Page 5 of Rattler's Revelation
I studied him for several minutes before shrugging my shoulders. “We have our suspicions.”
The cop nods. “If you want my help, you only have to ask.” He claps me on the shoulder before walking away. I circle the SUV and climb behind the wheel, all the while watching Sterling stride to his police car. He lifts two fingers to me as he drives past.
Why would he offer to help us find the bastard who went after Bianca? His part in this is done. But yet, I can’t help but think he isn’t letting go. I glance over at Bianca and know I’m not the only person to find her attractive. When she turns and graces me with a brilliant smile, I relax.
“Where am I going?” I ask her. She provides the directions as I pull away from the curb.
“Do you think it was Walt who chased me?” Bianca asks.
I shake my head. “It wasn’t Walt. I can guarantee it. I know where Walt was; he wasn’t near you. That doesn’t mean that whoever it was wasn’t working with Walt. We’ll figure out whofollowed you. In the meantime, I think you should come stay at the clubhouse.”
Bianca remains silent, so I glance over and find her watching me. Her mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want. I want you to be safe, and we can ensure your safety if you’re at the clubhouse.”
“It isn’t that I don’t appreciate the offer,” she rushes to assure me. “But I’d like to think about it.”
“Of course. I won’t force you. It was just a suggestion.”
We remain silent until I pull up in front of her apartment complex. After helping her out of the car, I place my hand near the center of her back and follow her inside. She leads us to the elevator. Once inside, she shoots nervous glances at me.
“I won’t hurt you,” I tell her. “That’s not the kind of man I am. I’d never hurt a woman, least of all you.”
“I’m not scared of you,” Bianca says. The surprise on her face makes me think she’s speaking the truth.
“You’re not?”
She shakes her head. “I’m afraid of Walt because he has cruel eyes. You can look into his eyes and see how much he wants to hurt you. You have kind eyes. I look into your eyes and see someone I can trust.”
“Oh,” I say, unsure of what to say next. “I thought you looked nervous.”
“I am.” My shoulders sag at her admission. “What is the clubhouse like? Are there women walking around naked? Do the men think every woman there is available to them? Am I supposed to put out because you offered me a room?”
I burst out laughing.
CHAPTER FOUR: BIANCA
Rattler’s laughter at my suggestion that his clubhouse resembles what I’ve seen depicted on shows like Sons of Anarchy should have me scowling, but all I can do is gape. The laughter not only transforms his handsome face to something otherworldly, but the sound warms my body and soul. I want him to keep laughing and smiling at me. Unfortunately, he must mistake my silence for anger, because he stops laughing and holds up his hands.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed,” Rattler says.
“I like your laugh,” I admit. “You should laugh more often.”
Rattler grins at me as the elevator doors open. He takes my hand and leads me into the hall. I pause when I realize my door is ajar.
“My door’s open.”
“What?” Rattler asks, reaching behind his back before coming back with a gun. He brushes his hand down my arm. “Get out your phone and pull up Randy’s number. Don’t call unless I tell you to.”
Before I can protest, he shoves open my door and flips on the light. Luckily, he’s gone for only a few minutes. Not so long that the panic and fear can overwhelm me. Seeing him as he exitsmy apartment immediately calms me. He looks worried, but in control. The look he sends me is one I don’t understand.
“No one is inside. I checked. Can you come inside and see if anything has been disturbed? Most of your stuff is in boxes. Are you moving?”
His words confuse me. Boxes? What boxes? “What do you mean my stuff is in boxes?” I ask as I move past him and into my apartment. I stop and stare at the chaos around me. Four boxes sit beside the door; they’re taped shut. Two boxes sit half-filled on the coffee table. Another partially filled box sits on the kitchen counter. I numbly walk into my bedroom to find more boxes on my bed. Somebody tossed clothes and other items haphazardly inside.
“I don’t understand,” I say, looking into the boxes and glancing around my bedroom. “I didn’t do this. Who did? Why was someone packing up my stuff?” I reach toward a box, but Rattler stops me.
“Wait, you weren’t moving?” Rattler asks.
