Page 45 of DOG Part 2
5
Kim
“Where are we going?” I asked, sliding my hand into each side of the backpack, and centering it across my back. I followed Kane down the walkway. The four other men were waiting on their motorcycles, each looking in a different direction, with what could best be described as heightened security concern.
“To a safe house.” He stopped at his bike and handed me a helmet. “Here, put this on.”
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“I thought hardcore bikers in this state were too cool to wear helmets.”
“Are you twenty one or over?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re not a biker, are you?”
“No.”
“Have you been on a motorcycle at all in your adult life?”
“Well no, but…”
“Then put it on.”
I snatched the helmet from him and my fingers briefly grazed across the top of his hand. That brief accidental contact sent a shockwave of electricity up my arm. Kane didn’t seem to have the same reaction. He didn’t seem to notice at all. He turned around and climbed onto his bike as I bit my tongue and put on the helmet.
“So you’ve never ridden before at all?” he asked over his shoulder after I had climbed on behind him.
“Yes. In my teens,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Just checking, because your arms aren’t around me.”
“I’m getting to that.”
I resentfully looped my arms around his trim, fit waist.
With his feet still on the ground, he let go of the handlebars and gripped each of my wrists, which were now on his abs. He pulled them around him more tightly.
“Hold on like this, okay? Nice and snug, so we don’t have to scrape you off the interstate.”
In my testy mood, I gripped him and held on as tight as possible, aiming to hurt him or at least cut off some blood circulation. What I did had no effect on him. Not only did he seem unaffected, he seemed to like it. And dammit, my body was reacting to that contact. He was warm and cozy, and he smelled like cedar and fresh air and leather and pure maleness.
From the bike next to us, the younger, dark haired guy that had gone in to check out the apartment snorted.
“This one seems to like you, Kane,” he said, not even looking at me.
Anger surged through me. I leveled my gaze on him to reply but Kane beat me to it. “The firecracker’s got attitude, Kyle, and she’s kinda cute.”
I bit my tongue, ready to deliver a cutting comeback when the bike moved off. Soon we were zooming across the parking lot and down towards the highway, leaving me with plenty of time to think while sitting on the back of Kane’s bike. The two pressing concerns I couldn’t get away from were about my parents. My mother had already been cremated, but the memorial service her best friend had organized was scheduled in two days. What was going to happen with that? Was I going to be able to attend, or was I going to miss it thanks to being stuck in some wretched biker gang safe house? What about my dad? Would he survive his gunshot wound, and if he did, was he planning to be there?
My stomach turned. Running in to him wasn’t something that I ever thought I could look forward to, but today I was ready to overlook the resentment. I desperately needed someone in my corner.
The safe house turned out to be a modest one-story ranch style house in the middle-class suburbs of Tucson. The neighborhood was quiet when we rolled up, save for the barking of a couple dogs. The men moved forward quickly, rolling their motorcycles up the paved side driveway of the house to park in the backyard. Kane pulled a key out of one of his pockets and jiggled the back door open. There was something eerie about the place. It was early at night, but the neighborhood was too quiet. A prickle of fear surged me forward, and I brushed into his back by accident as we stepped inside.
“Oops. Sorry.”
