bike’s logo. He recognized it from the bikes he’d seen riding by the clinic earlier—the symbol of the Outlaw Angels, a one percenter biker gang with charters all over the States. Now that was interesting as fuck, and maybe one of the reasons she was so keen to stay on with them.
And that was trouble they couldn’t afford at the moment.
He’d almost turned away when he heard the rumble of more bikes. They were trailing after her, had been lying in wait in the parking lot next to the motel.
Ah, fuck, couldn’t be good. Not when another couple of them pulled into the motel lot.
“Gun, we got company,” he called quietly.
“Trouble?” Gunner came out from behind the curtain, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Outlaw Angels.”
“The hell?”
“I think our doc might be tied to them.”
“That why she asked to come with?” Gunner asked as he glanced out the window. “Yeah, I spied on you. You’ve got game, brother.”
“And I wasn’t even trying,” Jem pointed out. “Cavalry’s here.”
Cavalry in the form of Key, and he looked pissed as shit. He was on an old Harley Fat Boy and he slammed past the bikers and pulled in front of the room. They surrounded him and he looked toward Jem through the window. Jem nodded and then Key turned slowly back to the menacing group.
His anger was palpable, directed totally at Jem, but when Key turned it outward, it was a sight to see.
“Baby brother’s got this,” he told Gunner. “Go back and get Avery ready to go.”
“At least we know for sure this isn’t Landon,” Gunner said. “But what the fuck, Jem?”
“I ask myself that every single day,” Jem muttered, turned back to watch Key getting three beefy OAs under control. “That’s good. Get your anger out on those good old boys.”
He had Drea’s address, dialed her phone number and got her voice mail. Didn’t want to leave her one in case other OAs were checking her phone.
After ten minutes of Key’s reasoning techniques, the OAs up and left, speeding off into the night. Key slammed into the room. He was tan. His hair was longer, pulled back, and he had several days’ growth of beard.
“Dude, you trying for a spot in the MC?” Jem asked him.
Key ignored that. “Want to tell me what that’s all about?”
“Yeah, right after you go with me to pick someone up. We’ll send Gun and Avery ahead—can’t leave them here.”
Key narrowed his eyes. “Is this about a woman?”
“Isn’t it always, brother?”
Chapter Twenty
Drea’s rental house was small, well kept and in a decent enough neighborhood. No sign of the bike anywhere, but there was a light on in her house.
“I’ll go in.” Jem got off the back of Key’s bike.
“Sure, leave me outside to handle more shit,” Key muttered.
“Just don’t sign any contracts in blood,” Jem told him, then headed up the front walk. He didn’t bother knocking, walked right into her living room and heard the shower running. “Andrea! It’s Jem. And you’d better be alone in there.”
He pushed the door open a little and the shower stopped. In seconds, the curtain pulled aside and she stepped out, wrapped in a towel. Which was disappointing.
Worse, she’d been crying.
He moved aside to let her pass since she wasn’t exactly stopping to greet him. “Not surprised to see me, doll-face?”
He turned to watch her go into the bedroom right across the hall. Not bothering to shut the door, instead she dropped the towel and started to get dressed. Fuck, she was beautiful everywhere. Confident as fuck too.
She turned to face him as she pulled on a T-shirt, sans bra. “No, I’m not. I figured that was you who called. And I know the OA came to see you.”
“What do they have on you?” he asked. “Never mind. That’s why you want out.”
“Even if I go with you, I can’t escape. Can’t change my name and keep my medical license. That’s how they’d track me. They have charters everywhere.” She paused. “You’re in one piece. They didn’t hurt Avery, did they? They promised they didn’t.”
“My brother fucked your guys up.”
“They’re not my guys. Trust me.” She stood in a pair of tight jeans and a black T-shirt, face free of makeup and a sleeve of tattoos ghosting down her left arm.
“Grab your shit—I can’t leave you here. Not after Key beat the shit out of them.”
“You’re not doing this out of pity, are you?”
“Safety, not pity. The OA probably thinks you’re working with us, and they don’t know who we are.”
She didn’t hesitate, swore under her breath as she scooped some things from her night table into a bag on the floor. She’d been planning on leaving either way, and because of what she’d done for Avery. “I’m not leaving my bike behind.”
“We’ll get the symbol taken off ASAP. But you don’t have to leave it behind, no.”
Her phone rang and she glanced at it.
“Go ahead—answer,” he told her. She did, put it on speaker as a graveled voice said, “Drea, what the fuck?”
“It was a favor for a friend, Dallas. Don’t get yourself twisted.”
“You don’t tell me what the fuck to do, right? Get your ass to the clubhouse in five or I’m comin’ to get you.”
“Okay,” she said, hung up and grabbed her bag. Jem took it from her and put it on the back of Key’s bike, since he’d be riding with Drea.
“Go up the highway—get off two exits down and we’ll back-road it for a couple of miles. Gunner’s waiting an hour up and we’ll just pack the bikes into the van he’ll rent and move from there,” Key said. “And then maybe one of you can tell me what the fuck’s going on.”
“I’m driving my own bike,” she told him, handed him a helmet.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Wind in my ears can only improve shit in here.” He refused the helmet but climbed on behind her.
“Jem, earlier, when I called you crazy . . .”
“I do have papers,” he told her. “Not on me, of course. Now come on, sweetheart, give me the ride of my goddamned life.”
Gunner loaded Avery into the front seat, lowered all the way down. She was so sleepy and he didn’t want her bouncing around in the back. Key and Jem followed them until they got on the highway to make sure there was no tail on them, and then they branched off to go find Drea.
“Jem’s going to get Drea back, isn’t he?” Avery asked in a sleepy voice.
“You don’t miss anything, do you?”
“You all talk very loudly,” she sniffed. “Is she okay?”
“There’s something involving the OA.”
“The motorcycle gang?”
“They call themselves a club,” he said, heard her mutter, “Bullshit” and then, “Are Dare and Grace okay?”
“Key said they’re waiting for us. We’re an hour out.”
Now that the imminent danger of both the threat and her dying was over, she could feel the tension
