Page 77 of Property of Player

Ifill my mug with steaming coffee and yawn. The first sip warms my throat in the early morning solitude. Peering out the window over the kitchen sink, I check the weather. The sky is pale gray, the sun barely up.

I frown, not seeing any clouds because I thought I heard thunder.

My quiet is shattered by the roar of more than one motorcycle approaching up the street. Hope flares in my chest. Maybe it's Player coming home to me. The mug hits the counter with a clatter, and I dash through the house to yank the drapes aside.

Two bikes roll up my mother’s drive, and I frown; neither are Player’s bike.

My excitement plummets. Did something happen to him? Are they coming to tell me? When they climb off their bikes and I catch the back of their cuts, it's clear they’re prospects. I can’t think of another reason for them to show up here.

Blood drains, and a pit forms in my stomach.

Oh please, God. Don’t let anything have happened to him.

They’re pulling off their helmets, and I yank the front door open, standing there in my shorts and t-shirt.

They turn at the sound.

“What is it?” I snap, wrapping my arms around my body, steeling myself for the news. “Did something happen to Player?”

The two men walk up the path toward me.

“Hey, Miss Taylor,” one of them says. It’s the prospect who was asleep on the couch yesterday. He’s young with a cute smile. The other one looks a bit older and more hardened. He’s built with a broad chest and muscular arms. He stops at the bottom step, his hand on the railing.

“Name’s Sleaze. Player sent us to get you.”

I frown. “Is the club back? Is he at the clubhouse?”

The two men exchange a look.

“Uh, yeah,” Sleaze says. “We need you to come with us. Player said to grab what you need for a couple of days.”

Days? Something is off. I tilt my head. “Why didn’t Player come for me himself?”

Sleaze shifts on his boots. “He’s in a meeting with Prez. He ain’t got time, so he sent us. You gonna keep us waiting all day or what?”

I don’t like his tone. I suppose he thinks this task is a shit job. “I can take my car. You don’t have to wait.”

“Yeah, we do,” he snaps. “VP’s orders.”

“Let me call him,” I say, lifting my phone.

Sleaze grabs the phone from my hand, moving so fast, I jerk back. “I said he’s in a meeting. Now get your stuff and let’s go. The quicker you are, the quicker you’ll see him.”

Panic floods my body. I think about trying to back into the house and slam the door, but I know they’d be on me before I could get the lock thrown.

“It’s gonna be okay,” the other one says. “Player said to hurry up, is all.”

“What do they call you?” I ask.

“Billy Jack.” He gives me another killer smile. “Please Miss Tayor. We don’t want Player mad at us that we took too long.”

My eyes shift to Sleaze. He’s still got my phone, and it’s clear he has no intention of giving it back. “Fine. Wait here. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Make it quick,” Sleaze adds.

I close the door and throw the lock, then peer through the peephole. They’re still standing there. Sleaze folds his arms, revealing bulging tattooed muscles.

Billy Jack slaps the back of his hand against Sleaze’s arm. “You didn’t have to be such a dick. Didn’t your mama ever tell you that you catch more flies with honey?”