“No.”
“Stay right where you are, I’m coming.”
“What—”
“I’m two minutes out,” he said. “Don’t move.”
The line clicked off and I stared at the phone.
The early morning air felt suddenly colder, and two minutes felt like a lifetime as I waited. I hadn’t realized how badly my hands were shaking until I tried to set the phone down and nearly dropped it.
“Get it together, Rowan,” I chastised myself.
Finally, the sounds of bike engines cut across the silence of the day, and for the first time since I’d gotten in my truck earlier, I let myself breathe.
The motorcycles headed in my direction, but one in particular roared toward me like a thunderstorm tearing across the road. Even before he slowed, I recognized the bike.
Tex pulled up beside my truck and killed the engine in one smooth motion. Then he was off the bike and at my door before I could even open it.
“You’re okay?” His eyes scanned my face, my truck, the road behind me.
“Yes.”
His shoulders loosened, just a fraction.
The other bikes had finally caught up, and they pulled to a stop, their engines cutting and making the silence immediately feel oppressive.
“What happened?” Tex said, his eyes on mine, still scanning me from head to toe as if searching for an injury, a mark—a reason to explode.
I thought only briefly of holding back some of the information. I didn’t want anyone thinking badly of my father, but when I saw the genuine concern in Tex’s eyes, I knew in my gut I could trust him, so I told him everything.
The SUV, the phone call, the way I’d raced out of the house and the way the truck had clearly been waiting for me and had herded me down the road. I told him everything I could remember about what the man had said about my father and about the Kings.
Tex didn’t interrupt once, but the longer I talked, the darker his expression got.
When I finished, the silence between us was thick.
“Are you going to say something?” I asked.
Finally he dragged a hand down his jaw and his eyes lifted to mine. “Did you recognize anything about either man?”
I shook my head. “No, they didn’t look like they were from around here, which isn’t unusual with all the tourists recently. They looked smarter though, I guess. Dark hair, tanned skin. They had an accent I didn’t recognize. Definitely not American.”
Tex leaned one arm on the doorframe, his body close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. “Whoever this is, they’re not just trying to scare you any longer.”
“Then what are they doing?”
His gaze hardened. “They’re sending a message.”
A chill slid down my spine. “What message? To who?”
Tex looked back down the road where the SUV had disappeared.
When he spoke, his voice was cold enough to freeze the air.
“A message to the club. And whatever your father did just became my club’s problem.”
My breath caught. “Tex, my father didn’t do anything. He was clean—always. I would know. I’ve gone through the deeds and the accounts and there’s nothing to suggest?—”
