I drove for a long time with no destination.

The sun was on our left, which meant it was mid-afternoon. Without a watch, I was flying olden-days style. You know, navigation by celestial bodies and all that shit…and road signs. Ahead, a green slab of metal told me it was fifteen miles to some place called Lawrenceburg.

Chaser had said nothing since we left the gas station. He hadn’t lost consciousness or kicked the bucket, he’d just not said a single word. It wasn’t reassuring considering the amount of blood he’d lost and the lack of direction he’d given other than north. So I just drove with one eye on the road ahead and one behind.

The fact we weren’t being followed meant nothing. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up with us. That was what worried me the most. We were still on the east side of the country, and there were still a lot of miles, cops, and bad guys between California and us.

After a while, Chaser reached up and undid the tourniquet around his upper arm. Slowly at first, then he undid it entirely and tossed it onto the floor.

I eyed him, trying to see if more red stuff was pouring from his arm.

“Has the bleeding stopped?” I asked after a moment.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good, right?”

“For now.” He narrowed his eyes, giving me a suspicious once-over.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, if the wound reopens, I’ll be back where I started.” He glanced out the window. “Where are we?”

“Indiana… I think. Or we might still be in Kentucky.”

“You think?”

“You said north, so I went north-ish,” I shot back. “We can go to Canada if you want, but unfortunately, I forgot my passport.”

The city limits of the mysterious Lawrenceburg loomed in the distance. Streetlights turned on as the sky darkened, and I saw a sign for a motel coming up on the left. The thought of having to sleep in the car wasn’t appealing in the slightest.

“I’m pulling in,” I declared, veering off the road.

Chaser didn’t argue, which was a boost to my confidence. It must’ve been the first smart thing I’d done since this chaos began.

Stopping the car by the main office, I turned off the engine and held out my hand.

“Give me some money,” I demanded.

Chaser grunted and went to get out of the car, but I reached over him and jerked the door closed.

“You’re not going into that office with blood all over you,” I said.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Blood means questions. We don’t need any of those right now.” Straightening up, I cupped his cheek and forced his face toward mine. “For once in your fucking life, trust me.”

For a split second, I thought I felt him open up a little, but he jerked away. Reaching into his back jeans’ pocket with his good hand, he presented me with a fistful of notes.

Snatching the cash off him, I slipped out of the car before he changed his mind.

I got us a room at the back of the motel, convincing the clerk at the reception desk we preferred not to deal with the road noise. Eighty bucks with a twenty change later, I got back into the car and drove us around to the rear. I found a spot by the door to our room, and good for us, it was away from any prying eyes. A blood-soaked man was exactly the thing people called 911 to anonymously tip about.

The room wasn’t much to look at, but they never were. Not in recent experience, anyway. There was a double bed, a table and chairs, a sink with a kettle and microwave, a TV, and a separate bathroom. Ironically, even with the awful mustard color scheme, it was larger and way more furnished than my studio apartment.

Chaser sat down at the table and checked his arm. In the disgusting lighting, he looked really sick. Now I had time to study it, I realized the bullet had grazed his arm to the point it had carved his flesh apart. Straight across the surface like a stone skipping over water.

“Do you need a Band-Aid?” I asked, not knowing if he needed stitches or something sticky to keep the cut together.

“There’s a first aid kit in the trunk of the car.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Sloane.” He glared at me and pointed toward the door.

I held up my hands. “Fine.”

Reaching for the keys, I stumbled as his hand caught my wrist. He gave me a pointed look that had everything to do with this being a test, and I shook him off.

Stalking outside, I popped the trunk and fished around in the half-light. My duffel was there, and so was his.

A familiar feeling of temptation reared its ugly head.

I could jump in the car and piss off. It would be easy as with Chaser inside and me out here with the keys and all his shit. I’d been planning on dumping his ass that morning. I could still do it.

I hesitated.

But...

Maybe...

I glanced at the door to the motel room.

The only thing that stopped me was the dull ringing in my ears from the gunshots and my aching knees. Sighing, I grabbed the first aid kit and slammed the trunk closed.

Going back into the motel room, I made a face. I guessed I passed that test with flying colors.

Making sure the door was locked behind me, I dumped the kit on the table and glanced at the kettle, which was on the boil. Then I eyed Chaser, who was shirtless and bloody. He wasn’t… Ugh, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see this.

Still, I couldn’t look away as he took the kit and opened it. He placed four items on the table next to the kettle, which was now steaming. A needle, some thread, gauze, and a pair of stainless steel scissors.

Next, he tipped boiling water into a glass, then dumped the scissors and needle inside. Turning back to the first aid kit, he retrieved a little bottle of rubbing alcohol, unscrewed the cap, and then promptly tipped it over the wound on his arm.

He grunted, his forehead creasing, and I felt like throwing up on his behalf.

“Do you want any help with that?” I asked, edging around the table and sitting beside him.

“No.”

Rubbing the last of the alcohol over his fingers, he retrieved the scissors and the needle from the glass and began threading. Then, without even blinking, he shoved the tip of the needle through his skin and sewed up the path the bullet had carved across his upper arm.

“Who are you?” I whispered, watching as he threaded the needle through his flesh. Back and forth, doing fancy little knots before starting on the next.

“Right now? I’m pissed off.” He grunted as the thread dragged and pulled the wound together.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Ignoring me, he tied off the last stitch, cut the thread, and wiped the blood off his skin with a piece of cloth from the kit. Finally, he slapped a sticky wad of gauze over the top.

Staring at his chest and torso, I could now see several other scars. Pink, puckered lines that’d been sewn together by someone who had either zero finesse or was Chaser’s handiwork. My mind went back to the gunfight at the gas station, and I realized something very important about the biker. He knew how to shoot. It wasn’t just simply point and fire kind of bullshit. No, he knew how to shoot to kill.

Without a word, I reached over and cleaned up the mess on the table.

“Sloane.”

“What?” I picked up the glass and dumped the contents into the kettle before zipping the first aid kit closed.

“I dropped the ball today.”

Freezing, I looked up, our gazes meeting. Something had changed. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“It doesn’t matter,” I murmured. “We got out of it.”

“We shouldn’t have been in it at all.” His eyes were sad, his mouth curved downward.

Chaser admitting he’d made a mistake? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who owned up to anything unless it was winning.

Leaning closer, I picked up his hand and grabbed the cloth. Wiping at the blood on his forearm, I sighed. What a fucking mess.

“Sloane…”

“Shut up.”

“Sloane.”

Glancing up, I sucked in a deep breath as I realized how close we’d actually gravitated toward one another. I practically sat on his lap and his lips… My gaze shifted to his mouth, and everything went haywire.

Heat surged between my legs, my nipples tightened, and I slid my leg over his and climbed onto his lap. Just so…

Burying my fingers into his hair, I tugged his face upward as his palms settled on my hips. Grinding into him, I swore he was hard. His eyelashes fluttered, and I lowered my lips toward his. I bet he tasted like blood and whiskey…

Our breath mingled… Then he turned his face away and pushed me back.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” I exclaimed, humiliation and frustration pulsing through me.

“You’re still the daughter of the president…” he began, not even looking me in the eye.

“He’s never been my father.” I snarled. “He wants me back because it’ll save his precious reputation. It isn’t a gesture of fatherly love, Chaser.”

“Orders…”

“Fuck orders. I have no allegiance to Fortitude.”

“I do.” He stared me down, his eyes burning with anger or desire, I wasn’t sure which.

“Is it voluntary?”

He glanced away.

“Chaser…”

“Get off me, Sloane.”

“I see the way you are when you talk about them,” I went on. “Your lip curls and your mood goes south. Big time. You hate them.”

“You don’t know anything.”

He grasped my waist, and in one deft move, he tossed me off his lap and onto the bed behind us. Landing on my back, I was dazed for a moment but shoved to my feet as he did the same.

“I know enough to see this isn’t all there is to you,” I exclaimed, getting up into his face. “You accuse me of being a petulant little bitch? Look in the mirror!”

“Don’t push me, Sloane.”

“Or what? You’ll spank my ass like a little baby?”

He growled like a beast, a sexy as fuck grunt that had my knees trembling, and pushed me back against the wall. My head cracked against the plaster, but I didn’t feel it. I was too aroused to care. Pain was borderline orgasmic right now.

His eyes burned into mine. “Lay. Off.”

I had this overwhelming urge to sink to my knees, pull out his cock, and just go for it.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’ve been acting like a bitch on purpose.”

“I never said…”

“Yeah, you did. Pretty much.”

His eyes narrowed, and the air charged between us.

“Give me something,” I pleaded.

“I took a bullet for you.” His expression softened. “I took a bullet for you, Sloane. Do you believe me now?”

The phantom sound of the bullet ricocheting off the brick wall echoed in my ears, and my resolve cracked. He’d been shot because of me. That bullet was meant for my head. They were hunting me like a feral dog behind a dumpster.

A sob escaped my lips as the gravity of the shit storm I was in the middle of hit me. Like, finally hit me with its full force square in the chest. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall.

I’d almost been raped. I’d almost had my throat slit. They’d tried to get me in my apartment. They’d shot at me. Who were they? Fucked if I knew, but that made it worse. Faceless men were after me. They could be anywhere or anyone.

Chaser sat beside me, his wounded arm on the other side as the tears fell down my cheeks.

“Go away,” I said with a sob. “I don’t need your crap right now.”

He said nothing, nor did he move. He just let me cry. A biker wouldn’t sit there and watch a woman ball her eyes out, attempted murder or not. Chaser wasn’t a biker, or at least, I didn’t think he was.

I sniffed and let my head fall onto his shoulder.

“Sloane?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m sure you are.”

I didn’t know what to do anymore, but the one thing I was certain of was the fact I couldn’t run on my own. Chaser said it himself. He took a bullet for me. I guess that meant he was the only person who gave a stuff, even if he was only here because he was ordered to.

“Chaser?”

“Yeah?”

“When it comes to my life, I guess I trust you with it now, but…” I trailed off, not knowing how to voice the next part or if he’d even go for it.

“But what?”

“There’s got to be another way…”

“There isn’t,” he replied. “The best chance you’ve got—”

“Is with my father,” I finished for him. I snorted and nestled closer, pretending not to notice when he tensed. “I beg to differ, but I’m pretty sure my best chance is with you, Chaser.”

“I’m temporary,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to be.”

The air cooled, and he pushed to his feet. “I’ve gotta clean up.”

“Chaser…”

He ignored me and strode into the bathroom. The door slammed, signaling the conversation was over.

And just like that, all traces of the caring Chaser were gone, and we were back at square one. I was still a package addressed to my father. Nothing had changed, which meant I should’ve got in the car while I had the chance and left Chaser here to rot. Now I was stuck.

Snorting, I let my head fall back against the wall. All roads lead to Fortitude. I best remember it.