“Relax. I’m not hitting you.”
The casual way he says it makes my skin crawl.
I take a step toward the table.
Disco chirps sharply, hopping along the perch, crest rising higher as he watches me like he’s trying to decide whether to bite Rico or scream louder.
“Hi, bebé,” I whisper, tears burning behind my eyes. “I’m here.”
Rico steps sideways, blocking my path.
“Not so fast.”
My head snaps up. “What do you want?”
He scratches at his jaw while glancing toward the window like someone might be watching from outside.
“They’re looking for me,” he mutters.
“Who?”
He gives me a look like I should already know.
“Your biker boyfriend and his little army.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Rico smirks. “Sure he isn’t.”
My heart pounds harder.
“Why did you steal from them?” I ask.
His smile fades.
“I didn’t steal,” he says. “I borrowed. I did it to earn a patch.”
“With a different biker club?”
“Yeah,” he says, suddenly looking proud of himself.
“How’d that work out?”
He shrugs.
“You stole cash and product, Rico.”
His lips flatten.
“They’ve got plenty.”
“And now they want you dead.”
He shrugs, but his eyes flick toward the door again.
Paranoid.
Good.
