“Ayda!” I shouted, looking left and right. “Ayda?”
I saw Janette first, and that was good enough for me. I ran straight toward her, grabbed her shoulders and was about to screamwhere the fuck is Ayda?when I saw a familiar figure pushing her ass against the swinging doors and backing out into the diner.
Ayda turned, her face lighting up the moment she saw me, but that didn’t last long. The second her eyes met mine she saw something was wrong. In one practiced move, she handed the tray she’d been holding to Janette and told her the table number before rushing to me with a panic of her own.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her hands curling around the two sides of my cut.
I had no time to spare to be gentle. Glancing over her head, searching every corner of the diner I could, I practically growled at her, “Get your shit. We’re going home.”
She looked at me, obviously calculating the severity of the situation. Whatever she saw in my eyes had her convinced, and after one short nod of agreement, she replied. “Okay. Let me just explain to Janette, and I’ll grab my things.” Sheturned but stopped, and twisted back to face me again. “Is… is everyone… healthy?”
“Just fuckingmove,Ayda,” I snapped quietly, struggling to stay in control as I scanned behind me. “Now.”
Putting both hands up in surrender, even though her eyes were narrowed at me, she walked backward for a couple of steps before turning and following a bewildered looking Janette into the back.
I tapped my foot and ran my hand through the longer lengths of my hair when Sam walked past looking concerned. I reached out without thinking, grabbing her arm a little too tightly. Her eyes widened, and I realized my mistake, loosening my grip and swallowing as I looked down on her worried face.
“Has anyone been in here today that you’ve never seen before?”
Sam scowled, swallowing as she looked at the doors Ayda and Janette had disappeared through before she glanced back up at me.
“We get travelers every day, Drew.”
“Not tourists. I’m talking about anyone like us…”
She glanced at the president patch on my cut. “You mean… someone from the MC?”
“Any MC,” I whispered.
Her scowl deepened as she searched my eyes. “No.”
“No?”
“I… I don’t think—”
She didn’t get time to finish before the swinging doors flew open again to reveal Ayda staring at my hand on Sam’s arm. I dropped it instantly, straightening up and pushing my hands into the pockets of my jeans to keep them under control.
“I’ll see you later, Sam,” Ayda said with a quiet smile, before glaring at me and marching toward the front door while pulling her bag up over her head so it crossed her body.
She could glare at me all she wanted. The only thing I cared about was getting her back to The Hut.
I tried to grab her hand and drag her down the steps, but she somehow timed it so she had to readjust her bag again, a move I was certain was done to avoid my death grip. I was scaring her and I knew it. But the Navs were circling, and that demanded the old Drew Tucker. Not the new one. That was the problem with being the leader. Sometimes you couldn’t stay nice. You had to switch that panic button and go into battle mode again.
I opened her door and watched her climb in and side-eye me the entire time. I slammed the door shut and jogged around to the driver’s side before I climbed in myself and started the engine.
The silence was thick as I backed out of the parking lot, once again spinning the wheel a little too hard right and causing the van to sway from the jerky movement.
Ayda slapped her hand and grabbed her seatbelt, dragging it into place as I pulled onto the feeder road, almost sideswiping theToyotachugging along innocently in the next lane over. Her body turned in the seat, her knee resting on the bench seat as she studied my face, trying to get a read on the situation.
“What the fuck is going on, Drew? You come into the diner frantic, question my co-workers while I’m following your rude and snappy orders to get my shit then drag me out without a word. You’re scaring the shit out of me, and it looks like you did a pretty good job of terrifying Sam, too. Can youplease explain this?”
I heard her, but I didn’thearher. I was too busy leaning forward, checking my mirrors and listening to the sound of the pipes on the bike that was suddenly gaining on us from behind.
“Call the school. Get Tate back to The Hut. Tell them there’s a family emergency. Sloane, too. Shit… I need to call Sutton.” I glanced over at her lap, trying to seek out her bag. “Ayda, you call Sutton. Do it now.”
“And tell himwhat?” she snapped impatiently. “You’re freaking me the fuck out.”
The bike gaining on us grew louder, and I took my foot off the gas to ease up. I needed to see. I needed to see if it was one of them before I spoke again—because if it was, I was about to veer this car to the left and run some Nav off the road.
