“Yes, Prez.”
I hit the gavel. “Church dismissed.”
As they ambled out, I went to grab my phone. I switched it on, and they were calling from the strip
club. “What do you need, Boots?”
“Sorry to disturb you, Prez, but um…” the prospect stammered, “you should come down here and
see this for yourself.”
Three
Sia
It was just my luck that the last of my burners died the second I found a signal, the closest gas station was no longer in business, and the next one was three miles away. With every step out in the open where I was risking being seen or taken, I had to opt for going inside the next open anything, even if it was a strip club called Wicked Ass.
Keeping my head low, I went straight to the bar and asked the skinny guy in a black tee and leather
vest if he knew of any open auto repair shops around.
He took an unhurried stare at me, studying me; with an oversized hoodie, jeans, no makeup and a
backpack, I was obviously out of place and had no business to be in a strip club. That must have been why he was staring. He couldn’t have recognized me, right?
Stay calm, Sia. Nobody here knows who you are or what you’re hiding from.
“Where did your car break, Missy?” he drawled.
I didn’t like the way he called me Missy or how he was smirking. I didn’t like that he was asking
where the car broke down while eating me with his stare either. “Not so far from here. Can you please give me their number…and show me where your phone is?”
“No need.” He poured bourbon to a big man with a beard two stools away from me and got his
phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call them for ya. And if you tell me where your car is, I’ll tell them to tow it already and save you some time.”
“Thanks. Can they fix it tonight?”
“Bless your heart, I’ve seen them do wonders with anything with an engine, but they ain’t miracle
workers, hun. It’ll probably have to stay in till morning.” He nodded at someone behind me, but I couldn’t tell who it was when I glanced over my shoulder. The place was swarming with men and stripper girls. It could have been anyone. I still didn’t like it.
I’d been on the run for a while now. If I felt something was off, it was because it was true. Despite everything, there was always a chance someone would recognize me. I highly doubted it was that skinny guy, but he had something nasty in mind. Maybe he thought I was an easy catch. A stranded girl he could take for whoever ran this place and force to work her ass for them. Either way, I needed to
get out of here.
He leaned over, elbows on the counter, and I noticed the tattoos on his arms. Skulls with wings like the drawing on the back of his vest.Wicked Warriors. I looked up at the patch on his leather.
Prospect. This wasn’t a vest. It was a cut.
“Do you have a place to stay? Someone to call?” he asked.
“You belong to a motorcycle club, don’t you? This place, too, and let me guess, the shop as well?”
“You got that right, Missy. The Wicked Warriors. We’re God-fearing, law-abiding citizens that protect this town and help those in need…like you.”
I really need to get out of here.
