Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
As she finished, a Bronco rolled up, and a prospect hopped out. Beaner was his name. “Need me to take your bike back to the clubhouse?”
“Devan!” The girl called out. I turned, and she had her eyes on Beaner, a wide-eyed, hopeful look on her face. That look told me this girl was as naive as they came. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I have to have my purse and suitcase. I swear you won’t have to see me again, just please. I need my ID and my insurance card. The bank card, too.”
Beaner did a double take, his eyes going wide. Yeah. Kid knew her. Then he schooled his expression, trying to pretend he didn’t know she was talking to him.
“I’ll park it in your usual spot,” he said, completely ignoring the girl.
“You gonna answer the lady?” I gave Beaner my most intimidating expression. I would most definitely be getting to the bottom of this, but judging by what I’d witnessed so far, I was beginning to believe the girl wasn’t acting.
“Huh? I thought she was talking to you.” Beaner wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer and couldn’t lie for shit.
“My name ain’t Devan,” I said, taking a step toward Beaner. He took a step back.
“Mine ain’t either. Who knows who she’s talking to? She’s probably crazy. I mean, look at her. Obviously lives on the streets. I bet she ran away from a mental hospital or something.”
The girl gasped. It wasn’t loud, just a sharp intake of air. I turned my head and saw the sharp look of disbelief on her face. “I’m not asking for anything that’s not already mine, Devan. My purse and suitcase were in your truck when you left. I assumed it was a mistake, but then I wasn’t expecting to be left in upstate New York when we left from Miami. I need my purse because it has all my identification in it.”
I looked back at Beaner. The kid was sputtering, obviously trying to come up with something to say. When he glanced my way, his eyes got wide, panic taking hold.
“Told you she’s crazy,” Beaner said. “I have no idea what she’s talkin’ about.”
The girl lifted her chin. “I’m not crazy! We met in Miami six months ago at a party my father was hosting to raise money for foster families in the Miami/Dade area. You told me you were raised as a foster kid, and that you hoped to be a foster parent someday, too. I was supposed to ride home with my dad, but you talked me into going out for a drink.” Her lip trembled now, and her eyes filled with tears she tried to hold back. “Dad’s car ran off a cliff on the way home. I’d have been killed, too, if I’d gone with him. You said it was fate. That we were meant to be together!”
I remembered the event the girl was talking about. From what I recalled, it was determined he was run off the road. No one was charged, but there were speculations money was the motive. The man’s wife had died from cancer several years before, and his daughter was the only one named in the will, but she’d disappeared…
“Emmanuell Stanton?” Dazz voiced what I was trying to wrap my mind around. The girl looked from one of us to the other, her eyes wide with fear and indecision. Then she gave a small nod. Like she wanted to lie but couldn’t commit to it.
“Everybody in the fuckin’ state’s been lookin’ for you for months.” And she’d turned up on the doorstep of an MC. Right. No problems there. None at all. My gaze snapped back to Beaner and rage enveloped me. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. “You little fuck!”
Beaner didn’t even reply, just dashed out of the compound gate like the hounds of hell were after him. Well, they were about to be. I nodded to Dazz, who growled before hopping on his bike and taking off after Beaner. The chase didn’t last long. In fact, it took Dazz only seconds to catch up, then he spun the bike around, taking Beaner down with his back tire. Given the way Beaner squealed, I was pretty sure something was broken. That was a problem for later. Right now, Salvation’s Bane had a more pressing fucking problem.
“Come with me,” I said, holding out my hand. “You need food, a bath, clothes, and about twenty-four hours of sleep in a soft, warm bed.”
“W-what’s going to h-happen to me?”
“You? Nothing. We’re gonna get you fed and clothed, then you’re gonna go see Doc and make sure both you and the baby’er good. After that, we’ll see. Do you have someone you need to contact? A next of kin? A lawyer?”