Chapter Twenty-Four
Lula
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
Nausea coiled in my gut as my heart lodged itself at the back of my throat.
This could not be happening.
Not after getting everything on track.
“You really thought you could steal from me?”
Had I really thought he was that good-looking when I’d first seen him? I must have been viewing him through the rose-colored glasses of a future I could see with him. Because in the harsh overhead light of the cheap motel room, he wasn’t nearly as appealing as I’d thought.
He was tall, sure, and had that universally attractive oval shape to his face.
But the proportions were all over the place.
His eyes were a little too small, too close together.
His nose had a curve and uneven nostrils.
And I guess I’d been distracted from his thin lips because he’d always been charming me with his smiles.
He wasn’t ugly, per se. But he certainly wasn’t as stunning as I’d convinced myself before.
Not nearly as attractive as Raff.
God, Raff.
Why had I run from him?
Why hadn’t I just… been honest? Stayed and talked it out? Maybe gone home with him? Or invited him back to my room?
He could have handled this.
He would know what to do.
Because I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have decided to poke the bear. Which, apparently, was what I’d chosen to go with.
“You stole it from me first.” He had no comeback to that. And I figured that if maybe I could distract him enough for him to move away from the door, I could run for help.
I could always scream.
But I wasn’t sure anyone would come. Motel people were also ‘mind your own business’ kind of people. Jack, I was sure, would come. But Jack was also several rooms away. Likely with his TV on.
If I was smart, I might be able to get out the door and run to the office. Call Raff. Or Cillian. I wasn’t alone. I just needed to get backup.
“Or did you conveniently forget that part? How you conned me into going into business with you, how you had me take out loans, then give you the access to the accounts so you could run off with it and leave me with all the debt? Did that slip your mind, Drake Martin?”
A muscle ticked near his eye at that.
“You were an easier mark than I’d anticipated.”
Oof.
That hurt.
It gutted, really.
Because it was everything I’d feared. That I wasn’t as smart as I thought, as careful, as perceptive.
But that wasn’t true. I was smart. I was careful. And I was very perceptive. That was how I knew that he was just trying to get a rise out of me, get me to second-guess myself, so he could get the better of me.
“Where is it?” he asked.
“Where’s what?”
“You moved it into your account, didn’t you?” His smile was slimy. God, was it always so slimy? Had I been distracted by his words and not noticed? “Do you know how easy it is to get money out of a bank account?”
“As easy as getting money out of a digital wallet, perhaps?”
Drake’s jaw tightened.
“It’s funny how easy it is to con a conman, don’t you think?
” I asked, shooting him a smirk. “You’re all such a cocky bunch.
Think no one can ever get one over on you.
But all it takes is a bullshit email with a phishing link.
And everything you worked so hard for… gone… like that.” I snapped my fingers.
That certainly got a rise out of him.
He pushed off the door and took two threatening steps forward.
“It must be genetic. Dear old dad taught you everything he knew, didn’t he? Including how to get caught.”
And there it was.
The inciting words.
Drake flew at me, a growl moving through him.
I pivoted a second before he could reach me, moving closer to the door.
“He would be so disappointed, don’t you think? Taken down by a woman.”
Drake lunged, his hand grabbing my upper arm so hard a cry escaped me.
I yanked hard and broke free so I could make a dash for the door.
And I made it.
Only to have Drake’s hands shove into my back, making me slam forward into the door.
The inn didn’t have much going for it. But credit where credit was due, the doors were old. Meaning they were solid hardwood.
Pain exploded through my skull even as Drake’s hands slid around my neck, attempting to squeeze my throat.
I ducked my chin as hard as I could as my hand frantically reached for the knob.
It turned.
But the weight of me against it, and Drake pinning me to it, made it impossible to open.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he snarled, his voice in my ear. “Then I’m going to take back that money.”
Not if I had anything to say about it.
See, there were many reasons I didn’t want to live in a motel. Because of how it looked, of course. But also… safety.
Which meant I’d been more than a little bit paranoid about living here, sleeping here.
After cleaning the place, then organizing what few belongings I brought with me, I went through the small room and systematically set up weapons to use in case someone broke in and tried to hurt me.
There was a bat under my bed. Pepper spray in the toothbrush drawer. A steak knife taped under the desk. And a screwdriver in the reusable shopping bag hanging off the doorknob.
I shoved my hand inside, feeling for the grooves of the hard plastic handle and curling my hand around it with the pointed bit facing backward.
I ignored the way my stomach twisted, yanked my hand out, and slammed the screwdriver backward.
The resistance was surprising. Movies and shows always made it seem so simple to shove just about anything into someone’s flesh. But it wasn’t that easy.
But a roar escaped Drake and the pain had him taking a step backward.
That was all I needed.
I yanked the door open, flew out, slammed it behind me, and ran toward the back door.
My heart was hammering.
But I was so, so close to freedom.
My heels clacked against the uneven pavement in the back lot, but I only got five or six feet out before hands collided with my shoulders, knocking me off balance and sending me falling forward, hands thrown out to brace myself.
I guess I hadn’t stabbed him well enough.
I landed hard, the gravel of the parking lot slicing open my hands and knees with a burning sensation I hadn’t felt since I was a clumsy little kid.
The impact had pain shooting up through my shoulders and hips, but that was the least of my problems as I felt Drake coming over me, legs straddling my body, forcing me downward as his hand slapped over my mouth and nose, instantly cutting off my breath.
My memory flashed back.
To Miami.
To a beach house.
To a man with a giant hand covering my mouth and nose, to the immediate breathlessness, the fuzziness, the unbearable pressure in my chest as I couldn’t draw in fresh oxygen.
I clawed at his hand, writhed, wiggled, tried to elbow backward at him.
My vision started getting static at the edges.
I was going to pass out.
Once I passed out, that was it, I was dead.
I winced ahead of the possible pain, then forced my arms to go lax, for my body to fall forward with no hope for bracing.
Drake’s hand slowed my fall, but he whipped it away at the last second, making my face hit the pavement, but not nearly as hard as I feared.
I was still gulping for air when the sound exploded through the air.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
There was one long second where nothing happened except my ears ringing from the sound.
That was a gunshot.
Three gunshots.
On a whimper, I rolled onto my back, finally able to see everything again.
What I saw first was Drake’s body sprawled not far from me, his leg and neck bent at unnatural angles, his eyes open and blank. Possibly because of the blood blooming from his chest. And, you know, the bullet in the center of his forehead.
There was a strange whimpering sound that I didn’t realize came from me.
“Don’t look.”
I knew that voice.
Even as I thought that, Raff moved into my line of vision, blocking Drake from view.
“Rafe?” I whispered, feeling my eyes flood and my face crumple.
“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He tucked his gun away and lowered down to his knees, hooking an arm around me, pulling me up, then flattening me against him. “I’ve got you.”
My hands were still burning, so I wrapped my arms around him instead of clinging, letting myself cry in, what? Relief? Fear? A combination of the two?
“Raff,” Jack’s voice called making me jolt and Raff stiffen. “Gotta move that body.”
The calm, unbothered tone of the seemingly non-criminal motel owner had me pulling back from Rafe and blinking what was left of the tears away.
But Raff seemed just as casual about it.
“You’re right,” he agreed.
“I already called Slash. Told him no bikes.”
Even as he said it, I heard the loose rocks on the pavement as feet crunched on them. Turning, I saw the newer members of the club—Saint, Syn, and Hail—making their way in our direction. They’d been at the bar when I’d grabbed a fresh coffee. Seems like the biker grapevine worked fast.
“Hey, look, it’s my neighbor I’ve been pretending isn’t my neighbor for weeks,” Hail said when he spotted me. But the smirk on his lips fell as he took in my tear-stained face and my bloody hands. He glanced from me, to Drake. Then walked over and, I can’t make this up, kicked him in his dead head.
“He’s already dead, man.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t look like he got what was coming to him first,” Hail said, shrugging. “So, what’s the plan?”
It took me a second to realize everyone was looking at Raff. Because he was the most senior member of the club on the scene.
“Gun,” Raff said, reaching for it and holding it out to Syn.
“On it,” Syn said, taking it and tucking it into his waistband before casually walking off.
There was a crunching, rolling sound, making us all turn to realize Jack had walked off only to come back with a large garbage bin.
“Should fit,” he said, shrugging.
“Dunno. He’s kinda big,” Saint said, eyeing Drake’s body with cold indifference.
“So we break his legs,” Hail, who I was starting to worry about, said.
Jack said nothing else, just turned and disappeared back into the motel.
Another moment later, several more of the bikers came around the building, taking in the scene as Saint and Hail shoved Drake’s body, head down, into the bin, leaving his legs hanging out in a way that was so movie-like comical that a strange snorting laugh escaped me.
“Raff,” Slash said, tossing a set of keys in our direction, making Raff snatch them out of the air. “Get Lula to the clubhouse for now.”
“On it,” Raff agreed, getting to his feet.
With his arm around me, I had no choice but to follow.
“It’s not fitting,” Slash said.
“Sure it is,” Hail said, followed by a loud crunching sound I could only assume was him breaking Drake’s leg. “See? Just a little… maneuvering,” he said with another loud crunch.