the door and leave them unlaced.
“Bye,” Chloe or Jessica or whatever the fuck her name is says.
I don’t bother saying goodbye in return. I take my jacket off the hook, shrug it on, and head out the door, slamming it shut. It’s still fucking raining, but I don’t care.
I want the storm to wash away whatever the hell is wrong with me, because I feel like I’m drowning. Either wash me away or set me free. I can’t swim like this anymore.
Tossing one leg over my bike, I crank it, then slide my helmet on. I don’t bother buckling it under my chin. I fly out of the lot, slinging mud all over their car as I leave. I probably did the damn thing a favor. The bike slips across the wet sand; it takes some direction to make sure she doesn’t topple over. When I get to the end of the dirt road, I don’t even stop. I crank the throttle and speed down the road. I’m about ten minutes from the clubhouse.
The only thing I have to do is make it back in one piece.
For Daphne.
The rain screams, echoing the sounds of a banshee in agony. The wind cuts across to the left and my bike dances with it for a second before I right it.
The driveway to the clubhouse is hard to see this late, but muscle memory takes over as I flip on my blinker and head down the road. Reaper finally fixed all the damn potholes. Not that the fix will matter after this storm. The damn potholes will be back.
When I get to the gate, Braveheart sees who it is and lets me in immediately. Poor kid. He needs to be inside where it is warm, but he refuses to leave his post.
He gives me a wave and I head under the awning where all the bikes are parked to get them out of the rain. I cut the engine off, already missing the vibration between my legs as they tingle. I take my helmet off and place it on the seat as I dismount.
I pass Mercy’s bike and glare at it, wishing I was disrespectful enough to kick it over so it hits the ground, maybe breaking his mirror. Maybe I’ll put sugar or sand in his gas tank one day. I’ll just have to wait and see how I feel after I figure out what he wants with my Comet. I dig my boots into the steps, pounding up them until I get to the front door. I shake my hair out and wipe my boots on the ‘welcome’ mat and then pull my jacket off. I shake the leather out too, so I don’t drip water all over the floor, then bang on the door so someone lets me in.
The small window opens in the middle of the door, and Slingshot’s eyes widen when he sees me. When he opens the door, he throws himself at me, wrapping me in a hug. “Man, where the hell have you been? Do you know how worried we were?” He pulls back and analyzes my face. “Why are you bleeding? What happened? Why didn’t you text me? Who are we killing? Did you kill them already? Do you need help burying the body?”
He throws question after question at me, but there is only one person I’m interested in talking to tonight, and she’s on the couch, reading a book with her legs tucked under her. I scan the couch to see what the problem is and there is Mercy.
Sitting there. Ankle crossed over the other the knee, and his sights are set on her.
Again.
I push Slingshot to the side and take a step forward, bringing in mud and rain. Daphne unsticks her nose from the book when she hears the pound of boots against the floor. Her eyes light up and her shoulders deflate like, the weight of the world is lifted off her shoulders.
Mercy doesn’t even notice me. I don’t like that he is studying her. He scoots across the sofa to get closer and leans into Daphne. I can’t hear what he says, but it has her sliding her legs out from under herself and trying to scoot over. And then his hand lands on her bicep. Her blue eyes land on mine and are as big as the moon.
She has no idea what to do.
But I do.
I push by Skirt next, careful not to hit him too hard since Dawn is