Page 84 of Rogue's Path

Would bikers work in my next novel? They could be ruthless killers with smoky eyes and… Stop making everything in the world about him. You didn’t come here to see Rogue again. You came here so you don’t end up murdered somewhere.

Though a ruthless motorcycle club that uses rallies to traffic women and guns would be interesting. They fly under the radar for decades until a group of do-gooder bikers try to take them out to save one of the women who has been trafficked.

Vigilante justice for the win.

Is that where this story is coming from? My desire for them to save me, a lone woman in distress.

You can handle this without them. Don’t walk in there feeling desperate. This is a business proposition, nothing else. You have options.

None that involve a permanent solution to my problem.

And there you are again, assuming because they’re bikers they’ll be willing to kill for you.

Stop obsessing and look around.

At what? The trees. Most of which are now completely bare of leaves, except the evergreens. I’m neither an arborist nor a botanist, but they are pretty in a bleak kind of way, especially with the light dusting of snow still on them.

Wait, is that a driveway or an access road for a forest ranger? They definitely need a ranger or six. It’s hard to imagine there’s this much dense woodland so close to Urbium.

Silent Valley has trees, but nothing like these.

The threat of fires would always be an issue if I lived out here. Though trees aren’t really the issue. It’s the underbrush that feeds the fires. That’s why rangers are always doing controlled burns.

There’s another access road. And another one. And another. They must be driveways, but who would want to live out here?

“Is this really where you wanna go?” the cab driver asks.

Huh? I turn my head to look forward. Um, what is that?

The massive chain-link fencing brings back memories from when I visited a few prisons. The big cement building does nothing to detract from that vibe.

Did I get the address wrong? I must have.

A big flag comes into view just as I lift my phone up. That’s the Children of Chaos’ emblem. It’s attached to the wall via stainless steel hatchets, which are insanely cool but also a little terrifying. Who had the strength to drive them into cement? “Yeah, it is.”

“You want me to wait for you? I’ll do it for no charge.”

A smart woman would say yes.

A woman with even the slightest bit of self-preservation would jump on that offer.

If I hadn’t seen them protect us against a group much larger than themselves, I wouldn’t be saying this. “No. I’m fine, but thank you.”

He stops at the gate and turns around, holding out a card. “I’m going to go back to Silent Valley and have an early dinner until about six. If you change your mind, call me.”

I won’t be. “Thank you.” His tip just got tripled. I step out of the car, and men with guns tucked into holsters on their belts appear.

The cabbie is even braver than I thought when he gets out and helps me take my bags out of the trunk.

“Who are you here to see?” A man with a small goatee and a large tattoo of a dragon climbing up his neck steps up to where the gate will open.

“Hello.” I smile at him. “I have an appointment to see Mr. Havoc.”

“No, you don’t.”

“If this is the Children of Chaos’ clubhouse—” That seems like such a childish thing to call it. Like they’re eight-year-old boys making a club in their backyard tree house. “—then yes, I do. Maddox arranged it. Would you please check with his secretary?” Do motorcycle club presidents have secretaries?

“Havoc doesn’t have a secretary. And he doesn’t have an appointment with a nerdy-looking woman.”