Pepper
I glance down at my fuel level just in time to catch the light coming on. Great. I hate to have to stop for gas, even if I need a little rest myself. The much-needed road trip has brought me through Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi so far, and now the road I’m on seems to be desolate and untraveled. I haven’t seen any gas stations or hotels for miles, and I fear my Escape will run out of juice if I don’t come across a gas station soon. I turn the radio down and listen to the hum of the engine just as a precaution.
As if by fate, a sign comes into view up ahead. Newbern, Arizona. Population 16,000. The adventure in a road trip is the unknown, but the downside is the unfamiliarity. I take the exit and drive into the small town. After three miles, I arrive in what looks to be the heart of the town. This is the kind of place where everyone knows everybody.
I slow the Escape to a stop at the single traffic light and scan my newfound surroundings as I wait for the light to change. Old brick buildings line both sides of the street, and I feel like I’ve traveled into the past where times were simple and quiet. The town is cute, but it doesn’t seem like a touristic vacation spot. I doubt they have many visitors. There’s a small but cozy looking B&B to the right of the street, with flower baskets of vibrant petunias encasing the windows. Maybe I can stay there for a little while and get some writing done. Surely, they have an opening. The light changes to green, and I press on the accelerator, bypassing the B&B. First, I need to fill up and grab something to snack on. I’m starving and need a sugar rush; junk food is my favorite sinful pleasure.
Picking up my cell phone, I dial my mom’s number to let her know where I am. I hope it isn't illegal to be on the phone while driving in Arizona. I turn my vehicle into the convenience store parking lot, nearly driving into it as I focus on the phone.
"Hey, sweetheart!" The cheerful sound of my mom's voice causes a feeling of homesickness.
Not that home is where I need to be with all the drama that surrounds me there. "Hey, Mom. I just wanted to check in with you, so don’t worry.”
“I’m glad you called, honey. Where are you?”
“I'm in a small town in Arizona. I just saw a cute bed and breakfast, and I think I might stay there for a few days. It looked peaceful."
I pull into the first pump and put my baby in park.
"Just be careful and try to relax. Have a little fun, too" she says, her voice edged with worry.
"Don't worry, I will." I hesitate on what I want to ask, trying to put this screwed up situation out of my mind. "Has the creep called any today?"
Silence fills the line, and I know she’s debating on how to answer. Who could blame her? I have a stalker, so of course she is concerned.
Eric Stanley. I shiver at the name.
I publish under the pseudonym, T.A. Spinner, to protect my privacy, but somehow, being the meddling Sherlock he is, Eric managed to find out my real name: Pepper Green. Yes, it was horrendous growing up with that name. Green Pepper backward. Ha. Ha. Ha. I’ve heard all the jokes and laughs, from kindergarten into adulthood.
This creeper emailed me at least twenty times a day, telling me how much he loves me and all about his days. Even after banning him from my author page, he created new accounts so he could follow me. The things he says are getting worse, and he managed to find out where I live with my mom. Letters and flowers came in the beginning, and then the calls, several times a day. Sometimes he'd ask for me, calling my mom by her first name as if they knew each other, and then other times he'd hang up without a word.
He's one of my reasons for leaving town to go out on my own. My mom is the only person who knows where I’m going, and I keep her up to date so she doesn’t worry and send a search party after me. Not telling my brother and Dad was easy to decide. Since my parents’ divorce, it wasn't an issue with my Dad knowing where I went, and Chad couldn’t really care less or even notice, since he's still in college at Clemson University.
"Mom? What did he do?" I hate she hasn't answered me yet. It's her way of protecting me.
"He called once today. The voicemail picked up and I know he heard what you put on there, because he cursed before hanging up on the answering machine. Now he thinks you're out of the country. Not that you are, but well… He's a nut." She sighs. "And before you ask, yes I contacted the cops again about his call. Once again, not much they can do at this point."
"Good, but if something seems off, you need to call the cops again. I hope he stops messing with you since he thinks I'm gone."
"I'll keep trying, but they aren't doing anything. Someone else called you, too." The disapproval in her voice tells me all I need to know.
The second reason why I was happy to leave town. My ex—Josh White. The ass who, six months after I broke it off, still won’t leave me alone. First, it was the simple apology calls and texts. He slowed down at one point, and I thought for sure he was done with me. Apparently not. I don't know why he was even acting like that. I broke up with him because his cheating ass thought it was okay to fuck his neighbor. He truly thought I could over look his need to stick his dick anywhere. Hell no, not this girl.
"I don't want to hear about him. Tell him I died or… No! Tell him I met a sexy cover model guy and ran off to Paris with him. Yep, that will be really awesome." He might not believe it, but I really don’t give a shit what he thinks.
My mom's laughter comes through the line. "I'll do that. Maybe add some things to it."
"Maybe you should've been the writer." It’s a joke. Really, writing my first book didn't come easy for me. I joke about why I should've picked a different career, but I love it. I wouldn't change a thing about the choices I’ve made. Some writers made it seem so easy, even though that might not have been the case. I really had to get that perfect idea and then put it into words. All I wanted was to ensnare the reader's interest. I didn't start my first novel until after I graduated from the College of Charleston at twenty-two with a degree in creative writing, but success came quickly. After releasing six books in the first two years after graduation, and having five hit the best seller list, I couldn't complain. All my debts are paid off since I live with my mom still, and I write full time.
Which is how I ended up traveling.
I want to write something different from the paranormal romances I've published in the past. I love bringing such vivid and unique stories to life, but I want to attempt a straight contemporary romance. But, I lack the human interaction and really need to live life before I venture into writing this book. Paranormal is easy because I make it all up. I want to write a book that seems real.
I'm quickly distracted from what my mom is saying when I notice a dispute going on near the side of the parking lot. Not believing the sight, I can't pull my gaze away. "Mom, I have to go. I'll call you back. Love you."
Hanging up before she can even say bye, I watch in fear as a huge biker man holds a little girl, around four or five years old, by the arm. The man looks like a mountain, standing tall at six-foot-five with a very dangerous aura about him. My stomach twists for the little girl.
With a gun in his hand, the mountain yells, and that's when I notice several more bikers crowding around him. He waves the gun in the air as he shouts. My window is down, letting me catch his angry words. "Where's my woman? I know you're hiding her!"
Seeing the little girl frightened rushes my adrenaline. I open the center console and grab my trusted taser, hoping it works. The other men aren’t doing anything to get the poor baby to safety. They haven’t noticed me parked at the pumps, so I cautiously get out of my car and hurry inside the store. A teenage guy with long, dark hair stands behind the counter reading a magazine, completely oblivious to the altercation happening outside. Considering the front cover of his reading material, I figure I'd rather not know what kind it is.
I read his name on the tag. "Do you have a back door, Sam?"
"Yes." He smiles, barely peeking over the top of the magazine.
I quickly scan the small store. Spotting the back exit, I run to the door as fast as I can. Quietly, I slip out the back and slowly creep over to peek around the corner of the building. From that vantage point, I watch the dispute, waiting to seize the opportunity to act. The mountain is close with his back to me, but he’s too focused on the other bikers and his brewing anger to expect someone approaching him from behind.
Their enraged shouts send chills up my spine, but my heart stills as I notice the little girl standing like a statue beside him with her arms hugging her chest, too scared to move an inch. Poor thing. How could anyone cause a child to feel so much fear?
Taking advantage of him not holding her by the arm anymore, I move closer and hope she sees me before he does. Two steps closer and she notices me out of the corner of her eye. The flicker of fear burns brighter in her gentle brown eyes. Pressing my finger to my lips, I silently instruct her to stay quiet, then I motion for her to come to me. She looks up at the large man flailing his arms as he continues to stomp and shout into the air. Bravely seizing the moment, she digs her feet into the ground and runs toward me.
“The girl!” a husky voice alerts, and the mountain abruptly swings around, realizing his hostage is escaping. The big biker lunges forward to stop her, but I don't allow it. I aim the taser at him and fire. The prongs hit him square in the chest, and his body jolts with wild electricity.
I don’t even wait for him to hit the ground. I gather her up in my arms and run into the store's back door, slamming it shut and leaning against it. My heart thuds in my ears, and my chest violently heaves with each intake of air. What’s my next move? If I can get to the front of the store, we could possibly make it to my car and get to a police station.
Small hands clutch my shirt as a whimper hiccups in her throat. I tuck the little girl closer to my chest. She’s small, but her weight is heavy in my arms. "Don't worry, sweet pea. It's going to be okay."
Or at least I hope so.
"What's your name, little bit?"
A small voice answers, talking into my neck. I think she said Tanya.
"Well, sweet pea, you did really good." Her parents should be especially proud of her.
The bell above the door rings and jingles, and I look up at the mirror in the adjacent corner to see three bikers bounding through the store. I tuck my body closer to the corner so I can’t be seen and squeeze Tanya tighter to let her know she’s safe.
A furious tone yells, "Where are they? She has my niece," followed by a heavy thud.
Sam nervously stumbles over his words. “I d-don't know. A lady came running in here asking if I had a back door. Before I knew what was going on, she ran to the back of the store.”
Not sure what to do, I motion with my finger to my lips for the little girl not to say anything. Even though the bikers are very intimidating, they don't seem like the mountain. If she’s that man’s niece, surely, they won’t harm her, right? Making a quick decision, I shyly step to the front of the store. My voice sounds small when I get the nerve to speak. “Here we are.”
Three large frames turn in sync at my words. I can't believe my eyes. There stand three of the sexiest men I've ever seen, all looking like they stepped off the cover of a bodybuilder magazine for bikers. They're tall, enormous, and dangerously good-looking.
The man who spoke to Sam steps forward and casts a look down at me. My stomach feels like butterflies have taken flight, causing my knees to weaken. Right then, with my whole body tingling, I know he's the one I've been searching for.
Never in a million years would I have thought the one for me would be a biker. My eyes widen in shock, and I say the first thing to enter my mind. “I didn’t know they were real.”
I drop my gaze, embarrassed at the way my body is reacting to just seeing the man.
Mustering the courage to look again, I notice the smirk on his face. I’m sure they get that a lot. No matter how many sexy biker stories are out there, I thought they were as much fiction as the vampires and werewolves I write about!
Unable to tear my eyes away from him, I take him all in. He is the tallest of the three, maybe six-foot-three with dark brown hair that falls to the top of his broad shoulders. Stunning green eyes that reflect the forest in the summertime stare back at me. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, dark jeans, black boots, and vest—everything looks like it’s made for his muscular body. The vest has patches on it. I have no clue what they are, but I want to get a better look. Vibrant splashes of color peek out from under the sleeve of his shirt, and the tattoos constrict with the sway and movement of his body as he strolls toward us.
Shaking the fog from my mind, I realize I’ve been staring. With a shaky voice, I speak up again. “What now?”