Free Jerry's Passion: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 6) by Chiah Wilder

car, like he unlocked the doors. “Get in the car. Now.”
    She bolted through the space between the two cars a few yards away from hers. When she crossed behind his vehicle, she saw the reverse lights right before the car moved, nearly hitting her.
    “Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” someone from the parking lot yelled. Then there were several other students, who’d seen what he’d done and ran over, yelling and trying to make him stop. His car sped off, the tires squealing as he rounded the curve, and then he was gone.
    “Are you okay?” A guy she recognized from her Spanish class stared at her.
    Shaken, Kylie nodded. “That guy’s a jerk. Did anyone get his license plate number?”
    “I didn’t see one,” her classmate said, and the other students gathered around her nodded in agreement. “You need to report this. I’m Luke. I’m in your Spanish class.”
    “I’m Kylie. I recognize you.”
    “If security wants to talk to me, I’m in Highland Hall.” The other students gave her their information, each one eager to tell security about the man in the purple Corvette who’d tried to hurt her.
    After she’d filed her report with security, Kylie made her way to her building, the grocery bags still dangling from her wrists. She wondered if she should go home for the long weekend, after all. What if he tries to hurt me? He seems to know my every move, so won’t he know Taylor won’t be with me and I’ll be alone? She really didn’t want to run away, like a victim; she should be able to live her life and not let some fucking asshole bully and intimidate her. By the time she reached her room and opened the door, she’d made her decision to stay on campus. Security promised they’d keep an eye on her throughout the weekend, and if she saw him again, she’d call and tell her dad. Then he could make the boogeyman with the flashy sunglasses disappear.

Chapter Eight
    H e hurled the chair against the wall, bits of plaster flaking off. He’d slipped up. The six-pack of beer he’d bought the previous night crashed against the wall with a thud, green glass shards flying as yellow liquid trickled down the white walls. Ripping the sheets off the mattress, he tore them with his hands, spittle forming in the corners of his mouth. With flaring nostrils, he toppled the nightstand and smashed the lamp, and was in the middle of putting his fist through the television screen when a loud bang sounded on his door.
    “Management. Open up.”
    Standing erect, he inhaled and exhaled deeply several times, even as the door groaned. “I’m okay. I just had an epileptic seizure. I knocked some things down, but I’m straightening it out. Thanks for your concern.” His hands clenched into fists as he placed his ear against the door.
    “You trashing the room?”
    “No, of course not. I told you, I have a medical condition. I had a seizure, but it’s passed. I just need to lie down.” The man could hear the manager’s feet shuffling on the concrete. “Thanks again for your concern.” The smoothness had returned to his voice.
    “Uh… sure. If you need help, call the front desk.”
    He waited several minutes by the door, making sure the jerk had left, then padded over to the bed and sat on it. He’d slipped up. The sweet bitch had snaked her way into his blood. He’d become careless—witnesses in the university parking lot and garnering attention at the motel. The brown-eyed man ran his long fingers through his wavy, black hair. He was too wrapped up in her, and her lavender scent drifting around him whenever he approached her was making him sloppy. How the fuck does she have such an effect on me? This isn’t the way it’s supposed to play out.
    For the past eight months, his every waking moment had been spent planning how he’d make the president of the Insurgents suffer. Two simple goals drove him: make Banger pay for what he’d done, and make the president’s life a living hell. The black-haired man had