Getaway (Restless Motorcycle Club Romance) by Julia Marie

 
     

     
     
    Oh my god. Oh my god!
     
    The ancient Corolla shuddered around me as I pushed it faster than it was comfortable going. The old stalwart was not used to this type of behavior – ordinarily I wasn’t willing to try and push it much above fifty miles an hour, but I drove like the devil was chasing me.
     
    And maybe he is. Oh god.
     
    The man who I had thought I was getting to know – who was considerate and passionate as much as he was dominant and commanding – very well might actually be a criminal mastermind. I looked down at the files that sat on the passenger seat before looking away quickly, as though even just touching them with my eyes was going to cause brimstone to rain down from the sky.
     
    All those men… killed?
     
    There were articles – many of them – attached to the list of men’s names and the instructions that had accompanied it. I need your help in dealing with a problem. There is a list of men attached to this message, as well as payment. I need you to take these men, and make sure that they are never heard from again. I’m sure you will handle this with your usual speed, skill and discretion.
     
    I had absolutely zero experience in this kind of thing beyond what Hollywood had shown me through the years, but there was no other explanation for what I had found. The photocopied note was in Shane’ handwriting, of that I was certain.
     
    A yellow light interrupted my train of thought, and although I was far enough from the intersection to stop in time, with a fearful look backwards I pushed the accelerator to the floor and burst through. A blue Honda that was about to turn into the lane ahead of me screeched to a halt before we collided.
     
    “Fuck!”
     
    I veered out of the way to avoid a collision, time slowing as my right fender just barely edged around the Honda’s protruding bumper. Despite going far faster than I had any right to, I saw the wide open eyes of the older man driving the other car, an expression that was surely mirrored on my own face.
     
    Then time sped back up, and the Honda was rapidly receding from my rear view. My reward was a long series of honks from the driver. I guess I earned those.
     
    Heart pounding, I slowed down to the speed limit. Running away from Shane won’t do me any good if I just go and kill myself.
     
    I hadn’t even stopped to think of a plan; I was operating entirely on instincts and reactions. Was it even safe to go home? Surely Shane knew – or could find out – where I lived. If he truly was a threat, then going home wouldn’t stop him. Not if he could callously order the deaths of men all around the country.
     
    There wasn’t really any other place I could go – I barely had any friends worthy of the label, and my parents lived halfway across the country. As for checking into a hotel or motel to try and lay low, the thought alone nearly made me laugh. My wallet was so light that it could practically float away.
     
    There is one more option.
     
    I could turn to the same people who had put me into this position in the first place. If it wasn’t for their blackmail and threats, I wouldn’t have gone snooping for information on Shane Hamilton and found more than I could handle. It was the least they could do to take care of me now that I’d found what they were looking for.
     
    The carefully folded piece of paper was still in my wallet where I had stuck it after that unfortunate lunch in the cafe – Jesus, was that only yesterday? After months of not having a job and each day blending seamlessly into the next in one big useless blur, the thought that so much could happen in two days was outrageous.
     
    In careful, precise handwriting, the note simply said: When you think you find something useful, call 916-555-0182.
     
    It picked up on the first ring.
     
    “Ah, Miss Maguire, I was expecting your call.” The smooth voice was familiar – the man in the cafe from the day before.
     
    His quick response caught