“Fuck you.”
“Oh you will, don’t worry. We’ll spend lots of quality time together soon.”
A motorcycle sounded in the distance. “That’s my cue, sweet girl. I’m not ready to face your bikers head-on. But know it’s only a matter of time until they go down in flames.”
He released his hold, spun on his heels and jogged away, never sparing her another glance. The blood rushed back into her wrists and her knees threatened to give. She slumped against the car. How did this happen in broad daylight? A few moments later a tiny black sports car burned rubber out of the parking lot.
The rumble of a motorcycle filled her ears and Shooter rounded the corner. Their gazes met and he pulled up in front of her.
“What happened?” he barked.
“Peter happened. The look in his eyes.” She wrapped her hands around her waist. “He wants my head on a pike.”
“Fuck him,” Shooter spat. “Get on. I want you home where I know you’re safe.” She nodded. Mechanically she went through the familiar motions, handing him her purse to place in the saddlebag and mounting the bike. Hell was coming and nothing Shooter said or did would save her from its flames. Locking her arms around his waist, she pressed her face against his cut, inhaling the scent of leather and Shooter as she focused on the man in command of the beast between her legs. Twenty minutes later they stopped at the gas station near his house and filled up.
“I need to hit the head, come in with me.” He held out his hand, and she clutched it, vaguely aware of the members of his crew coming in behind them. Right now he felt like the only lifeboat on a sinking vessel. Scanning the parking lot, she paid close attention to the cars and the people. Inside he headed down the hall and she went to the magazine rack, purchasing a few tabloids for the laughs she desperately needed. Stepping up to the register, she smiled and handed the cashier her card.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s been declined.”
“What? There’s no way.” When it rains it pours.
“I can try it again if you’d like.”
“Please. I literally just checked my account this morning.”
A few moments passed, and the machine beeped angrily. “Same thing. I suggest you contact your bank.” Numb, she moved to the side, pulling her phone from the purse and dialing the number. Punching in her code, she checked her balance.
“At this time you have zero dollars in your checking account.” No. This morning it was twenty thousand. With a flurry of button pressing she checked her savings account. “At this time you have zero dollars in your savings account.” Her entire savings had vanished in the blink of an eye. Voices sounded around her, buzzes in the background she couldn’t focus on. This has to be a mistake. She pressed zero to go back to the menu and rerouted her call to a live person.
“Vista Lago bank, my name is Stacey, how may I help you?”
“Hi Stacey, this is Juliette Moore. I’d like to check my balances.”
“Hi, Ms. Moore, can I get your social security number?”
They want through the song and dance and Stacey confirmed she was flat broke.
“Juliette.” Shooter’s hands on her forearms pulled her back to the present. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“It’s all gone.” Her voice cracked.
“What?”
“All my money.”
“Are you sure?”
“I just checked my balance, zero—all twenty thousan
d—poof.” Opening her hand, she glanced up.
“We’ll go home and get it all sorted out.”
Her head pounded at the thought of phone calls and paperwork. “Oh god.” Snapping out of her stupor, she fumbled with her purse and pulled out her credit card, repeating the process.
“You have no funds left on your card.” The phone dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor. Her two-thousand-dollar credit limit was maxed. Hyperventilating, she allowed Shooter to lead her outside, away from gaping patrons.
“He took everything.”