Chapter 31
Jo-Leigh
The wind stings my cheeks, sharp and damp as it whips past us. The hum of the bike roars beneath me, drowning out everything but my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
For the first twenty minutes, I keep my face buried against Seth’s back, holding on so tight my knuckles ache.
It’s easier not to think, easier to pretend this is just motion.
That it’s not escape and not betrayal. But when the highway stretches out empty ahead of us, and the dark swallows up the lights of the clubhouse behind us, it hits me.
I left.
I actually left.
The ache in my chest blooms sharp, making it hard to breathe, but I shove it down and tighten my grip around Seth’s waist anyway.
He glances back once, his voice raised over the wind. “You good?”
I nod automatically, but I’m not. I’m not good at all.
The engine drowns out the silence for a while longer, until Seth finally eases off the throttle and pulls us onto a narrow side road, lined with trees that lean low over the pavement. The night presses close, the air thick and damp.
We coast to a stop near a small roadside motel. It’s run-down with one flickering light over the front office. It’s the kind of place nobody asks questions.
Seth kills the engine, swings off the bike, and pulls off his helmet. His blond hair’s damp from the mist, sticking up in unruly curls, and his pale-blue eyes search mine for something I can’t name.
“You okay?” he asks again, quieter this time.
I pull my helmet off, fingers shaking as I set it on the seat.
“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice cracking on the words.
“You don’t have to know,” he says, leaning the bike against the curb. “You just have to not go back.”
That lands heavy between us, a promise and a threat tangled up together.
Inside the motel office, the old woman behind the counter barely looks up from her book when Seth slides a few bills across the counter.
He takes the key, doesn’t bother explaining, and leads me toward a room at the far end of the row.
The hallway smells like damp carpet and cigarette smoke.
My boots squeak faintly on the linoleum; every sound amplified in the tight silence between us.
Seth unlocks the door and gestures me inside. The room is small. One bed, one chair, a tiny dresser with a cracked mirror above it. The hum of the old AC unit fills the space, but it’s not enough to cut the tension pressing in from every side.
I drop onto the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, trying to force my breath steady. The adrenaline’s wearing off now, and what’s left behind is heavier. Doubt, guilt, and the kind of fear that lives low in my ribs.
“You’re shaking,” Seth says quietly, leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed.
“I’m fine,” I lie, because I can’t give him anything real right now without unraveling.
He studies me for a beat, then pushes off the dresser and crouches in front of me, resting his forearms on his knees.
“You’re not fine,” he says softly. “You’ve been living like a ghost, Jo-Leigh. Waiting for scraps. Waiting for someone who chose to leave you in the dark.”
I swallow hard, pressing my palms against my thighs until it hurts, like maybe the sting will ground me.
“Swag’s doing what he has to do,” I whisper, but my voice sounds weak, uncertain even to my own ears.
“Swag’s doing what Swag always does. Putting the club first. Putting someone else first. And where does that leave you?”
The words hit deep, twisting in the hollow place I’ve been trying to ignore since he left. I look away, staring at the cracked mirror across the room, my reflection fractured.
“I don’t know,” I admit finally.
Seth’s quiet for a moment and then he says, softer than before, “You do know. You’re just scared to say it.”
I glance back at him, his pale eyes sharp and steady, and something cold curls in my stomach.
He looks so certain, so unshaken, while I feel like I’m unraveling by the second.
I open my mouth to respond, but something catches in my chest. It’s a warning, faint but insistent.
Because underneath his calm, there’s something in Seth’s expression I can’t read. Something hungry.
I shake the thought off and stand, pacing the tiny room, hugging my arms around myself.
“I just need some air,” I murmur, stepping toward the door.
Seth doesn’t stop me, but his voice follows.
“You can run all you want, Jo-Leigh,” he says softly. “But there’s no going back now.”
The words freeze me for a beat, sharp and final, before I push the door open and step out into the damp night air. I close my eyes, breathing deep, but it doesn’t help. Because no matter how far we ride, no matter how many miles we put between me and the clubhouse, one truth won’t let go.
I left Swag.
And I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me.
I walk around the motel parking lot until my stomach growls. Seth finds us some food and before I know it, it’s time for bed.
“I’ll take the chair,” he says, grabbing a blanket.
But hours later, I can’t sleep. The motel’s too quiet.
Too dark. Too far from everything I know.
The hum of the ancient AC unit rattles against the wall, and the sheets smell like bleach and cigarettes, but that’s not what’s keeping me awake.
It’s the silence. The stillness. The way every thought I’ve been running from is clawing up my throat now that there’s nowhere left to run.
Seth’s stretched out on the chair by the door, boots planted, arms crossed, watching the parking lot through the cracked blinds like he’s expecting trouble. He hasn’t said much the past few hours.
I roll over in the bed, looking at the ceiling.
I walked out without a word. No note. No call. No explanation. And Swag… God, Swag has no idea where I am, no idea who I’m with, and the thought of him finding my room empty burns a hole straight through my chest.
I press my palms to my eyes, but it doesn’t stop the sting.
“Jo-Leigh,” Seth says quietly, his voice rough in the dark. “You’re shaking again.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, even though my voice betrays me.
He leans forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You’re not fine.” His tone’s low, steady, patient in a way that’s meant to soothe but it doesn’t. “You’ve been breaking for a while. You just didn’t notice until now.”
I swallow hard, dropping my hands into my lap. “I just thought leaving would make it easier.”
“And?”
I glance up at him, my throat tight. “It doesn’t.”
Seth leans back, his gaze fixed on me, unreadable in the half-dark.
“That’s because you’re still trying to make sense of it. You’re still hoping he’s going to show up and make it right.”
“You don’t know him,” I whisper, but it sounds weak, defensive even to my own ears.
“I know enough. He’s gone, Jo-Leigh. No calls. No texts. No explanations. If you mattered the way you think you do, you wouldn’t be here with me.”
“He’s not like that,” I insist, more to myself than him. “He wouldn’t just leave unless he had to.”
Seth doesn’t respond right away, just watches me.
After a long moment, he says softly, “Doesn’t matter why he left. What matters is he did.”
His words burrow under my skin, curling around the fragile part of me I’ve been trying to hold together since Swag walked out that door.
Seth stands, crossing the room until he’s only a few feet away.
I feel the weight of his presence at my side, heat radiating from him, and it makes my shoulders tense.
“You’re safe with me,” he says quietly, almost gently. “You don’t have to keep bleeding for someone who’s already moved on.”
“Stop saying that. You don’t know what’s happening. You don’t know him.”
Seth studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then finally nods once, like he’s letting me win an argument he doesn’t actually believe I won.
“Get some rest,” he says instead, stepping back toward the chair. “We’ll figure out our next move in the morning.”
I turn my head so I can’t see Seth, but don’t close my eyes.
I can’t. Because now, under the quiet hum of the AC and the distant hiss of passing traffic, I notice things I missed before.
The way Seth keeps checking his phone when he thinks I’m not looking.
The way he locks the deadbolt and chains the door, like he’s not just hiding us… but hiding me.
The unease coils tighter in my gut.
I left to escape heartbreak, but what if I didn’t just run from Swag? What if I’ve run straight into something worse.
I wake to the low rumble of a voice. For a second, I think I dreamed it but when my eyes blink open, I realize it’s not the neighbors. It’s Seth. He’s standing near the window, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and clipped in a way I’ve never heard before.
“…Yeah,” he mutters, turning just enough that I can see the hard set of his jaw. “We’ll be there by tonight.”
I freeze, holding my breath, straining to hear more, but the next words are muffled, too quiet to catch. Then he ends the call and slips the phone into his pocket like nothing happened.
When his gaze lands on me, he smiles like he didn’t just make a secret call at six in the damn morning.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, voice low and steady. Too steady.
I push up on my elbows, my throat tight. “Who were you talking to?”
“Nobody important.” He shrugs, grabbing his cut off the back of the chair. “Just sorting things.”
I sit up fully, my pulse starting to climb. “Sorting what?”
Instead of answering, Seth steps closer, crouching in front of me like he did last night, his eyes locking on mine.
“Jo-Leigh,” he says softly, like he’s talking to a spooked animal. “I need you to trust me, okay?”
Every instinct in me screams not to trust him, but I’m smart enough to know I can’t let my fear show.
I swallow hard, forcing my voice steady. “Where are we going?”
He hesitates for half a beat before smoothing it over with another quiet smile. “Someplace safe.”