He hangs up, leaving me staring at my phone in surprise.
After a moment, I slip it into the pocket of my sweatshirt. I look down and realize I’m still wearing my PJs, so I head to my room and pull on a pair of jeans and some boots. I grab a jacket and my stuffed bunny from the bed before going back to my mom.
For a second, I just stand there, not ready. I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead before I slip the locket from her neck and slide it over my head.
“I’ll be good, Mama. I promise. I love you.”
The words catch in my throat as the tears come faster, and I know I have to get out of here. Turning, I walk away from the only home I’ve known and rush out of the room, down thehallway, and out the front door, closing it behind me with a loud thud.
Gasping, I drop down on the bottom step with my bag at my feet and bury my face in my bunny.
I don’t know how long I stay like that before I hear a rumbling sound. Lifting my head, I watch as a motorcycle pulls up and stops a few feet away. The rider climbs off and walks toward me. The man is huge and kind of scary-looking.
“Hazel?”
I nod. “Are you Rock?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares, his eyes flicking to the bunny in my arms.
“Stand up and lemme get a look at you.”
I frown but do what he says and push myself to my feet.
“Turn.”
Slowly, I turn in a circle, feeling my skin prickle as I do.
“Those are some legs you got there,” he finally says. “Lose the rabbit.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the look on his face tells me it’d be pointless. So I shove the bunny in my bag before he can take it from me.
“From now on, you’ll go by Legs. If anyone asks, you’re eighteen. You forget that, and I’ll toss you out on the streets myself. Do you get me?”
“I get you,” I whisper.
“Grab your bag and get on the bike.”
“What about my mom?”
“I’ll take care of it. Now, get on the bike.”
Nodding, I grab my bag and sling it on crossbody, tightening the strap as I walk over to his bike on shaky legs. I wait for him to get on first. Then I climb on behind him and grip the side of his leather vest. That’s when I notice the logo on the back.
“What’s the Chaos Demons?”
“My MC,” he says over his shoulder. “And your new home. You’ll be one of the club girls. Keep your head down and do whatever the brothers tell you to do.”
“Brothers?”
“Anyone wearing one of these,” he says, pointing to the Chaos Demons logo on his vest. “You do that, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
“Why? What’s in it for you?”
He looks back at me, smirking. “Been a long time since I had a cherry. Never did forget the flavor, though.”
I frown, not understanding. I can’t ask him what he means, though, because he starts the engine—my stomach knots as the bike rumbles beneath us, and I tighten my hold on his vest—then he pulls away from the curb.
A day later, I found out exactly what he meant.
