Gypsy king

I cracked my knuckles. The anticipation of a long overdue fight brought back a familiar feeling I’d locked away when we’d shut down the fights at the clubhouse. Sometimes I really missed the fight. The aggression. The win. To step in the ring and leave it all behind.

“I’ll take you to di

“That’s okay. I have leftovers that need to be finished. See you tomorrow.”

With a parting hug, she crossed the garage for the office door. But before she disappeared, I stopped her. “Pres?”

“Yeah?”

“About Bryce.”

She gave me a small smile. “You like her.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. I like her.

And I felt guilty for getting her arrested. I felt guilty for kicking her out of the garage the way I had last night. I’d told myself it was the best thing.

Sure as fuck didn’t feel that way.

Pres waved, giving me a small smile. “Night.”

“Night.”

I stayed in the garage for a while after I heard Presley’s car drive away. There was plenty of work to be done, but the gnawing in my gut kept stealing my focus. Finally, I gave up and left.

I wasn’t sure how, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight until I made this right with Bryce. Or at least tried.

My first stop was her house. All the lights were off so I picked the lock to her garage, only to find it empty. Next, I hit up the newspaper. That woman was so damn driven, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d gotten out of jail and gone straight to work to write a story about the experience. But the newspaper’s windows were dark too and the parking lot was empty. I checked the gym. The grocery store. The coffee shop.

Nothing.

It had been a few hours since she’d been arrested at the school, giving me plenty of time to get out of there before she’d realized I’d ripped that page out of the yearbook. The cops should have let her go by now. She’d get a slap on the wrist and a lecture from Marcus. Nothing more. That should have taken an hour, tops. So where was she?

My stomach rolled as I drove past the high school and spotted her car. It was in the same place it had been earlier.

Meaning Bryce was still in jail.

“Shit.” I raced for the police station.

I pictured her sitting on a cot in a cell, fuming mad. She’d probably plotted my murder ten times over.

The station’s parking lot was dead. A few patrol cars were parked along one side of the building as I pulled up along the front curb, shutting off my bike to wait.

And wait.

An hour and a half passed while I messed around on my phone. I’m sure the surveillance cameras and the officer watching them were wondering what I was doing, but no one came out. And no one went in.

Shit. Was she here? I hadn’t checked her parents’ place. Maybe they’d come to pick her up and she’d gone there. I checked the hour on my phone for the hundredth time as the sun began to set, the evening light dimming. I huffed and swore under my breath just as a familiar yellow cab pulled into the space behind me.

“Hey, Rick.” I waved and walked up to his driver’s side window.

“Dash. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting to pick someone up. You?”

“Same.”

Rick was likely starting his shift. He ran his own cab company—Uber wasn’t a thing here yet—and he made a decent living hauling drunk people home. Hell, he’d collected me on more than a few occasions.

What were the chances that there was more than one person needing to be picked up from the police station in Clifton Forge on a Tuesday well before the fun stuff began at the bars? Slim.

“You here for Bryce Ryan?”

“Uh, yeah. I think that was the name dispatch called in for me.”

“Here.” I dug into my pocket, getting my wallet, and pulled out two twenties to hand over. “I’ve got her.”

He nodded and smiled as he took the cash. “Great. Thanks, Dash.”

“See you around.” I knocked on the hood before getting out of his way. His taillights were barely off the lot when the front door to the police station opened and Bryce came rushing out.

“Hey, wait!” She waved for the cab but Rick was already gone. “Damn it.”

Bryce ran a hand through her hair, her shoulders slumping. They straightened when her eyes landed on me waiting at the base of the steps.

“I’ll give you a ride.”

“No.” She started down the steps, her footfalls heavy. “I’ll walk.”

“Come on.” I met her as she reached the last step, her angry eyes level with mine. “I’ll take you home.”

“Stay away from me. You got me arrested for trespassing. I was handcuffed. I had to have my mug shot and fingerprints taken. I’ve been in jail.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” She tried to sidestep me, but I moved too fast, blocking her escape.

“Bryce,” I said gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you really that afraid I’ll find something?”

“Yes.”

My answer—and the truth in that single word—caught her off guard.

She recovered quickly. “I don’t understand you. You come to my house and kiss me. Then you fix my dad’s press and ask for a truce. We have sex. You kick me out. You follow me to the school and break in yourself. Then you call the cops on me. It’s inferno or ice. I’m done.”

“Look, it doesn’t make sense to me either.” From the day she’d come to the garage, my brain and emotions had been all twisted. “All I know is I can’t seem to stay away from you even though I know I should.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Try harder.”

“Let me take you to your car.”

“On that?” She pointed to my motorcycle. “No.”

“Scared?” I asked, baiting her.

Her eyes narrowed. “Never.”

“Please. I fucked up earlier. I’m sorry. Let me at least get you to your car.”

“No.” She wasn’t going to budge, so I decided to appeal to her logic.

“There’s no one else. You’ll have to walk miles and it’s getting dark. Rick’s probably on his next call already. I’m guessing you didn’t call your parents for a reason. Come on. It’s just a ride.”

A growl came from her throat. It sounded a lot like fine.

This time when she attempted to stomp past me, I let her past. She went to the bike, her eyes taking in the gleaming chrome and shiny black paint.

I met her there and swung a leg over. “Hop on.”

If she was unsure, she didn’t let it show. She climbed on behind me, shifting back and forth until she was steady. Then she wrapped her arms around my waist, trying not to hold on too tight.

The way her arms felt around me, the way the inside of her thighs hugged my hips, squeezing around every turn, was nearly as good as it had felt lying on top of her in the garage. The drive to the high school wasn’t long enough.

My cock swelled as we rode. Another few miles and it would have been impossible to ignore, but we pulled into the school’s lot and the second I stopped, she swung off the bike. The spell broke.

She went right for the door of her car, digging the keys from her purse and refusing all eye contact.

“Bryce.” I shut off the bike’s engine so she could hear me, so she could hear the sincerity in my words. “I’m sorry.”

“You told me not to trust you, and I should have listened.”

“Here’s the thing. I want you to trust me.”

“So you can fuck me over?” She spun around, her eyes blazing. “Or just fuck me, period?”

“So we can find out the truth. So we can learn who really killed Amina.”

“I. Don’t. Need. Your. Help.”

“No, you don’t.” I ran a hand through my hair. “But maybe . . . maybe I need yours.”