Chapter 3 #2
As I look at the rundown building across the street, my blood runs cold. The front yard is cemented, but in true Logan’s Point fashion, it’s cracked and littered with overgrown grass and weeds. Parked out front are a few motorcycles, accompanied by abandoned engine parts and other junk.
I assumed Dax was going home, but this must be where the motorcycle club meets up.
Despite it being a bad idea, I open my passenger door. “I’ll be right back.”
“Miss Ashworth, please…”
I don’t let him continue. “Don’t follow me. I’ll be quick.”
I leave the car and walk across the street. A damaged chain-link fence surrounds the uninviting property. A knot ties between my shoulder blades, and my jaw clenches. I don’t understand what is drawing me in, but the need is hefty.
I take a deep breath and open the flimsy gate. The tall, deadened grass itches against my legs. Oily, garbage smell wafting from the abandoned junk irritates my nose. I look up at the beaten and torn screen door, and move along the side of the building.
Four more motorcycles are parked along the driveway. Further down is an open garage, and I spy Dax’s motorcycle parked inside.
I sigh out. “Phew.”
Okay, Vanessa, that’s enough. You’ve seen the bike and have confirmed he’s home. Now, back away. No good can come from going any further.
Disobeying my inner voice of reason, I edge further down the side of the building.
“Where the hell have you been?” a garbled, mocking voice bellows from within.
I raise on tippy toes to view through the dusty window. Three burly men sit along a bar, which is cluttered with beer bottles and glasses of whisky. Standing at the bar is a lean man with a muscular physique. He straightens up in order to grab Dax by his leather jacket.
Dax exhales hard when the man drags him closer.
“Huh?” the man says loudly near Dax’s ear. “I asked you a question, pip-squeak.”
Dax shoves him off and straightens his jacket. “Lay off, would ya.”
The man appears to be twenty-five, and he laughs in a taunting way. “Come on, man. Can’t a guy be concerned about his baby bro?”
Dax grumbles, walking away from the bar. “Why would you start now?”
The man and the burly crew at the bar cackle together as Dax disappears into the darkened rear area.
I lower onto my heels and turn back toward the road.
“Well, well,” a husky voice says behind me. “Who do we have here?”
My breath hitches in my throat. I spin around to see an older, grease-stained man grinning at me under a handlebar mustache.
“Hello, princess,” he says, bearing a set of yellow teeth. “Looking for a bit of fun?”
I suck in a shallow breath, tripping over my feet as I back away from him.
The man chuckles, stepping toward me. “Don’t be frightened, girly. I won’t bite. Hard.”
Instinctively, I clutch my side where my purse usually hangs.
My heart sinks, thinking about my bag sitting on the backseat, my cell phone resting inside.
I want nothing more than to call for Roger’s help.
If I yelled out his name, would he hear?
Or would the moment I open my mouth enrage this man into hurting me?
The man steps forward, but is distracted by movement behind him. He turns around, and I spy Dax moving our way from the garage. He notices me and hastens his pace.
“Whoa. What are you doing here?” Dax asks, blinking hard at me.
The man sniggers. “You know this chick?”
“I know she shouldn’t be around the likes of you,” Dax says, stepping up to the hulking man. “Go back inside, McCoy. This doesn’t have to be a thing.”
“Give me a break,” McCoy says, growing stern. “I saw her first.”
I back against the wall, shivering as Dax shoves McCoy away from me. When Dax steps toward me, McCoy powers a fist into Dax’s side.
My hands rush to my mouth as a gasp whooshes out. Dax’s lips press together, muffling a moan. He then cracks a fist and smacks a bent elbow into McCoy’s chest. Dax then swivels and punches him in the chest.
Dax shoves McCoy away, kicking dirt behind him as he yells at him to get inside.
McCoy straightens up and spits onto the ground. He roughly wipes his mouth, staring hard at Dax. “Only because I know it’s not worth roughing up Malone’s kid.”
McCoy goes inside, and I place a trembling hand over my chest, desperate to slow my anxiety. But when Dax locks onto me, any hope of calm vanishes.
On his approach, my back fixes to the wall, and there’s only a sliver of air between us.
His forearm raises over my head and rests against the wall.
His eyes glue to mine in a way that makes blinking impossible.
His breath hits the side of my face, and I wince at the lingering cigarette scent.
If fear hadn’t paralyzed me, I’m sure my knees would knock.
“Hmm?” he says in a gravelly tone. “What are you doing here?”
I swallow hard. “I… I…”
His eyebrows knit together, and he frowns in confusion. “How did you get here?”
I shiver against the wall, trying to form a sentence. “I thought… You were… I didn’t know if you’d make it home.”
Dax removes his arm from the wall and steps back. “You followed me here?”
I gulp and nod.
“Why would you do that? Are you so bored you go looking for trouble?”
I try to catch my breath. “I couldn’t… I didn’t want…”
His head tilts, and he moves in close again. “Were you spying on me? What exactly did you hope to get out of that?”
“I wanted to check…” I pant, searching for a solid breath. “Are you okay?”
Dax groans in frustration. “Just let it go. I don’t need help.” His hand fishes inside his jacket and presses onto his side. “You need to go home. You shouldn’t be here.”
My arms prickle with goosebumps. “Should you?”
He drops his tattooed hand, deadpanning at me. “This is my home.”
We stare at each other for a long moment.
All I hear is my heavy breathing until the smashing of glass bottles and raucous laughter explodes from within the building.
The reality of where I’m standing sends a shockwave of fear through me.
I jolt off the wall and knock into Dax, who grasps my upper arms.
My mouth falls open as I look up at him. He releases one of my arms and slowly lifts a pointed index finger over his lips.
I shudder against him, ready to keel over.
His veiny hand cups my wrist, pressing my bracelet into my flesh, while his other hand lowers to press on my middle back.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
Footsteps hurry down the driveway. “Miss Ashworth.” Roger’s voice comes out panicked between labored breaths.
With an accelerated heart rate, I rip my hand from Dax’s clutches.
“Come with me,” Roger says, beckoning me toward him. “This isn’t safe.”
“I’m okay,” I reply, attempting to placate him.
Roger’s eyes don’t blink as he pans between me and Dax. Color drains from Roger’s face, and he swallows hard, determined to do anything in his power to remove me from this place.
“Please, miss,” Roger says with hearty desperation. “They’ll be expecting you at the country club.”
When more loud crashes and voices come from inside the building, Dax moves toward the side door.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dax says in a cold tone. “Get out of here.”
Unexplainably, my shoulders slump, like I’m hurt he wants me to leave.
Before I can respond, Roger grasps my arm. “Miss Ashworth, we must go.”
He releases me immediately, and I give him an agreeable nod. Pacing, we make it back to the car. Roger pulls the car onto the road before my seatbelt clicks.
As we leave Logan’s Point, I move my thumb against my wrist, but don’t feel my bracelet.
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
It’s gone.
I scrunch my eyes closed, remembering how hard Dax held my wrist. I open my eyes, seeing the indentation from the chain.
My gut quivers, and I swallow hard.
Did he intentionally steal it?