right here and now. Maybe she’d go into the bathroom to undress. She seemed pretty prim and proper. He got an image of the bathroom door opening…
What the hell was he thinking? Take a woman like this to a dirt-bag motel? Sure, she’d just love the statement that an avocado-green and gold bedspread that hadn’t been washed in twenty years made in conjunction with the orange draperies. Maybe he could take a black light to the place, and she could watch it pick out every bit of jizz that had been spilled.
With what she’d been doing to him all night, he should just leave her here. It was public. He could hear the people talking in line as they waited for their famous hot dogs out in front of the shack. Cars were coming in and out. The lights were bright. She wasn’t really in any danger. She could take her cell phone out of that tiny purse and call a cab. She’d be fine.
His stomach lurched.
Oh, God in heaven. The realization struck him like a baseball bat. He’d been sick when he’d decided to leave the club—as in vomit-all-over-the-bathroom-and-the-alley sick. He’d felt like puking up his guts, right until he’d heard her scream and had gone after her. Then he’d felt fine. Except for his massive hard-on. But when he thought of dumping her—blam. It’s hurling time.
He knew by heart all the stories of how sick Tris had gotten when he’d let Maggie go back to Nevada alone. Or how Drew had felt when Michael had left her in the Florida Keys.
Jesus. She was it; the One his family had been waiting for him to find since he’d hit puberty, the One who was supposed to unlock his magic gene. His Destiny.
Not if he could help it. He didn’t want any of the crap that came with that. The last thing he wanted was to get locked into the life that was destroying his family. It was his life, damn it, even if he wanted to throw it away. And he wasn’t going to go quietly into some pre-planned, fated, sex-based attraction he hadn’t even chosen. Hell, hadn’t arranged marriages gone out with women’s rights? Well, what about his rights? Didn’t he have a right to choose how to live?
He realized he was breathing heavily. He wasn’t even seeing his surroundings anymore. All he could think about was escape. He couldn’t risk being around her any longer. Not if she was what he thought she was. Maybe he wasn’t yet locked into her.
“Excuse me, aren’t you…?”
With a start, he saw that three or four people had sidled around to the back of the hot dog shack. He felt her stiffen behind him.
“Damn it!” he said, opening the throttle. He couldn’t just leave her here. He couldn’t take her to a fancy hotel, or a place like his flophouse either. The urge to protect her surged up from his loins like…like nothing he’d ever felt before. The bike jerked forward, making the inquisitive intruders jump back.
“Where are we going?” she yelled over the roar of the engine, panic in her voice.
There was one safe place to take her, damn her and him and the whole fucking world.
“My parent’s house,” he yelled back as he headed east to pick up the 101 Freeway.
CHAPTER FIVE
‡
At the base of the freeway entrance, he stopped the bike. Greta was a mass of nerves. This whole night had been so freaking weird. She knew she should probably scream and run away. At least get off the bike. Maybe she could flag down a cop if she could find one before some unsavory character found her. She could call Jax and tell her to get her ass out of bed with Derek and come to the rescue. If Jax had her phone on. Maybe she was desperate enough to call Bernie. And stand on this deserted freeway entrance and wait for Jax or Bernie to get here? But it wasn’t deserted. What was that movement in the shadows under the ramp? Oh, great. She’d be waiting next to a homeless camp at one in the morning. Just dandy.
The Ghost lifted a booted leg over the handlebars of the bike, and went around to unstrap his saddlebags. He pulled
Barbara Samuel, Ruth Wind