“Y-yes, sir.” The girl fumbled to take the basket.
Crash clamped a hand around Shannon’s wrist and practically dragged her out the door and to his bike, where he finally let her go, ordering, “Get on.”
“What is with you?” Shannon asked, glaring at him and rubbing her wrist.
Crash threw his leg over the seat and lifted the bike up off its kickstand. “Get the fuck on, Shannon.” She stared at him unmoving as the engine roared to life. “You make me get off this bike and put you on it, you’ll wish you hadn’t,” he threatened in a soft but deadly voice.
She got on.
They rode down the street and turned into the parking lot of the motel. He pulled in a spot and cut the bike off. A moment later he was pulling her through the door of their room.
/> “Okay, let’s hear it.” He glared at her.
“Hear what?”
“Whatever the fuck it is you’re not telling me, Shannon. Whatever shit it is that’s got you trying to transform your appearance like you’re suddenly in witness fucking protection hiding out from the goddamn mob. That fucking shit.” He stalked toward her.
She took two steps back. Her legs hit the bed, and she plopped down on her ass staring up at him. “There’s nothing to tell.”
He shook his head and stalked across the room, pacing. The room didn’t allow for him to go very far. “The hell there’s not. You told me and Cole that you were lying low from an ex-boyfriend.”
“T-that’s right.”
He ran his hand over his jaw, pausing at the dresser. What the fuck kind of mess had he gotten himself into? He turned back to her, and his hands landed on his hips, one canted to the side. “What aren’t you telling me, Shannon?” He watched stunned as her eyes pooled, and then the tears spilled over the edge. A moment later, he was crouched down in front of her, his hands on her knees. “Baby, what the fuck?” he asked softly.
Her shoulders shook, and she wouldn’t look at him.
“Hey, look at me.” She looked up at him with a terrified look. He continued, “I can handle just about anything else, but not another lie. Okay? So just tell me the truth. What the hell is really going on with you?”
Still she stayed quiet.
“If you’re in trouble, let me help you.”
Her lip trembled.
He cupped her face, looking into her eyes. “I care about you, Shannon, and if you need help-”
“I saw him. Well…not him. His guys.”
“Whose guys?”
“The guy I was seeing.”
He rose to his feet, looking down at her. “The kid you were seeing has guys?”
“He isn’t a kid.”
“What are you talking about? He’s some preppy kid you met at college, right?” Shannon was only—what had she said—twenty-three, twenty-four?
She shook her head. “No. He’s an associate of my father’s.”
“What?” His eyebrows shot up. “Your ‘cornered-the-market-on-real-estate’ father? Your ‘owns-half-the-fucking-state’ father? His associate?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Who is this guy?”
“He’s Sir Nicklaus Ralston III. He’s British.”