The weight of what I’d done, what I’d lost, threatened to press me into the ground and leave me there.
I’d found something real, something beautiful even if it was terrifying… and perfect. I’d ruined it.
Fuck.
The rumble of motorcycles jerked my head around.
Different engines.
Lower.
Aggressive.
I couldn’t explain why the hair lifted on the back of my neck until three bikes rounded the corner and my blood turned to ice.
Headlights cut through the dark and landed on me.
Not the Vipers.
Not my men.
The rival club Rafe had warned me about, the same ones I ran into at the bar, screamed toward me.
Red and black leather vests covered every chest.
Run.
I tried.
My legs wobbled, and the pain in my side intensified.
I put a hand over my ribs and took a step, then another.
My toe caught in a crack on the road and I almost fell on my face.
Bikes circled me, and the hungry grins on the men’s faces put a new fear in my heart.
They stopped and cut off the bikes, the group of them holding me there in the center of their gang.
“Well, well, well.” The leader scratched his scraggly beard and swung his leg over the bike.
He set his hands on his hips and talked toward me. “Look what we found, boys. It’s the reporter, all alone and looking mighty vulnerable.”
Two more bikers flanked him, their movements predatory and coordinated.
My throat closed up, and I took a step backward even though I knew it was pointless.
The smell of the men behind me sent my mind reeling.
I dug a hand into my coat pocket, praying I’d remembered my pepper spray.
Empty.
Because of fucking course I’d left it in my car.
“We heard you’re real cozy with those Steel Viper boys.” The leader continued prowling toward me.
His voice dropped to a rough rasp as he looked me up and down. “Saw the article you wrote up about them, trying to make them all sweet and innocent.”
