by Laura Day
Declan left. He whistled while he walked out the door, as if he hadn’t just assaulted her, tied her up, threatened her. She did throw up, twice. Once she made it to the bathroom. Once she did not.
And then she threw clothes, toiletries, wallet, laptop, into a duffle bag. She got Gloria into the backseat of the car—the dog went insane when she went out to the garage, licking her and growling past her, even though the house was empty—and she started it.
She backed out of the driveway, her hands shaking so hard that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold the car steady on the road. She managed to call Jack, leave him a message, telling him to stay safe, that someone had been to her house, that he needed to be careful. She called twice. She tried not to think about the fact that he wasn’t picking up.
Shock, she thought. This is what shock feels like.
It felt like sinking. It felt like drowning. It felt like nothing at all.
EPILOGUE
She drove until the sun went down. She hadn’t taken the interstate, had instead focused on the state routes. It had made sense at the time, but when she looked up and realized it was already dark, she wished she’d taken the Interstate. She would have been farther away if she had.
She kept driving until she found a motel that didn’t refuse to rent to her once they glimpsed Gloria. She hadn’t thought to take out cash, so she paid with her debit card. If he was really going to follow her, he would, whether she used cash or plastic. He’d find her. Somehow. It wasn’t like she knew how to disappear.
She found a corner store and bought Gloria some food and a bowl. She walked her, jumping at shadows. Gloria was just as bad, growling at squirrels and strangers with equal intensity.
Her face was starting to hurt, really hurt, and her vision was still off. She probably had a concussion. What were the rules about concussions? You weren’t supposed to be alone. You weren’t supposed to sleep. Or maybe that had changed; maybe you were supposed to sleep now? She couldn’t remember.
She thought about going to the hospital, but she’d have no explanation for what had happened other than falling down the stairs or something, and she didn’t think she could stand the way they’d look at each other, the staff, glance back and forth like they knew her. But at the same time, if she told them who’d done this, told them what had happened, the cops would go looking for Declan, and then… and then.
Mason was a shit. He was a liar. He wasn’t worth protecting. And yet she was protecting him. She told herself she wasn’t, that she was protecting her own safety, but she knew that was a load of crap.
She eventually went back to the hotel room, locked Gloria up in the room, and went to find her own food. She found a diner, a cheesy little place that looked like it had been in exactly the same spot since 1950, at least. She went inside and breathed in the aroma of old fried food and stale coffee. There was no one else there but the waitresses. It was dark, summer time. It had to be past eight. She hadn’t looked at her phone in hours. She didn’t even know if she’d brought her phone. Leaving the house felt like a bad dream.
There was something poking her in the thigh. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out an index card. It was what Mason had put in her hand. She’d stuffed it into her pocket without thinking. She read it now; it had an address, back in town. Her heart lifted, just a little. Was he trying to tell her to go there? To meet him? Was he actually faking, had he really—
No. That was the sort of hope that got her into trouble. It was nothing she needed to indulge in now.
The waitress came, and when Caroline looked up at her, the polite interest in her eyes turned into real concern. “Sweetie,” the woman said, suddenly looking so much older than Caroline had originally thought. “I’m sure you know this, but you are sporting one hell of a shiner. You okay? Somebody hit you?”
That was when Caroline finally started to cry.
The waitress—Angie—flipped the sign at the door over to Closed and locked the door. She brought Caroline back into the kitchen, fed her coffee, ibuprofen, and found her an ice pack, while the chef made her something he swore had healing powers.
He gave her a plate piled high with home fries, hot sausage, sautéed peppers and onions, and an egg over easy. She popped the yolk and watched it run down, melding everything together into a plate of greasy perfection that she didn’t dare to eat.
“You’re not a local girl,” Angie said conversationally. “So you can tell us what happened. Maybe we can help?”
“I need some sleep,” Caroline said. “That’s all I need.” Her hands were shaking hard enough that the fork rattled against the plate as she tried to take a deep enough breath to ease the ache in her chest.
“Was it a man? I mean, it usually is, but this day and age, all sorts of things can happen.”
Caroline sighed, swallowed another wave of tears, and resolutely stuck her fork through a piece of sausage and potato. Her stomach rebelled briefly, but once it moved through the anxiety phase, she discovered she was starving.
She didn’t answer them. In the distance, she could hear the engine of a motorcycle roaring past. She stared off, as if she could see it through the walls of the kitchen. As if she was looking to see if he’d come to find her after all.
Read on for an excerpt from the sequel, Wake Me Up, by Laura Day
Now, a sneak peek at the sizzling sequel, Wake Me Up
CHAPTER ONE
Caroline Lewis woke up to the sound of her dog, Gloria, barking viciously at the window. Only, it wasn’t her window. Or her wall. And the bed didn’t smell right, and the covers were way too light and thin.
It took a moment for all the pieces to come together, and when they did, her heart sped up instead of slowing down. She called Gloria to her; the dog left the window reluctantly, but when Caroline lifted the covers, Gloria crawled under them with her. The dog was just as much of a big scaredy-cat as Caroline had always been; it was just that Gloria barked louder.
If there were any big, scary bikers out in the parking lot of the skeezy motel, Caroline didn’t want to know about it. She’d had absolutely every second of panic that she could handle in the past twenty-four hours, and she was quite willing to call that more than enough. And if anyone actually minded about that, she’d send Gloria after them. Gloria would probably lick them to death, but hey. It might help.
She had a sudden flash of Declan flinging her beautiful dog into the wall. She had been so panicked yesterday, it hadn’t occurred to her that Gloria might be hurt. She’d made a terrible sound when she’d hit. But she was breathing fine now, and nothing seemed swollen or injured or--but people died of internal injuries all the time, and she wasn’t any kind of vet. And, God, if something happened to Gloria right now…
She wiped her eyes furiously. She’d go back to the diner, see if anyone there could tell her where to find the local vet. And then she’d have to figure out what to do next. Go home, get her things, run for it? How long could she really stay hidden? A guy who was running drugs and guns and who knew what else probably had the resources to track her down, but what was the point? She couldn’t prove anything of what she knew about the Fallen Angels, and even if she could, and she ratted them out, she’d be taking Mason down with them.
Her heart ached just from thinking his name. He’d been so sweet with her, so kind, so incredibly hot and sexy. How had he turned so fast, morphed into the monster she’d seen with Declan, his eyes cold and dead? And there was the mystery of that index card he’d pressed into her hand, what the hell had that been about? It had an address on it, but no other message. Had he intended her to go there? After the way he’d talked to her? She was a lot of things, but a complete idiot wasn’t one of them.
She gave Gloria another kiss, then pushed her way up and out of the bed. She’d slept in her bra and panties, and the underwire bra had made her boobs ache. A shower was in order. In the movies, people on the run were always perfectly coifed and clean, so showers were definitely allowed. An
d then she’d need a pair of big Jackie O sunglasses to hide the black eye Declan had given her. Possibly a tacky straw hat.
She entertained herself by making a mental list of all the things TV had taught her about being on the run--don’t use plastic, stay away from places that were familiar to your old life, don’t fall in love with a single father because he’ll totally turn you in after a heart wrenching moment with his kid--while she went to the front window and twitched the curtain to the side, just a shade. No motorcycles in the parking lot. No leather coats, no dark shades, no handsome redheads with their curly hair back in elaborate braids.
It would be a lie to insist that part of her didn’t break at that.
She needed to call Jack, but after that, she’d shut her cellphone off. The GPS could be used to track her if someone filed a missing persons report. Or something.
***
Mason walked into Second Chances five minutes after it opened. He saw Jack, Caro’s co-worker, sitting at his desk, but even from the door, Mason could see Jack’s eyes shifting to the empty desk with more than a hint of worry. He did his best to shift his default bitchface into an expression of concern and sympathy, and walked across the office. Jack looked up at him, smiled, recognized him, paled, and then smiled again. “If you hurt her--” Jack started.
“I didn’t.” Mason dropped himself into the chair next to Jack’s desk. “And I lost my best chance at fixing the source of the whole problem, so don’t get all indignant on me. Have you heard from her?”
Jack sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyebrow lifted. “You’ll forgive me for wondering why you’re asking.”
Mason tried to find his cool. He was sure he’d left it around somewhere. “Declan found her. He knows who she is. And I can protect her, and I tried to protect her, but she’s disappeared. I need to get to her, before he does, and get her somewhere safe.”
“Oh, I see. It’s not just that you are here to try and see if she’s been in touch with me, so you can tell your boss, and my friend can get--what, axed? Iced? What’s the chosen nomenclature for killing an innocent woman because some jackass in leather got her mixed up in bullshit?”
The story spilled out before he could stop it. “They’re using my sister’s name. I swear to you, man, I know what you told Caro, but I swear to you, I knew nothing about this. I thought someone was skimming, but I didn’t make the connection until she found it first. Anna--my sister--I told Caro she died when I was in the military. She was still living with her mother and the pathetic excuse for a man that her mother was dating then. And one night, her mother and that piece of shit got drunk and high, and he went after my sister while her mom tripped out and laughed. He--”
Mason choked on the words, and let himself look down at the floor, mostly because Jack had watched his eyes for every second, and he couldn’t tell the story and hold that intense eye contact. “What I didn’t tell Caro was that Anna had written me a couple letters, hinting at things that dick was doing to her. Nothing clear, just accidentally busting in when she was showering, giving her long hugs, finding reasons to be in the house when her mom wasn’t home. And I told her to ignore it. I told her that she was over-reacting.”
He looked up again, found Jack’s gaze, and forced himself to hold it. He expected to see disgust, or pity, in the man’s eyes; he saw instead a pain he’d never thought he’d share with anyone. “Declan is dealing in girls. If your guy thinks it, I’m sure of it, and that stops. Even if I’d been involved in the other shit, which I wasn’t, that will not happen on my watch.”
The words had an echo, a roll to them. Jack held steady through their impact, and then he nodded, short and quick, all wariness gone from his posture. “I haven’t heard from her. Well, she left me a message last night, but I think she must have turned off her phone, she’s not answering when I call her. When I get hold of her, how do I get hold of you?”
For the first time since Mason had stepped into Caro’s house knowing Declan had beaten him to it, his heart started to lift.
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***
Derek Martinez isn’t looking for glory.
He’s never been one to lead the pack, and he hates responsibility; he just wants to lose himself in the roar of engines as he follows his brothers in the Black Brothers Motorcycle Club. Even the women in his life want more than he’s willing to give, so he takes them as they come and leaves them in the morning.
Danni Stewart has had more than enough bad-boy in her past.
After falling for a biker, and ending up alone with a broken heart and a baby, she’s sworn them off entirely. Raising her son on her own, she just wants to work and give her son the best life she can, even if she has to go it alone forever.
They couldn’t be more wrong for each other.
When they meet at the diner where Danni works, neither can deny the chemistry between them. Even though she wants him more than anything else in the world, Danni's past experience tells her that he’s dangerous. As she gives him her body, she keeps her heart locked away.
Derek can’t ignore the way Danni makes him feel, and for the first time considers the tantalizing possibility of something much more. They just might be what each other needs, but first they need to let themselves want it.
***
They say that truth is stranger than fiction. But for Laura Turner it's also just as deadly...
Landing the lead female role in the latest blockbuster action film was a dream come true for the struggling actress and there wasn't anything she wouldn't do to keep it. But when the director insists on the input of a real-life Motorcycle Gang member for authenticity's sake she starts to wonder if maybe she has made a mistake.
Roman is gorgeous, mysterious, and thoroughly distracting. Swaggering around on set in his leather's and impressing cast and crew alike, Laura can't help but fall for his brooding charms, too.
But when their professional relationship starts to take a seductively delicious turn things start to heat up and not in the way Laura would like.
Someone out there has a problem with Roman revealing gang secrets. And because of her new-found status as Roman's old lady, that means someone out there has a problem with Laura, too.
***
John Malcolm really missed his old life.
He’d never considered staying in the military past when he was due to be discharged, but now that he had walked away and was trying to rebuild his life, he was wishing he was back in uniform. No one wanted to hire vets, and his skills were somewhat specific. Deciding to take things into his own hands, he opens a Private Investigation business and prays that this will be the answer.
Becca McDermott just wants her crazy life to calm down.
As a McDermott, she knows that crazy is in their genes, but she’s really getting fed up. After her sister enthusiastically decides to become a stripper (with her parents blessing,) and her mother comes out as a closet bi-sexual who is ready to “explore a little,” Becca doesn’t know how to also deal with her insane brother, who has seemingly gone AWOL from the navy after a trip to see her. She knows she needs to find him and talk him down, but she has no idea where to start.
Becca’s so much more than John can handle.
After searching on the internet for a PI, Becca pays John a visit and begs him to track down her brother. John wants to take the job, but there’s one problem--Becca is insisting on coming along for the ride. After she makes him an offer he can’t refuse, they set out to find her missing brother. But spending so much time together is starting to affect them both, and they can’t ignore the sexual tension growing between them.
As their passion explodes and they try to find her brother, they might also find something no one expected.
***
She’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, and he’s the one thing she never saw coming.
Things have never been black and white for Ellie Carmichael. Growing up surrounded by the men of the Iron Raiders, the motorcycle club that’s been the only family she’s ever known, she’s always believed in the clubs mission, even when they’re activities weren’t entirely legal. But, as the daughter of a prostitute in their stable, who got herself knocked up and then locked up, she grew up thinking of the men of the club as uncles, and then brothers, and the president who led them all as the father she never knew.
