Murphy finishes fucking around and suddenly the cab of the truck echoes with a loud ringing.
I duck and cover my head like a bomb’s about to drop. “What the motherfuck?”
Murphy wags his phone at me and points to the screen. “Answer it.”
My gaze drops to the green “accept call” button on the screen and I punch it—harder than necessary. “What?”
“That’s all you need to do, brother.” Murphy’s voice bursts through the truck’s speakers. He disconnects the call and points to the steering wheel. “You can answer from that button there too.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone while I’m driving.”
“That’s probably best.” He holds up his hands. “You need anything, call me. My number’s programmed into your phone.” He nods to the screen. “The addresses for Furious Fitness and Strike Back Studio are both in there if you want to visit either one.” He smirks at me. “And you seem to remember where Crystal Ball is.”
I flip him off.
“Rock’s old address is in there too. He runs his custom shop out of the garage. I think he’ll be there later if you want to stop by and spread some of your cheer.”
Little prick.
He taps his chin a few times. “I put the address for Downstate’s clubhouse in, too, but I doubt you’ll feel like driving all the way there.”
“That safe?” I point to the screen. “Having all those addresses in that thing?”
“Probably not. When you’re situated, we can erase everything.” He nods to the screen again. “This place is under ‘yoga retreat’ so you’ll be able to find your way back.”
“Yoga retreat…Cute.” I gesture toward the open door. “We done here? Or are you planning to come with me and play babysitter?”
“No, sir.” He jumps out of the cab and salutes me. “Drive safe.”
Now I feel shitty for snapping at him. I grip the steering wheel, biting back my pride. “Thank you, Murphy. Appreciate it.”
“No problem, Grinder. Just glad you’re back and whole.”
Whole.
I may have made it out of prison with my life. Maybe on the outside I appear to be in one piece. But whole?
Not even close.
Chapter Five
Serena
Never try to run from your past. It will always catch up to you.
Gee, thanks. Great advice.
I quit scrolling through Instagram motivational quotes and tuck my phone in my pocket. Lunchtime. I push my chair away from my desk, stand, and stretch.
I’m starving. The cheap, hole-in-the-wall restaurant next to Empire Med is supposed to have Swedish meatballs on the menu today. I’m dying for a huge plate of buttery egg noodles smothered in tiny meatballs and savory cream sauce. I can almost smell the garlic and taste the sweet lingonberry jam they serve on the side.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out. Amanda.
Sighing, I answer. “What’s up? I’m at work.”
“Shouldn’t you be at lunch?”
“I was heading there now.” Against my better judgment, I sink into my chair again.
“There’s a party up at the Lost Kings compound this weekend. We have to go.”
No way in hell. “Pass.”
“Come on,” she whines. “You haven’t gone to a club party with me in for-evvvvv-er.”
“Yes. For good reason.” I never want to see another biker again as long as I live.
Unfortunately, quite a few come into the clinic, recovering from various injuries. I cringe every single time, praying I won’t run into someone affiliated with the Lost Kings. Someone who will recognize me. Remember who I used to be.
That desperate party girl is dead and buried. No resurrection happening. I’ve worked too hard to distance myself from my club girl days and I’ll be damned if I’m dragged back to a clubhouse now when my life is finally on track.
“Please,” Amanda begs.
“No.” I’m proud of my firm voice. Old Serena would’ve caved by now.
“Come on. Shadow won’t be there.” She lowers her voice. “Lala told me no one’s seen him since he tried to stab Z.”
Shit. Z. One of the few people who ever stood up for me. I never properly thanked him for rescuing me from Shadow.
“Things are totally different with Z running the downstate club. Sway and Tawny are almost never around,” Amanda says in her staccato, let-me-convince-you voice. “But it doesn’t matter. This party’s upstate. You always liked it there better anyway.”
Where I made an ass out of myself over and over, chasing after Murphy. No thanks.
“Come on,” she pleads. “Jigsaw asks me how you’re doing all the time.”
My lips curve. Once I got past the scary exterior, Jiggy had been like a playful older brother. He and his best friend, Rooster, were always nice to me.
“All the time, huh?” I laugh. “How often do you talk to him?”
“Not that often, but the last time I was there, he did ask about you.”
That’s nice and all, but I’ve made too much progress to backslide now. “Well, tell him I said hi.”