“The fuck is this?” a man asks, gun in one hand, a leather jacket on his shoulders. I can't see his face because my head is spinning and my vision's blurring from the sudden stop. Could've been so much worse, I tell myself but Royal's still screaming from his end of the line and … wait, why does that man have a gun in his hand?
“Call 911,” I say, worried about somebody else coming around that corner and hitting us.
“I'm on my way, Lyric,” Royal says, but I can barely hear him over the rushing sound of wind and the roar of an engine. Is he on his phone while he's riding? How does that even work? “Hold tight, love.”
The man at the driver's side door reaches down and unbuckles my seatbelt.
“There's a woman in here,” he calls out. “This is definitely McBride's truck, but I don't know who the fuck this is.” A big hand grips my shoulder and shakes me. “Hey you, you Royal's old lady or something?” Old lady? My eyes go wide and I try my best to focus on the guy's face. He's got dark hair and a long beard, but I don't recognize him. Is he one of Royal's guys? If he were, would he really be asking me that?
“Doesn't matter,” a second voice says. I look up, but all I can see is a cracked windshield and sand. Lots and lots of sand. Fucking dunes. “Bring her with us. We gotta get these trucks out of here before somebody calls the cops.” The first man grunts and climbs up into the truck, shoving me into the passenger seat and grabbing my phone. Without taking a second look at it, he pokes his head out of the truck and chucks it as far as he can. I don't have to look behind me to know that it's tumbling down towards the ocean.
“What are you doing?” I ask, still not quite understanding what's happening here. “We should call the police.” A pair of motorcycles revs up behind us and the man who smashed out my window, gives them a quick hand signal. What are they doing? Why isn't anyone calling the cops? I struggle to sit up straight, my chest aching where the seatbelt snapped tight. I'm going to have some serious bruising to look forward to.
The bearded man starts the truck, leaning over enough that I catch a glimpse at his back. Mile Wide, it says, not Alpha Wolves. And there's a picture of a winding road and a sunset. Ukiah, California. Ukiah? Who the hell are these guys?
I reach down for the door handle, but a rough hand on my arm jerks me back.
“I don't want any trouble, you hear me? You play nice and this'll go a lot easier for you.” I turn slowly and stare at him as he backs up and starts following the black truck down the road. “You Royal's old lady?” I just keep staring at the guy, my heart pounding hard and my throat tightening with fear. Am I … is he kidnapping me?
“Where are we going?” I ask, backing up against the passenger side door. What would happen if I opened it and let myself fall? Would I live? Would I roll off the edge of the cliff and never stop falling? I swallow hard as the man revs the engine and keeps close to the other truck.
He doesn't answer me. Big surprise there.
I swallow hard and try to take him in. He's big, as tall and wide as Royal, but older, definitely older. Still strong though. I can see the big round curves of his biceps. He could probably knock me out with a single well-placed punch to the head.
“You want to tell me why you're driving Royal McBride's truck?” the man asks again, clearly annoyed with my lack of answers.
“He left me the keys,” I whisper and the man laughs, running his hand over his beard as he glances over at me.
“You his girlfriend or something?” The look on his face says that's not necessarily a good thing. What are these guys planning on doing with me?
“I'm his old lady,” I whisper, keeping my hands tucked under my ass. I don't know if … old ladies wear rings or not, but … they must, right? They're still somebody's wife. Janae had one, didn't she? “And he's on his way here.”
“Lucky us,” the man says, getting a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting up. I stare at his face, wondering if I picked the right answer. “Guess he'll be wanting you back then.”
I wait until we turn the corner, heading away from the road and towards Mill Creek, the houses growing farther and farther apart, the trees looming over us.
And then I lift my leg up and kick the man as hard as I can in the face.
The truck swerves dangerously, forcing him to slam on the brakes as I reach for the door handle and pull, intending on dropping straight to the pavement. I figure my riding clothes were made to protect me from a motorcycle accident, so why not this?
A sharp pain in my skull snaps my head back as the man wraps his fingers around my hair and pulls.