yawned with the sun, everything felt different. Better. It was like the darkness that had shrouded the day before had blossomed into a beautiful morning. All of yesterday's ugliness was gone now. My not-so-fun encounter at the precinct. Becca. God, Becca.
Today was going to be a good day. I could feel it. Besides, how could today possibly be any worse than yesterday?
Caleb was still dozing next to me and sleepily slung an arm around my waist to tug me back under his arm.
I really didn't want to leave, but the sooner I got to the studio and took care of business, the sooner I could get back to Caleb. So, I made a quick dash into our second bedroom, which now doubled as my home studio, grabbed my current project off the easel, then I grabbed a banana and a granola bar for the road and was out the door.
A little over six hours later, I pulled Caleb's truck into our driveway and my heart tugged in my chest at the sight of all that empty concrete. No Harley in sight.
Separation anxiety. That's what this was.
Separation anxiety? More like codependency. You're a complete loser. And a goner. Totally a goner.
Just as I absentmindedly put my key in the front door, I froze. That little bit of force pushed the whole door open and a cold chill ran down my spine. Caleb always tripled-checked all the locks on our doors before he left the house. I was already backing up, my project dropping to the ground as terror spiked through me and my fingers flying into my purse for something I could use to defend myself, when a figure hovered in the doorway and stilled.
Everything seemed to happen in a blur.
I saw a black leather cut, dark eyes, dark hair, and when his face finally came into clearer view, it only took me a second to place where I'd seen him before.
The patch-over party.
Diego Padilla.
We both moved at the same time. He jerked forward, flinging the door open at the exact moment I found my can of pepper spray. He blinked, momentarily stunned into immobility by what was in my hand and that gave me the opening I needed to flick the safety guard and cover the bastard head to shoulders in that white, foamy spray.
"Ah!" he screamed in pain, both hands snapping up to his face, scrubbing and pawing at his eyes. "Fucking bitch!"
Diego stumbled around the doorway with one hand covering his face and the other groping aimlessly for anything that could help him, but I was already backpedalling, nearly tripping over the front step and hightailing it back the truck as fast as my feet could carry me.
When I was safely locked back inside Caleb's truck, my eyes shot to the front door and found Diego slouched down in the doorway, still scrubbing furiously at his eyes and screaming obscenities my way. Pure adrenaline was the only thing keeping me moving right now and I fumbled to back out of the driveway, screeching the tires and everything.
My chest was still heaving. My lungs felt like they were about to collapse I was coughing so violently, but the house was in my rearview mirror right now and that was what really mattered.
I hated that the sight of my house in my rearview mirror made me feel relieved.
I hated that I knew I was going to be afraid to be in my own home now.
I hated what I knew Caleb was going to have to do now.
I hated this fear. I hated this stress. And, somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I knew I hated this life.
There was just nothing I could do about it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Outlaw Justice
Caleb
I sped through the parking lot, oblivious to any passers-by, pedestrians, or other vehicles in my way. As I skidded my bike right next to where my truck was parked, my heart skidded to a halt right along with it. Immediately, I was searching for one thing and one thing only.
She wasn't there. Not in the truck. Not in the parking lot.
That was all I needed to see before I sprinted through the clubhouse's main doors, barreling my way inside, and barely cognizant of anything less than two feet in front of me. Dom was in
Today was going to be a good day. I could feel it. Besides, how could today possibly be any worse than yesterday?
Caleb was still dozing next to me and sleepily slung an arm around my waist to tug me back under his arm.
I really didn't want to leave, but the sooner I got to the studio and took care of business, the sooner I could get back to Caleb. So, I made a quick dash into our second bedroom, which now doubled as my home studio, grabbed my current project off the easel, then I grabbed a banana and a granola bar for the road and was out the door.
A little over six hours later, I pulled Caleb's truck into our driveway and my heart tugged in my chest at the sight of all that empty concrete. No Harley in sight.
Separation anxiety. That's what this was.
Separation anxiety? More like codependency. You're a complete loser. And a goner. Totally a goner.
Just as I absentmindedly put my key in the front door, I froze. That little bit of force pushed the whole door open and a cold chill ran down my spine. Caleb always tripled-checked all the locks on our doors before he left the house. I was already backing up, my project dropping to the ground as terror spiked through me and my fingers flying into my purse for something I could use to defend myself, when a figure hovered in the doorway and stilled.
Everything seemed to happen in a blur.
I saw a black leather cut, dark eyes, dark hair, and when his face finally came into clearer view, it only took me a second to place where I'd seen him before.
The patch-over party.
Diego Padilla.
We both moved at the same time. He jerked forward, flinging the door open at the exact moment I found my can of pepper spray. He blinked, momentarily stunned into immobility by what was in my hand and that gave me the opening I needed to flick the safety guard and cover the bastard head to shoulders in that white, foamy spray.
"Ah!" he screamed in pain, both hands snapping up to his face, scrubbing and pawing at his eyes. "Fucking bitch!"
Diego stumbled around the doorway with one hand covering his face and the other groping aimlessly for anything that could help him, but I was already backpedalling, nearly tripping over the front step and hightailing it back the truck as fast as my feet could carry me.
When I was safely locked back inside Caleb's truck, my eyes shot to the front door and found Diego slouched down in the doorway, still scrubbing furiously at his eyes and screaming obscenities my way. Pure adrenaline was the only thing keeping me moving right now and I fumbled to back out of the driveway, screeching the tires and everything.
My chest was still heaving. My lungs felt like they were about to collapse I was coughing so violently, but the house was in my rearview mirror right now and that was what really mattered.
I hated that the sight of my house in my rearview mirror made me feel relieved.
I hated that I knew I was going to be afraid to be in my own home now.
I hated what I knew Caleb was going to have to do now.
I hated this fear. I hated this stress. And, somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I knew I hated this life.
There was just nothing I could do about it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Outlaw Justice
Caleb
I sped through the parking lot, oblivious to any passers-by, pedestrians, or other vehicles in my way. As I skidded my bike right next to where my truck was parked, my heart skidded to a halt right along with it. Immediately, I was searching for one thing and one thing only.
She wasn't there. Not in the truck. Not in the parking lot.
That was all I needed to see before I sprinted through the clubhouse's main doors, barreling my way inside, and barely cognizant of anything less than two feet in front of me. Dom was in
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