Hellion (Southern Rebels MC)

Cord blinked.

Then, blinked again.

“Noah put his police issued gun against the Chief of Police’s neck and took the safety off.” Cord paused to lick his lip as Crew whistled. “He’s gonna be a minute.”

I swallowed.

“But I can explain to…whoever. Be a witness or something.” I didn’t want to leave Noah alone. I couldn’t explain it. Staying was dangerous for me. I couldn’t risk being tied to a formal statement or have anyone look into my past. But I couldn’t just run away either.

Cord studied me for a second and then nodded to himself. “You trust me?”

I looked at him, my gaze sliding away as I tried to come up with something that was nicer than the honest truth which was no.

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “Smart if you don’t, cause I’ll hurt you if you hurt Noah. But see, I don’t think you want to hurt Noah so I’ll be gentle here.” Crew snorted and Cord shot him a glare. “You trust Noah?”

“Yes,” I answered instantly, unable to explain but knowing he was genuine.

“Then trust that Noah trusts us. The only thing on his mind right now is keeping you safe and he’s depending on me to do that. He wouldn’t have let you walk out the door of the diner if he didn’t. Follow?”

I nodded slowly.

“Then, please,” he said the word like it pained him, “For the love of God, get on the bike with Crew and let him keep an eye on you until we can get Noah out of the mess he just made.”

“I guess Noah picked,” Crew mumbled, holding his hand out toward me.

“With a bang,” Cord confirmed, his gaze never leaving mine. “You with us or against us, kid?”

I sniffed. “I’m not a kid.” I slapped my hand against Crew’s, letting him pull me to the bike. “Don’t let Noah do anything stupid,” I told Cord and he made a choking noise, which I finally figured out was a laugh. “Anything stupider,” I corrected exasperatedly. “I’m trusting you with this, okay?”

Cord’s expression turned serious. “Yeah, we won’t let you down,” he promised. The rumble of engines distracted him as I started to grasp how much he meant we when he spoke, that these guys were a collective, operating better together than separately and giving me a better understanding of how much their acceptance meant to Noah.

“Hop on, kid,” Crew told me, only giving me enough time to frown at him before he plopped a helmet on my head. “Club’s out of the question,” he muttered to himself, rolling the bike forward as I clung to the bar behind my seat. “Leroy.” I ignored him as he talked to himself, my gaze drawn back toward the diner as Cord headed that way again.

A motorcycle cruised past us, the guy on it eyeing me, but the helmet covered my entire head. Crew nodded respectfully, murmuring, “Johnny,” I assumed for my sake. I craned my neck trying to get a better glimpse of the guy, but all I saw was his back and the emblem for the Southern Rebels stitched on his leather kutte. “He’ll be fine,” Crew muttered and I had to wonder which one he was worried about as we drove away.

A few minutes later we pulled up to an ancient gas station, Crew parking right in front of the door. An older man came to the door, shaking his head as we got off the bike. “I’m closed.” He squinted at Crew. “Whichever Hayes boy you are.”

“Come on, Leroy. We just need a place to hang out for a little bit.”

“Don’t you have a clubhouse for that?” The old guy grumbled sarcastically. “Right down there if I recall.” He pointed in the general direction we’d come from even as he continued to lock the door.

“It’s an unusual situation,” Crew tried to convince him. “It involves Noah,” he added a little desperately.

“He ain’t kin to me,” the guy said dismissively. “I’ve got a Hungry Man in the freezer calling my name.” He gave Crew a hard stare. “Now, skedaddle.”

“I can’t take her to the clubhouse. Johnny would flip. It’s just for a few minutes. Hour max.”

“You’re not selling it, boy,” he called over his shoulder as he walked off. I yanked off the helmet, my face sweating, and saw the donut place across the street.

“Hey, you make the good coffee?” I shouted after him, doubting he’d respond as Crew rolled his eyes at me. The old man slowed, coming to a stop as his shoulders swayed slightly. “Noah has been bringing me coffee, but he never said from where,” I kept talking, as I took in the old garage bays and the original gas pumps. “But when we got donuts, he walked over here.” I was mostly talking to myself, but the old man had started to turn around so I kept going. “He had a Thermos. I guess he brought it back to you.”