I frown at the name. “Bush? I know him as Whip.”
Chrome nods. “He still has the whip, but we gave him a new road name when he joined us. We call him Bush because he came from the Australian bush and because… oof,” Chrome jerks when Cicely jabs him with her elbow. He gives her a questioning look. Cicely frowns at him before jerking her head toward me. Chrome’s eyes widen before he mumbles something.
“I can figure out the double entendre,” I say with a laugh. “It’s okay. He’s hot. I’m sure there are plenty of women welcoming him to explore their bush.”
Chrome and Cicely chuckle.
“You had a crush on him back then?” Cicely asks.
“You got me. I was only fifteen the last time I saw him. But yeah, I had a crush. He wouldn’t have seen me as anything but a kid.”
“Which is why he told your father to get you out of town,” Chrome says. “He’s a good man.”
I nod enthusiastically. “I agree, he is a good man.”
“You talking about me?” Bush says as he re-enters the room.
“We were,” I tell him with a grin.
He blinks at me and then unleashes a filthy grin that has me squeezing my legs together. I’ve always thought the phrase about a guy’s smile melting panties was an exaggeration. However, I’m seriously reconsidering my take.
“Mode’s out. I’ll check in with him later. It would help if we knew who was with him. I could ride over to the hotel and see if I can spot them.”
I open my mouth to offer to go with him when my phone rings.
I answer it when I see the name on the display. “Tony?”
“Zara.” His voice came out in a dramatic whisper, breathless, as if he’d just sprinted up six flights of stairs or discovered a body in the conservatory. “Darling. Sweetheart. Light of my life. Where are you?”
That alone made my pulse kick. Tony didn’t whisper unless something was very wrong—or very juicy. “I’m visiting a friend,” I said carefully. “Why?”
“Oh, thank God.” He exhaled loudly, then immediately inhaled again. “Listen to me very closely. I am currently barricaded in my room with the chair wedged under the handle, and I do not do well under siege conditions.”
“You’re under siege? What’s wrong?”
“I was in the lobby,” he says, lowering his voice even further, which is impressive given how low it already is. “Enjoying a completely innocent moment of people-watching, when they walked in.”
“They?” I lock eyes with Bush, who is watching me.
“Three men,” he says. “Mean-looking men. They have on leather vests and boots. There are tattoos all over their arms, and those tattoos tell a story. These are not nice men.”
My heart slides down into my stomach. “What are they doing?”
“They asked for you,” he says, and the words landed like ice water. “By name, Zara. Full name. Not in a ‘sending flowers’ way. In a ‘we’re not leaving until we get answers’ way.”
I sink back onto the couch. “They were asking for me?”
“Yes,” Tony hisses. “They leaned over the check-in desk and loomed. One of them actually said, and I quote, ‘We know she’s staying here.’ The poor girl at reception looked like she was reconsidering every life choice she’s ever made. The manager came out. He tried to play brave, but they threatened him too.”
My chest tightens. “Threatened how?”
Tony huffs. “Nothing specific, which somehow makes it worse. Very ‘things happen’ energy. I nearly intervened, but I remembered I am delicate and uninsured.”
“Tony,” I say, forcing calm into my voice, “where are you right now?”
“In my room, hiding in the closet. I have the lights off, and I’ve drawn the curtains.”
“Okay.” I take a breath. “I’m not at the hotel. I’m safe.”
