Raw and Dirty(63)

Or at least I think he is.

“What the hell?” A quick glance in the rearview mirror shows me a guy on a bike that I don't recognize, weaving through the narrow side streets with me as I try to puzzle my way out to Royal's house. If I wasn't taking such an erratic route, I wouldn't think anything of it. But I don't know where I'm going and the sharp, sudden turns and circles I'm taking aren't anything that somebody might be copying by accident.

I should've brought my Glock.

That thought scares the shit out of me, enough that I decide that maybe this isn't a good idea. I don't think that Royal would send someone after me, but then why the hell am I being followed?

I take a deep breath to slow down my racing pulse and start back in the direction of my house, my fingers inching into the cup holder and grabbing my phone. Even though I shouldn't, I take a moment to glance down at the screen and find Royal's number.

The call rings straight through to voice mail.

Damn it. Okay, so to the police station then? My house is about six blocks from the Trinidad Police Department, so I keep going, heading back the way I came. When I look in the rearview, my friend's still there, but he's pulled back a little, like he's worried I might've seen him.

There are a million reasons this guy could be trailing me, but most of them aren't any good. God, what have I gotten myself into? The fingers of my left hand tighten around the wheel as I scroll through my phone, trying to find the number for the police department. I have it programmed in there somewhere, but I can't remember if it's under Trinidad police or just police. Ugh. I know I'm probably overreacting, but I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right.

When I glance up in the mirror again, I see that there are two new motorcycles coming up quick behind the first. That can't be good.

I force my eyes back to the road. It's a narrow stretch right here and the drop off down to the beach is quite literally feet away from me. A small swerve and I could drive right into the guardrail … or worse. There are parts here that have no guardrail or still have the old wooden fence that was put in when the city was first founded. Getting it fixed is one of my dad's grand projects, but something that's still in the works.

I find the police department's number at the same moment that a phone call from Royal comes in.

Thank God.

I hit the answer button and suck in a deep breath.

“Please tell me these three guys are yours?” I ask and hate the silence that follows that question. “Royal?”

“Three guys?” he asks me, his voice tight. “The hell are you talking about, Pint-Size?”

“There are three guys on motorcycles following me, Royal. Unless there's another outlaw motorcycle club in town that I don't know about, they must be yours, right?” I glance up in the rearview again and … see that there are two bikes missing. I can see them in the background, one of them on its side, its rider lying in the middle of the road. “Oh my God.”

I recognize the wolf's head on the back of that guy's jacket, an image that definitely isn't reflected on the other guy's back as he hops off his bike and circles the man's still form.

I flick my eyes back to the road.

“Where are you, babe?” Royal asks, his voice verging on the edge of wild panic. “I'm coming to you.”

“I'm driving,” I say as I come up on a big turn, sand dunes on my left, the ocean still gleaming from down below on my right. “Two of the guys are gone. I think one of them crashed. I'm heading towards the police station unless you have something you want to tell me?”

“Stay on the phone with me,” he says and then there's some yelling in the background as he barks orders at somebody. A few seconds later, I can hear the deep growl of a motorcycle engine. “Don't bloody fucking hang up on me, do you understand? Where are you?”

“I'm about two miles north of my place, on Scenic Drive.”

I come around the corner, faster than I should, panic fueling my speed this time.

And there's a big, black truck parked dead center in the middle of the road.

I scream and slam on the breaks, trying to swerve towards the dunes instead of the guard rail. I'm going to hit the truck either way, but I'd rather not go off the cliff.

“Lyric?” Royal's voice is absolutely wild, frenzied and fractured and broken. “What the fuck is happening over there?!”

The tires squeal as the truck fishtails and turns violently, the wheels getting caught on the loose spray of sand that covers the road, pointing the cab directly into the dunes. The impact is hard, knocking the air out of me as the seatbelt catches and the truck comes to a grinding stop, the bed crumpling against the front of the other vehicle.

I hardly have enough time to blink back the dizziness when shattered glass sprays my face, the driver's side window imploding into the cab, a hand reaching inside and jerking the door open.