“Time to go, brat,” Ghost insisted, taking her by the arm and steering her through the crowd. He led her out to his bike, and they headed down the road.
Jessie laid her head down on Ghost’s back and held on tight. Surprisingly, she dozed off. Also surprisingly, she didn’t fall off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A few miles from the Omaha Clubhouse, Ghost spotted a cheap motel and slowed to turn in. Just as he was making the turn across lanes and into the drive, a Cadillac with an old man driving roared out. Ghost swerved to avoid him, but the old man clipped his back tire, and Ghost lost control and laid the bike down. When he did, they slid about ten feet across the parking lot.
When they went down, Jess slid clear of the bike, but it landed on Ghost’s leg. He quickly scrambled to lift the six hundred pound bike off of where it had his leg pinned. As he did so, he twisted to see where Jess was and if she was okay. He called out to her. “Jessie! You okay?”
She didn’t respond right away, but he saw her roll over slowly and sit up. He yanked his leg free and scrambled to his feet, moving quickly to her side, favoring his left leg.
“Babe, are you hurt?” he asked, squatting down next to her.
She leaned to one side, her hand going to her hip and thigh, and wincing. “My side.”
Ghost rolled her, his hand pulling up her shirt and jacket to look. The skin was fine. Then he moved down to her hip and thigh, and he could see that when t
hey slid across the pavement, her shorts had been pushed up and exposed the skin between the bottom hem of her shorts and where the chaps started. There was about a three-inch scrape on her skin.
“Fuck, babe. I’m sorry.”
She struggled to sit up.
“You’re hurt. Just stay down.”
The manager of the motel came running out of the office.
“Are you okay?”
Ghost glanced up at the man. “I’m good. She’s hurt.”
“Do you want me to call 911?”
“No, please. I’m fine,” Jessie begged.
“You sure, babe?” Ghost asked her, frowning.
“It’s just a scrape.”
“There’s a first-aid kit in the office. It really should be cleaned up, ma’am.”
Ghost looked up at the man. “Yeah, that’d be good. We were pulling in to get a room. You got one?”
“Yeah, got one left, the handicapped room, first floor. Please, come in the office. Are you sure you don’t want to report this?”
“An old man in a Caddy hit us. He took off. He’s long gone by now. Nothin’ the cops can do about it now but file a report, and that’s a waste of time for all of us.”
The man nodded and glanced over to where Ghost’s bike still lay on its side in the middle of the parking lot. “Let’s get her inside, and I’ll help you with your bike.”
“Thanks, man.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were checked into a nearby ground floor room, Ghost’s bike parked outside the door. Luckily, the accident had just bent the passenger foot peg, scraped some paint and damaged his taillight. Yeah, he was pissed, but those were easy fixes. He was just thankful Jessie hadn’t been hurt more seriously. Especially when he noticed the scratches on her helmet as he removed it and set it on the dresser.
He guided her to sit on the bed and tossed the first-aid kit that the manager had given him onto the bed next to her. The man had offered to help her, but Ghost had declined. No way in hell was he letting the man put his hands on Jess, especially given that the area that needed attention happened to be on her lower hip.
She shrugged out of the jacket Ghost had given her, dropping it down to the bed. Ghost grabbed it and tossed it aside; thankful she’d had it on. It had saved her from a far worse injury, protecting her tender skin from the asphalt.
He knelt down in front of her and began removing her boots, cursing silently to himself that he should have seen the Cadillac sooner. She moaned as he pulled off her left boot. His eyes flashed up to hers. “Jess, are you hurt worse than you’re lettin’ on?”