The Biker's Heart by Meg Jackson Page B

it was called “the Clamhouse” because it was someplace boys took their girlfriends to have sex. In a fairly conservative town where you couldn’t get a hotel room if you were under 18 and most fathers had shotguns locked in their desk, sometimes you needed someplace to get a little privacy.
    Of course, I’d never been taken to the Clamhouse for anything other than a post-football game party, but I knew there were mattresses and blankets and things inside, and that it would be – probably – the best place to hide out. We were driving aimlessly, and quickly, through my neighborhood. I tried to make my brain work enough to figure out the directions.
    “ Take a left here,” I said, knowing that we needed to get on the highway. Boon followed my directions and soon we were zooming through the city, headed towards the country. I looked out the window (the stolen window) and felt tears returning, pressing against the backs of my eyes.
    “ I need to call my parents,” I whispered, turning to Boon. “This is bad. I stole a car and…and…”
    “ You didn’t steal a car, I stole a car,” Boon said, not making eye contact.
    “ Well, then I assisted you in stealing a car,” I snapped back, my nerves raw. “And my dad is the goddam sheriff, and I’m about to start college, and…and…shit!”
    “ I know, Samantha, I know. Don’t you think I feel guilty enough? Goddammit, I knew I shouldn’t have done this….I shouldn’t have come here! I’m such a fuck up! And now I’ve got you involved…” He slammed his hands against the steering wheel, his shoulders practically next to his ears with all the tension in his body.
    I softened, realizing he was just as unhappy about the situation as I was. And, frankly, he had a lot more to lose; I wasn’t going to get in real trouble, but if Boon got involved with the law…I didn’t know exactly how many skeletons he had in his closet, but I imagined there were quite a few. Reaching out, I gripped one of his hands in mine. His shoulders slowly began to fall, his breathing getting even.
    “ It’s okay, Boon. You’re not…it’s going to be okay. I mean, this is bad, yeah, I mean…really bad. But it’s not your fault. I don’t…I don’t blame you. But…” I trailed off, knowing exactly what I wanted to say but also knowing that saying it would only make Boon angry again.
    I still wanted to go to the cops. It might be risky for Boon, but I thought it was a much better option than trying to hide away at the Clamhouse for who knows how long. I mean, it’s not like the gang was just going to give up so quickly. They’d found him once, and they’d find him again. So what, really, was the point in hiding?
    I considered, for a moment, giving Boon the wrong directions. I could lead him straight to my father’s office. He would have left for the day by then, but everyone there knew me, they’d all want to help.
    It was this thought that brought to my attention something I hadn’t considered before in the frenzy of our escape: my parents. They should be getting home right about now, maybe a little bit later. Would the whole club be there, waiting for them? They’d come home and see the front door broken in and…
    and a tribe of murderous biker dudes in their living room, I thought, the idea bringing a new batch of panic to my heart. If Dad got home first, it might be okay, but Mom…but they’d have to see all the bikes out front and know better than to go inside, right? I mean, they weren’t stupid. But what if they hid the bikes? What if Dad decided to be a hero? What if…
    “ We have to go back. Or to the police,” I said, backtracking on the comfort I’d just tried to provide Boon. There wasn’t time for comfort. I had to get back to my parents. I had to let them know I was okay, and go straight to the police.
    “ Dammit, Samantha, we can’t!” Boon said, as rigid and stressed as ever. He sped up slightly on the highway.
    “ But my parents!”
    “