Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(108)

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!"

"They'll be fine on their own, Samantha! They're adults. I mean, your  dad is the damn sheriff! He'll have the police there in a heartbeat, and  it'll all be over soon, and then we can come back. I swear, Samantha,  just trust me on this," he said, clearly trying to sound calm in a  categorically un-calm situation. I shook my head at him, wide-eyed.

"What the hell are you talking about? Then let's just go to the police  station! I mean, if they're going to get involved anyway … "

"Samantha, I can't go to the police, okay? I mean, first off, you're  right, this is a stolen fucking car. And second off, I don't want to rot  in a jail cell for the rest of my life. Trust me, these guys are slick,  they have ways of throwing you under the bus when they need to. If  anyone found out it was me … well, I'm pretty fucked as it is, but I'd  just be more fucked after that."

I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes and trying to still my racing  heart. I needed a minute. I needed an hour. Several hours. I needed to  think. Everything Boon was saying made sense … sort of. In some ways, he  was right. In other ways, I didn't think he could be more wrong. Opening  my eyes again, I saw we were nearing the exit that led to the  Clamhouse. Or, I could let him drive a few more miles down and turn off  at the section of town where the police headquarters were …

"You want the next exit," I muttered, barely loud enough to be heard.  After everything, I figured I could at least give Boon the benefit of  the doubt. Maybe he really did know what he was doing. Maybe if we just  hid out there for a few hours, a day at most, we could come home and his  dad would be in jail and it would all be behind us … maybe we could  explain the car...return it to the owners … it was kind of a life-or-death  situation, after all, and as long as we brought it back …

And, I mean, my father was the sheriff. It wasn't like you could just  break into the sheriff's house and not have every cop in a hundred-mile  radius on your tail. And Dad wouldn't play the hero, I knew. I hoped.  And Mom would see the bikes and just drive right on by and call the  police herself and …

I looked at Boon, studying his profile. Is he worth all this shit? The  thought surprised me. Of course, he wasn't, really, was he? I mean, he  was a great bed buddy, and I still found myself consumed by desire for  him, and he was really funny and smart, and the way he looked at me  sometimes made me feel so … so precious. Cared for. Understood. But was he  worth grand theft auto, and a gang of marauding bikers chasing you?

Was any boy worth that?

Alicia would say that he absolutely was worth it, and that once this all  blew over it would make a fantastic story. She'd probably enjoy it  while it was happening, anyway. She'd love to be speeding down the road  in a stolen car with a heartthrob like Boon, on the run. Becky, of  course, would slap me across the face and drag me home by my ear. I  sighed. I wished they were in the backseat. I wished I could just call  them. I thought of my phone sitting on the kitchen counter, where I'd  left it.         

     



 

Panic gripped my heart again. If those guys found it … it had all my  contact info inside, including Becky and Alicia's numbers and addresses.  What if they went after them? The more I thought of all the things that  could possibly happen, the more I felt my heart crawling up towards my  throat, anxiety flooding my nerves. I was shaking again.

Boon looked over at me, and noticed how my hands were trembling. He  slowed the car and placed one hand over mine. It was so big compared to  my little hands … it felt safe, but in my mind I had to wonder how safe I  could really be. I mean, Boon was clearly as afraid of his father as I  was … if not more.

"I'm sorry, Samantha. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to drag you into  this. I … fuck! I'll never have a single goddam good thing. He'll make  sure of it. Until he's buried in the ground, he'll never let me have  anything good," Boon said, his grip on my hand tightening. "You don't  deserve this. I don't deserve you."

The car was slowing more and more as he spoke.

"Don't stop, Boon. Let's just get there and get safe and we can figure  it out," I said, looking at him in the rearview mirror. He looked  pained. Genuinely hurt. I knew I cared about him, then, because I would  have done or said anything to take that look off his face. It hurt me to  see.

The car picked up speed again and I directed him to a deserted country  road. The Clamhouse was about twenty miles or so down the road, which  was potholed and bumpy. We rode in silence, watching the suburbs give  way to forest as the houses grew fewer and far between. Finally, we  arrived at the shuttered, boarded-up farmhouse. There was another car  parked out front. My heart skipped a beat; fuck, I thought, this better  just be some teenagers.

"Who else knows about this place?" Boon said, a hint of suspicion in his  voice. While I couldn't say I blamed him, it also hurt me a little bit  to hear that hesitation to trust me.

"Just kids, I think. I mean, maybe the cops know, but they never come  out here. Kids just use it for parties and … and stuff," I said as Boon  parked and unplugged the wires, killing the engine. I got out, slamming  the door loudly.

"Wait, Samantha, are you sure it's safe?" Boon asked, leaning out the open door but not getting out of the car.

"Well, unless someone in your gang drives a Kia Sentra and knows that  this is where teenagers go to have sex, then yeah, I'm pretty sure it's  safe," I said over my shoulder as I approached the front of the house.  There was a broken window that people usually used to get in. I heard  the car door slam as Boon got out, then felt his presence behind me. I  peered through the window; it was dark inside, too dark to see anything.

"Let me go first," Boon said. I heard a swishing sound; turning to him, I  saw he'd pulled a switchblade and had it open, ready to go if the  situation called for it. Seeing the blade reminded me of just what sort  of shit we were in. There are murderous bikers ransacking my house, I  stole a car, and now I'm breaking into the Clamhouse to hide, I thought,  tallying up the unbelievable chain of events that had led me there. I'm  Samantha Perkins, I'm 18, and I start school in September. I work at an  ice-cream shop. I'm not a virgin anymore. I own fourteen snow globes.

For a bunch of things that were true, none of those thoughts made any  sense when put next to each other. This couldn't really be my life.

I was snapped out of my reverie by the sound of Boon hoisting himself  through the broken window. He disappeared then reappeared on the other  side, and I watched him walk into the darkness. My heart sped up once  more as I tried to make out his figure amongst the shadows. There was  the sound of movement, then a banging noise.