Page 81 of Not So Goode

My breath came short.

Head went airy, light, my sense of time shrinking—each moment stretching out.

“Charlie.” I spoke low, held her close, my arm around her waist, tucking her against my side. “Just gotta warn you, babe. Gonna be trouble outside.”

She hissed. “How do you know?”

I shook my head, shrugged. “Just know. I can feel it. That fella back there was awful amused when I said we were leaving. Pair that with the warning the bartender gave us and it doesn’t add up to anything good.”

“So what do we do? We can’t stay here.” She sounded nervous, scared.

“Babe.” I touched my lips to her ear. “Remember how we met?”

She nodded. “I’ll never forget it.”

“So, don’t worry. I got you. We’re cool.”

“What if there are a lot of them?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” We reached the door, and I paused to look her in the eyes. “Couple things, one,do—not—help. Stay outta the way. Don’t call the cops. Don’t panic. Two—don’t be scared. Especially not of me. No matter what you see me do, you do not have a thing to worry about. I’ll always treat you like the queen you are, okay? Three—I’m probably gonna take some hits. I’ll be fine. By now you know I ain’t lived the cushiest life, yeah? I can take a hell of a beating, so don’t worry about me.”

I held her gaze, and she nodded shakily.

“I’m still scared, Crow.”

I smiled. “Darlin’, you’re with me. Igotyou.”

She nodded, lifting her chin. “Okay. I trust you.”

I just hoped that would remain true when this shit show was over—I had a feeling. A bad feeling. One other time I had this feeling, and that ended up being the worst, darkest day of my life. One with lasting consequences.

I opened the door. Shook myself, loosening my muscles, letting my breathing go slow, even, deep. Senses on alert. Scanned the lot as I opened the door, saw trucks now parked around my bike. Men waiting. Glanced to either side before I left the building—all clear. They were waiting at my bike.

If they’d touched my bike, this was gonna get fucking ugly.

The bartender was behind us. “Don’t go out there, man.”

I relaxed my shoulders. “Gotta. Ain’t gonna hide in the damn bar.”

“Your funeral, man.”

“Nope, it’ll be theirs.” I glanced at him. At Charlie. “You strapped?” I asked the bartender.

He nodded, wary. “Yeah, but—”

I gestured at the ring of trucks and bikes around my Indian. “I can handle them, but not if I gotta worry about her.”

He lifted his chin. Reached behind his back and pulled out a Ruger snubnose revolver. “Won’t interfere, but nobody touches your old lady.”

I met his eyes. “I’ll make sure the AzTex are aware of it.”

He nodded—even up here, the name of my MC drew recognition and respect. We were a one-percenter MC, and if you don’t know what that means, best I don’t tell you. I may not have the patch on my cut because I ain’t proud of how I earned it, and don’t want to advertise it, but I do have the one-percent tattoo hidden in my right sleeve.

Charlie grabbed my arm. “I’m your old lady?”

I grinned at her. “If you wanna be.”

She glanced over my shoulder, her smile fading. “I don’t like this, Crow.”