As soon as I finish talking to Prez, I stomp over to Striker, who’s waiting by the door to the truck stop’s bathroom. Stephanie still hadn’t come out. I’ve given her two minutes, and it had been at least five.
Stephanie. No. Emma.
I’ve known the woman for three weeks, and I still can’t get used to her name. My brain still wants to call her by the fake-ass name she’d given Dee when she’d started working at the strip club.
“What the fuck is taking her so long?” I growl.
Striker shrugs. “Since when have you ever known a woman to hurry in the john?”
I shake my head at my best friend, not amused by his typical wisecrack. We don’t have time for her to fuck around in there.
If we’d left the clubhouse a few minutes later than we had, the cops would have caught us. I hadn’t seen any sign of them on the way out here, and we’d covered our tracks. We were three hours from Diamondback now, and we’d doubled back and taken less traveled roads all the way out here, but there’s still a chance they might realize where we are and catch up to us. The longer we stay here, the more likely they’ll find us. With a van that’s hiding two crates full of illegal firearms in the back.
Not to mention, Emma has already proven that she’ll try to escape given the opportunity. I don’t trust that she wouldn’t try to pull a fast one on me now. Especially considering what I had to do to her right before we left Casper’s.
I thump the door a couple of times with my boot. “Hurry it up in there, woman!”
No response, and I don’t hear any movement from inside.
Over at the gas station, an old woman making her way to her car gives me a scandalized look. Striker snickers. I ignore her and jab the key for the bathroom into the lock, shoving the door open. The old bat harrumphs and scrambles into her car, peeling out of the lot.
“Spider, she better get her ass in gear, or I’ll leave you both behind,” Dragon bellows from across the lot.
I glance over at the gas pumps. Pip is topping up his tank. As a prospect, he’s the last in line, which means we’ll have to roll out as soon as he’s done.
Though I’ve known Dragon for most of my life, I’m still not sure if he’d really take off without me. It’s my job to protect the club and see that those guns get to where they’re going, but on the other hand, he isn’t one for posturing. Anyone who knows him knows not to test his patience.
“Emma?” I call, stepping into the bathroom.
Still no reply. I don’t see her, so she must be in one of the stalls.
Then it hits me. It’s too quiet in here.
“Fuck.” I march across the room to the stalls. Both doors are part way open. I shove the doors wide. The stalls are empty.
She’s not here.
“Fuck!”
“What’s going on?” Striker sticks his head in, but I hardly hear him.
I go around the second stall to the rear of the bathroom. The door there stands wide open.
Anger pounds through me, and I rush outside, but I already know I won’t find her out there.
The back area outside the bathroom is empty. Nothing out here but a few dumpsters.
My fists ball up. Equal parts fury with myself for not keeping a closer eye on her, and fury with her for bolting causes my heart to bang against my ribs. When I get my hands on her…
Back inside, I find Striker looking in the stalls.
“Don’t tell me,” he drawls. “Bitch ran off.”
Tires squeal outside. I race out back with Striker on my heels. Around the side of the building, a large black van is peeling out of the lot and down the road. It’s the only vehicle out here.
In less than half a second, two obvious scenarios race through my head. Emma either convinced the driver to give her a ride out of here, or the driver had opened the back and she’d crawled in without him knowing. Either way, he’s driving off with what’s mine.
At my side, Striker mutters something, but again, I don’t hear him. I’m already running toward the front lot for my bike.
Usually, I’m a pretty calm guy. In my line of work, losing your head gets you dead. I can face down the worst scum in the world without batting an eye