Patterns, behavior and connections.The club might not even realize what mattered yet, but I might.At least that was what I hoped because right now I was running dangerously low on options.
I finally pushed the blanket down and sat up slowly.Pain slammed through my skull hard enough to make me hiss.“Tylenol better take care of this,” I muttered.The room tilted slightly when I stood, but thankfully stopped after a second.
The room stopped tilting, which felt like a win.
I shuffled toward the bathroom attached to the room and flipped on the light, then immediately regretted that, too.“Jesus Christ.”
The woman staring back at me in the mirror looked like she’d survived a bar fight and lost.
My dark hair stuck out in weird directions around the bandage hidden near the back of my head, and there were faint shadows beneath my eyes from stress and exhaustion.I normally wasn’t some super polished person, but I at least tried to look like I hadn’t crawled out of a dumpster behind a gas station.
Right now?Dumpster chic.
“Fantastic,” I muttered.I opened the medicine cabinet hopeful, but there was nothing.
I leaned heavily against the sink and sighed.No toothbrush, clean clothes, or makeup.Not that makeup mattered right now, but still.
Everything I owned sat back at the motel while I apparently played house arrest with bikers.The thought should’ve freaked me out more than it did.Instead, weirdly enough, I mostly just felt annoyed.
A knock sounded against the bedroom door.“McKayla?”Push.
I don’t know why my stomach did a weird little flip at hearing his voice.Probably concussion symptoms.“Come in,” I called while turning on the faucet.
The bathroom door stayed open, and a second later his reflection appeared in the mirror as he leaned casually against the doorway.He was wearing fark jeans, a black T-shirt with tattoos disappearing beneath short sleeves, and messy dark hair like he’d run his hands through it recently.
Maybe it was because my brain was still fuzzy, but Push looked pretty damn good for a guy who’d found a dead body and kidnapped me twelve hours ago.
I met his eyes in the mirror.“Death and kidnapping suit you.”
A low chuckle rumbled out of him.“Didn’t know you were looking, Firecracker.”
I rolled my eyes immediately.“That nickname’s not growing on me.”
“Seems fitting.”
“For who?A cartoon?”
His mouth twitched slightly while he pushed away from the doorway and stepped farther into the room.“How’d you sleep?”he asked.
The question caught me off guard a little.“Good,” I admitted carefully.“Weirdly good.”
“Concussions’ll do that sometimes.”
“Pretty sure biker hostage situations aren’t supposed to improve sleep quality.”
“We’re not holding you hostage.”
I snorted softly while splashing water onto my face.“Right.Totally normal behavior.”
“You’re free to walk out that front door.”
I looked at him through the mirror again.“And then?”
His stare stayed steady.“Then someone follows you.”
“Ah.See?That part feels hostage-y.”
He huffed another quiet laugh.
