by Mj Fields
Without a word, she rushed for the exit, happy to call it a night.
Fifteen minutes into her drive home, lights reflected back at her from her rearview mirror; a black Mercedes tailed her dangerously close. Traffic on South Padre Island Drive was light, as most people were still out partying at the clubs. She signaled to change lanes, slowing down to forty-five miles per hour. The sedan did the same. Then she switched to the fast lane, accelerating to seventy-five, well over the speed limit. Again, the Mercedes kept pace behind her.
“Shit!” No doubt Kline was following her.
She decided not to lead him to her apartment complex. And what would she tell a 911 operator? Unfortunately in cases like this, the police were seldom able to do anything preventive. Fear and paranoia didn’t constitute the right to arrest somebody for a crime the person hadn’t committed yet. One of the fatal flaws in modern law.
With Lily and Lang out of town, and her office mates gone, too, her options were limited. Lily’s husband was the former president of the Sons of Odin, a one-percenter motorcycle club based in Flour Bluff. It had been months since she’d visited the club-owned bar, Valhalla. But Tina knew some of the Brothers and their old ladies. And Lang had extended an open invitation. An offer she couldn’t pass up right now.
She checked her rearview again, the black car still in pursuit.
Speeding all the way down Laguna Shores Road, a long, curvy two-lane street that ran adjacent to the water, she finally pulled into a parking lot, then checked her rearview again. Gone—the Benz was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she should wait a couple of minutes and make sure Kline had given up, then drive home—problem solved. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and gazed at the bright neon sign on the familiar white brick building—Valhalla. It had never looked so good.
Lust spiked inside her. Every time she thought about the Sons of Odin or this place, she remembered Vincent—Lang’s best friend. A man she could never get enough of. After experiencing someone as creepy as Kline Barnes, she needed someone as big and strong as him to scare the shit out of Kline. If she were being honest, she’d admit how nervous she was knowing he might be here. But Tina had a way of ignoring her fear. She jumped out of her car, all attention focused on the front doors.
“Tina?” Kline’s voice sounded from somewhere behind her.
Tension set in. How did he beat her here? Or was she imagining it? Her gaze zigzagged around the dark parking lot. No one. Blame it on adrenaline.
She’d had her fair share of problems with men but hardly qualified as a trouble magnet. Blessed with a quick mind and a gift for sarcasm, she usually deflected unwanted attention with ease. Not this time. Was he a serial stalker? Did seeing her trigger some kind of psychotic break with reality? She’d technically won his case, sparing him the usual two-year prison sentence for the assault charge, so he had no reason to be angry.
She needed to get inside.
She gasped as she barreled into something solid and skidded backward on her heels. Unable to keep her balance, she twisted her ankle as she dropped to her knee.
“Holy shit,” another male voice rumbled. “Are you okay?”
Tina snapped her eyes shut for a split second, appreciative that someone had come to her aid.
“Tell me you’re all right.”
Wait—she recognized that Barry White baritone. She gazed up as Vincent lifted her to her feet.
“Tina?”
“Vincent?” She smiled, his concerned expression a welcome sight. When she tried to put pressure on her right foot to get up, she winced in pain. “Crap.”
“You’re hurt.” He gazed down at her foot. “In a hurry?”
More than he’d ever know. “I—um.” Speechless. She’d met Vincent the same night her best friend met her husband a year ago. Apparently he still intimidated her—all six foot five of his muscular frame. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Some asshole followed me from downtown, and I didn’t know where else to go.”
Vincent snaked his arm around her waist, supplying the extra support she needed to stand. “Where?”
“He called out to me a second before I collided with you. His name is Kline Barnes; he drives a black Benz.”
Vincent scanned the farthest reaches of the parking lot. “I don’t see anyone. How well do you know this guy?”
“Not personally. He’s a client at my law office. That’s what confuses me most. He pled no contest on an assault charge and I brokered a reduced sentence. It’s a matter of public record.”
He rubbed his chin. “You’re safe now. Let’s get you to the clubhouse—Doc can check your ankle.” He swept her into his strong arms and headed for the compound behind the bar.
She stared at the clear nighttime sky full of stars. By whatever providence she’d arrived at Valhalla at the same moment Vincent was outside, she didn’t care. She liked being in his arms again.
Love stories you’ll never forget
By authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
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