Page 92 of The Belle and the Biker

I glance over at Crash. He hasn't seen me yet.

"I can't handle this right now," I say to Daisy.

Callie waves at us, her keychain in her hand. The dangling lightning bolt glitters, reflecting the overhead lights.

"Hey, you should get Heat Lightning to play at the fairgrounds," I tell Daisy. "I saw online they're having a reunion tour, and their drummer just got out of rehab. Okay, gotta run."

And I dash the door. I run across the parking lot to Aunt Hepzibah's Mercedes, which she insisted I use because it was "taking up too much space in her garage." It was really because she knew I needed a car.

My stomach is churning as I drive toward Bitter End. When I get back to the house, I decide, I'm going to send Crash a text message. I'll ask him to meet with me later. Daisy's right. I can't put this off forever. I just don't want our reunion to be in a room full of people. I'll invite him to come over to the carriage house.

I only make it about a mile before the car makes a sputtering noise and dies. Seriously? Today of all days? Everyone who could give me a ride is at the fairgrounds, and I don't want to pull them out of an important meeting.

I climb out and look at my cell phone. There's no reception out here. It's cold enough that every breath I take chills my lungs, and I'm only wearing a light jacket because I didn't think I'd be outside much. I'm also wearing cute little pumps, which do not keep my feet warm.

I look up at the leaden sky overhead and yell, "Really?"

The only answer is the splatter of a single raindrop on my forehead. Okay, then. Looks like it's that time of the month for Mother Nature, and she's in a mood.

I've got two choices. I can sit out there and wait for someone to pick me up, or I can walk the twenty minutes or so back to the fairgrounds. That seems like the better option.

Muttering to myself, I stick my hands in my pocket and start walking. But my luck seems to be turning because I see a car heading my way up ahead.

The car slows down, and my heart sinks. Nope, my luck has not turned. It's Harold, with his usual repellent smirk smeared across his face.

"Want a ride?" he asks.

I glance at my phone. Still no bars.

"All right," I say, trying not to let my dismay seep into my voice. "Thank you. I just need a ride back to the fairgrounds, and you can pull into that driveway up ahead and turn around."

I climb in and put my seat belt on, shrinking as far away from him as possible.

"You're looking gorgeous today."

You're smelling terrible today. "Thanks. You just passed the driveway," I point out.

His brows draw together in a scowl. "I know a shortcut."

"Trust me on this. I know every back road in this county. This is not a shortcut. You're going in the complete opposite direction. I mean, literally, all you have to do is turn around. It's a two-minute drive."

He just keeps driving. He's staring at the road ahead with a strange intensity, and a weird angry energy radiates off him.

"Harold," I say.

He steps on the accelerator.

Fear pumps through my veins. He wouldn't actually try to force himself on me, would he? He's got tons of gorgeous girls just begging him for his attention.

"Harold!" I yell. "Stop the damned car and let me out, now."

He speeds up until we're practically flying.

"Your seat belt doesn't work," he says with a smug little smile. "Mine does. So if you try to make me run off the road, you'll be pulp, and I'll be fine."

Icy fingers of terror squeeze my heart. "What in the love of God are you doing?"

"Protecting what's mine." He takes a curve and almost goes off the road.

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