“That was not what I was going to say,” she snapped, arms crossing tight over her chest. The motion did dangerous things to her neckline, breasts pooling further out of the top of the dark top she was wearing. I fought the urge to groan.
The smirk playing on her lips said she knew exactly what she had just done. “I am staying at the old motel on Davis Street.”
“That place is only good for two things.” Nolan chuckled. “Drug deals and pay-by-the-hour hookups.”
“I’ll be sure to lay out a towel before passing out,” Acelynn quipped, rolling her eyes at his comment.
“You can stay in one of the dorms with Astoria for the night,” I offered.
Her gaze snapped back to mine, trying to pick apart my motive.
“With the mess at the diner, it is a safe bet Dom’s men are still looking for the two of you. The Canyon View Motel will be one of the first places they will look for a new face in town. Stay here. At least until you find something more permanent.”
“Wouldn’t want to ruin this pretty face any more tonight, would we?” Nolan tossed an arm over Acelynn’s shoulder.
She rolled her eyes at him again, but didn’t swat him away. The smug look he was shooting me told me he was proud of himself for winning over the girl.
Nolan had a soft spot for strays. Always had, which made sense. He had been one himself once. A half-starved, angry kid I had dragged home to my father when we were six. Luckily for both of us, my father had decided to allow the boy to stay and treated him like one of his own. It had been hard on my best friend, considering that he had a heart like my sister’s when it came to how he cared for others. That heart had almost gotten him killed more times than he would like to admit.
Acelynn sighed, running a hand over her face. She flinched as her fingers graced the splotchy purple finger marks blooming across her jaw.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Just show me to the bed farthest from his, Nolan, so I can get some damn sleep.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
acelynn
Warm desert airthreaded through the ends of my hair as I rolled down my car’s windows, letting the familiar scent of rain drift through the space. The cracked and peeling “Welcome to Holbeck Valley” sign passed on my right, the once vibrant coloring now bleached by the sun. I let out a soft laugh as it swayed in the wind, barely keeping upright. Still, the sight brought a quiet bittersweet ache to my chest.
Home.
After more than a decade of coming and going, I was finally home. Permanently. My parents had done what they thought was best—“raising” me from a distance to ensure I was far away from the Death Dealers. Away from the violence and the drugs that came entangled in club life. They wanted me to have a future. A normal life.
But holidays and short visits never satisfied the desperate need to be in this town. My soul was in a perpetual state of feeling homesick.
I had just wrapped up my final semester of university and told the school to mail the diploma to my parents’ address. No walking a stage. No beaming photos. No need to sit in a room full of silver-spooned legacies whose lives had been laid out for them since birth. My business degree was nothing more than a peace offering to my parents, and it would sit in the back of my closet gathering dust.
As I pulled up to the mechanic shop my father owned, the low rumble of motorcycle engines echoed in my memory as I scanned the empty lot. Spade Auto Repair looked a little worse for wear than I had remembered it. The sign out front, once bold in blue and orange, was now sun-faded and flaking off in random places.
I placed the car in park and stepped out of it, waiting for the familiar tune of an old radio station floating around the shop to fill my ears. But no one was outside, and the doors to all the mechanic bays were locked down like we were closed for business. But it was just past two, one of the busiest times of the shop most days.
A pit of dread filled my stomach. My brother was always the first to greet me—usually in some dramatic, over-the-top way that included a speech about his baby sister being home. But this time? Silence.
The crunch of gravel under my boots echoed in the quiet as I made my way over to the shop’s entrance. I pulled against it, fully expecting it to be locked, but it opened, the little bell dinging as I stepped through the entryway. It was dark, the fluorescent lights not burning my eyes as I entered. No clang of metal, engines roaring to life, or laughter filtered through the space. Just eerie stillness.
Something was off.
My eyebrows pulled together as I scanned the space, waiting for someone to jump out from the dark and admit this was all some weird joke the boys were playing on me. But as the seconds ticked by, I knew I was alone. The blaring ring of the phone shattered the quiet.
I flinched, heart skipping a beat as it continued to ring. My eyes locked on the red blinking light that signaled that the call had been sent to voicemail, but then it rang again. And again. This cycle continued for the next few minutes. Me standing, watching the device, and it angrily ringing back at me. When it rang for a fourth time, I finally moved forward, reaching over the top of the counter and grabbing the receiver, bringing it up to my ear to answer the insistent caller.
“Spade Auto Repair,” I said, voice tight.
There was a pause before the sound of heavy breathing answered me.
“Hello?” I asked, a tremor sneaking into my voice.
“Hey doll, it’s been a while,” a familiar voice responded.
