, that call was totallytraced.”
Chaser raised his eyebrows and made a point of looking atme.
“There was someone in the background,” I replied. “Heavy breathing like a totalcreep.”
“Until we get back to California, we have to becareful.”
“Do I have to cut myhair?”
He scowled and curled his lip. “What?”
“They do it in the movies. When people are on the run from the cops, they cut and dye their hair. Mainly to avoid security cameras, surveillance, and facial recognition.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and twirled a strand around my finger. “Do you think I’d look good as ablonde?”
“You don’t have to change your hair,” he said with agrowl.
“You like it long anddark?”
“Your attitude is wearing thin,Sloane.”
I smiled and glanced at his arm. “Anybetter?”
He grunted and closed the laptop with a snap. “Thesame.”
“At least it’s notbleeding.”
Chaser stood and crossed the room, gathering our things and shoving them into the bags. I watched him with a blank expression, weighing up everything in mymind.
We were in trouble. He knew it and was having a hard time covering it up. The hard-ass Chaser, whatever his last name was, appeared to be torn up about something. Hopefully, it had everything to do with our final destination and nothing to do with police and bad guyassassins.
“We need to go,” he barked, throwing my boots at me. “Now.”
“Chaser…”
Something in my voice must’ve slapped him back into reality, because he paused, and a little of the guy who’d surfaced the night before shonethrough.
“Are things going to be better once we get toFortitude?”
Silence stretched between us. Outside, I could hear the residents of the motel waking up and moving around. A door slammed, a TV switched on, and something thumped against the wall. Beyond, the sounds of traffic swishing past were muffled by the building at ourbacks.
Chaser scowled and picked up his bag, pretending not to wince as his stitchespulled.
“Get in the car,Sloane.”
Sighing, I tugged on myboots.
Anywhere was better than here, Isuppose.
* * *
Chaser was backbehind the wheel, obviously recovered or tough enough to take charge again. I was wondering if he felt pain atall.
He wasn’t always a biker—that much was clear. I’d never known him while I’d been at Fortitude, so he was a recent recruit. How old was he, anyway? He had a baby face, but there were traces of silver at his temple. That meant little, though. I once knew a guy whose hair went eighty percent gray by the time he was twenty-three.
We were on some road full of potholes. On either side were fields of something growing for miles and miles. Neat green lines flashed past the window, representing something a great deal more orderly than my current lifestatus.
