Chapter 18 Raven
I consider telling Shield about Tony, but I know if I start giving him any details, I’ll be putting myself at risk.
I want to tell him about last night's attack and Tony’s role in it, but I have no proof.
I doubt the poor woman he drugged will remember the person who drugged her.
But maybe I could push him to take a harder look at Tony.
“No, I’ve been trying, but I can’t remember,” I tell him. “Although I remember the color yellow. I just can’t remember why or what.”
“Tony’s Mustang is yellow,” Shield says.
“Oh, maybe that’s why I’m remembering the color. You said cameras caught his car leaving the scene, right? Did you ever find it or the driver?”
“Actually, his car turned up. Whoever took it abandoned it in a parking lot. Tony reclaimed it yesterday.”
“That’s convenient,” Carver says, his disbelief mimicking mine.
“Yeah, that’s what we thought. The car wasn’t damaged. According to Tony, the thief stole some money out of the glovebox. The car still had half a tank of gas,” Shield says.
“That doesn’t sound likely, does it?” Lenora asks. “Why would someone steal a car just to leave it for someone to find?”
“They could have taken it for a joyride, but I’m not buying it. Most joyriders would drive it until they ran out of gas or crashed. The car doesn’t look like anyone did anything more than drive it down the street and park it.”
“You don’t think it was stolen,” I murmur, watching Shield’s expression.
He chuckles. “No, I don’t.”
“You think he’s the one who attacked me,” I continue.
Shield stares at me for a minute without responding. “I can’t say. It might interfere with your memory and eventually your testimony.”
I nod, considering my options. A small voice inside me encourages me to trust these men, but my fear drowns it out.
He’s a cop. A detective. For all I know, he’s working the case where I’m the person he is hunting.
Shield may be a member of an outlaw motorcycle club and someone used to looking the other way when his club brothers commit crimes, but that doesn’t mean he’ll look the other way for me.
I glance at Carver and smile at him. He’s incredibly handsome and so very sexy.
My body flushes with heat when I remember how good it felt being in his arms as we danced.
I feel a pang of regret knowing that I can’t have him.
Every minute I’m with him and his brothers is a risk. Being with him weakens my resolve.
Carver’s thigh brushes mine beneath the table, warm and solid. Steady. He leans close enough for me to catch the scent of whiskey and smoke clinging to his cut.
“You’ve gone quiet on me, Raven.”
His voice is low, rough around the edges, and God help me, I like it. I like him.
Too much.
I glance at him and regret twists hard in my chest. He’s unfairly handsome tonight, dark hair falling across his forehead, tattooed forearms flexing as he lifts his beer.
Earlier, on the dance floor, I felt safe in his arms. He made me feel wanted.
For a few stupid minutes, I forgot who I am and what I’ve done.
Shield isn’t just hunting my attacker; he could be hunting me.
“You okay?” Carver asks again.
Shield’s gaze sharpens slightly, like he’s waiting for my answer too.
I wet my suddenly dry lips. “I’m fine,” I lie. The word scrapes my throat raw.
Because I’m sitting here one heartbeat away from confessing everything, I want to tell Shield that I know exactly who attacked me. I want to tell him about what happened the previous night. Maybe he’d focus on Tony and his friends and ignore my part, but I can’t take the chance.
Tony and his friends are predators. I know it. They give each other alibis. It’s the perfect setup for them. Shield needs to know this information. The thought of telling him rises so fast the words almost escape me.
All I have to do is lean across the table and whisper the truth in the space between us. I could tell him what I know about Tony. I could tell him that he’s looking in the wrong direction. He’d believe me. Wouldn’t he?
Then reality crashes in hard enough to steal the air from my lungs. Shield is a cop. He’ll protect his brothers and the club. He’ll protect his people. I’m not one of them. He has no reason to risk his badge by protecting me. He won’t see me as anything but what I am—a murderer.
Fear crawls cold and sharp up my spine.
Carver reaches for my hand, thumb brushing across my knuckles, and the guilt hits harder. He doesn’t know he’s touching someone who’s already halfway out the door. Because I can’t stay here, I can’t keep pretending that I don’t have a secret. It’s not fair to Carver to put him in this position.
I pull my hand gently from Carver’s and force a small smile.
“Excuse me,” I murmur. “Bathroom.”
Carver’s eyes linger on me, concern etched into the lines around his mouth.
That almost breaks me.
I turn before he can see it.
Instead of heading toward the hallway, I slip through the crowd, past the bar, past the pounding music and flashing lights, until I reach the back door.
Cold night air slams into me the second I step outside. Without looking back, I climb into my car and speed away.
The farther I drive from the clubhouse, the worse I feel.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel as neon lights and storefronts blur past my windows. I shouldn’t have left the way I did. Carver deserves better than me disappearing without a word. The memory of his eyes following me across the clubhouse floor twists painfully in my chest.
I exhale shakily and press harder on the gas.
Leaving was the right decision. It has to be this way. I was too close to spilling the truth. Shield already suspects that I know more than I’m saying. He has to be wondering why I’m hiding information.
Another five minutes and I might’ve confessed.
I would have told him everything. I would have told him about why I went after Tony and how Tony is now stalking me.
But I wouldn’t have stopped there. I would have told him about the others: Robert Hardon, Pete Barton, and Cory Mitchell.
I would have told him why I wanted to make these men pay.
I pull into my apartment complex and kill the engine, the sudden silence roaring in my ears after the noise of the clubhouse. The parking lot is mostly empty. One flickering streetlight throws weak yellow shadows across cracked pavement.
A bad feeling prickles across the back of my neck.
I automatically reach into my purse and wrap my fingers around the pepper spray clipped inside, just in case.
The cold air hits my bare legs when I step out of the car. I slam the door shut and lock it with a chirp, scanning the lot out of habit.
Nothing moves.
Still, unease crawls through me.
I shove the pepper spray into my jacket pocket and head toward the apartment entrance, my heels clicking too loudly against the pavement.
Three steps from the door, someone grabs me from behind.
I scream.
A thick arm snakes around my shoulders, jerking me backward hard enough to wrench my arm. Hot panic explodes through me, but instinct takes over before fear can freeze me.
I drive my elbow backward with all my strength.
A grunt sounds behind me.
I stomp down hard with my heel on my attacker’s foot. He loosens his grip just enough.
I twist violently and tear free.
Then I turn—
—and come face-to-face with Tony Martin.
My blood turns to ice.
“No,” I whisper.
His face is shadowed beneath the parking lot light, but I know him instantly. The cruel mouth. The predatory eyes. Rage burns across his features.
“You fucking dare attack me, you bitch. You should be dead,” he snarls before slamming his fist in my face.
Pain explodes across my cheekbone. I stagger sideways, disoriented, copper flooding my mouth.
Tony grabs for me again.
This time I’m ready.
I yank the pepper spray from my pocket and blast him directly in the eyes.
Tony bellows.
The sound echoes across the parking lot as he stumbles backward, clawing at his face with one hand while blindly reaching for me with the other.
“Bitch!” he roars.
I dodge away from him, my heart hammering so hard I can barely breathe. My vision blurs from panic as I fumble for the apartment door.
Come on. Come on.
The key slips once before I jam it into the lock and shove it inside.
I don’t look back.
I sprint through the hallway, nearly falling as I race for the stairs. My lungs burn by the time I reach my floor. Every sound behind me feels like Tony coming after me.
I finally slam into my apartment and deadbolt the door with shaking hands.
Then I keep moving.
I lock the chain. Check the windows. Turn off the lights.
Only when silence settles around me do I collapse against the wall, gasping.
My cheek throbs where he hit me.
He knows where I live.
The thought crashes through me over and over until panic threatens to choke me. Tony found me once. He’ll find a way inside eventually. I’m not safe here.
I fumble for my phone with trembling fingers. For one horrible second, I hesitate. Calling Carver means dragging him into this mess. But I already know I can’t handle this alone.
The phone rings once.
Twice.
Then his rough voice fills my ear.
“Raven?”
The fear I’ve been holding back cracks wide open.
“Carver,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I need help.”