13
Savannah
An hour and a half later, my ass and abs were screaming. I was hot, sweaty, and battered by the wind.
Even though I wasn’t steering and was clinging on for dear life, the racing air filled me with a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in a long time.
There was something hypnotic about the drone of the engine and the speed of the ground flying by. I pressed myself against Jaxson’s back as we shot down the road—not because I was anxious, but because it made me feel like I was part of the machine. When he leaned, I leaned, and every move we made, we made together.
I hated to admit it, but riding with him was exhilarating—though that didn’t stop my ass from hurting.
Just when I was starting to worry I wouldn’t make it another mile, we began to slow. A roadside bar appeared up ahead, the Tattered Tire Roadhouse.
The building was covered in orange stucco. It was weathered, though not shabby or run down. About ten bikes were parked out front, and a big dude stood at the door, keeping his eyes on things. But there were also a number of cars parked off to the side.
Jaxson turned into the gravel lot and rolled to a stop. He held the bike steady as I started to dismount. “Watch the tailpipe. It’s going to be hot.”
Like I was an idiot. I flipped my leg over and dropped to the ground.
Jaxson pitched his voice low. “This isn’t supposed to be a clubhouse, just a bar that a couple of the Arrowheads frequent. We want to get one of them alone and talking.”
Sam removed her helmet and set it on the bike. “Keep in mind that this is Indiana, not Magic Side. No wolfing out, and no hocus pocus.”
Jaxson nodded as he pulled off his helmet. “She’s right. We don’t want to make a big scene. If there are just one or two Arrowheads, I’ll make them submit with my presence, and we’ll escort them back to talk. Three or more, we leave, then jump them later on the road.”
“And if there are none?” I asked.
He pulled off his gloves and surveyed the row of bikes. “Well, we wait and try to blend in as best we can. We’re just weekend riders who need a cold drink.”
I nodded, then followed Sam and him in, glad I was in the back so they wouldn’t see my broken ass wobble. The big biker out front didn’t even flinch as I staggered by.
The front entrance was covered with old fliers and a time-worn menu. The place was smoky and hot, and my throat immediately began to tickle. Despite the haze and the stink of beer and cigarettes, the bar was clean, and my feet didn’t stick to the floor when I walked, which was frankly a miracle.
A mixed crowd filled the bar. Most were mainstream bikers, sitting at low tables in twos or threes and pounding back bottles of beer, though there were a number wearing cuts with outlaw insignia.
The classic rock was cranked up to cover the fact that there was very little life in the place. The bar, and the people in it, felt deeply road weary. Still, despite the general malaise, I could smell an undercurrent of tension in the room that made the hair on my neck stand on end. Three weeks ago, I might have missed it. But now, with wolf senses, it was like everyone was screaming at me.
While in some places, machismo was measured by blatant posturing, this place was the opposite. The inattentive expressions on the patrons’ faces hid a practiced watchfulness. Everyone was broadcasting disinterest as hard as they could, trying to prove that they were big dogs by showing they had nothing to fear, that they were too busy to care.
Jaxson seemed to pick up on it, too, and toned his signature as low as it could go. He nodded to a group of stools over by an old, battered pool table. “I’ll grab some beers.”
I casually scoped out the room as Sam and I headed over to find seats. While there were a number of bikers with patches, it didn’t seem like any of the Arrowhead Disciples were present.
Sam shoved some quarters into the pool table, and the balls tumbled into the trough. “Can you shoot?”
“Absolutely.” I unzipped my jacket and grabbed a stick off the wall. I could shoot really well…just not pool.
Jaxson came back with three Budweisers. They were just slightly below cool, which wasn’t a great temp for a Bud, but they were wet, which was all I needed after almost two hours on the back of a bike.
“This place feels like a powder keg,” I muttered.
Jax just nodded.
I proceeded to demonstrate to them both how poorly my skill with firearms translated to shooting pool. To my horror, I was so bad that I soon found Jaxson pressed up against me, helping to line up my shot. His scent wrapped around me, far more intoxicating than a dozen beers. And while my mind rebelled against the display, I felt my hips press back into the warmth of his body like they had a mind of their own.
They definitely do,Wolfie teased.
Sam’s eyeroll settled the situation, and I spun out of Jaxson’s arms. “I think I’ve got it. Thanks.”
He gave me a knowing grin. It wasn’t like he couldn’t smell what was on my mind.
I sank my next shot, which almost irritated me more than missing.
Circling to the other side of the table, my eyes flicked over Jaxson’s shoulder as the door opened. Four big, bearded bikers strode in and bellied up at the bar in front of the NASCAR races on TV.
My hands froze mid-shot. The backs of their jackets had three-part patches with an emblem of a wolf skull and crossed arrow in the center. The top rocker read Arrowhead Disciples, while the bottom read Indiana.
One caught me looking, and out of instinct, I bent low to shoot, hoping my cleavage would distract the men from the fact that I’d been watching them. I shot, but the ball ricocheted off the corner.
My mind wasn’t on pool. It was on them.
Four was more than we’d bargained for, but suddenly, the plan didn’t matter. Those bastards were after me, and while none of them had played a role in my abduction, I recognized the prick who’d tried to get me to pull over at the dunes.
Fuckers. They’d have taken me right there.
My hands clenched on the cue as I stood up straight, and vitriol lanced through my veins. A deep, venomous voice in my soul urged me on. Kill them all.
I sucked in a sharp breath and stepped around the table, but Jaxson stopped me short by grabbing the cue still clutched in my hands.