I Fled After Catching My Boyfriend With My Best Friend and Stepbrother, Only to Take a Bullet for a Biker Who Swore I Belonged Under His Protection novel · Chapter 13 of 24

Chapter 13: The Prospect

The warehouse smelled of motor oil and wet cardboard.

Carl's two friends had walked me down my own stairs with a hand on each elbow, past the neighbor's shut door.

Nobody had looked out.

Now I sat on an upturned crate under a bare bulb, with my sling gone and my phone gone, and my left arm throbbing to the staples.

Carl paced in front of me, eating a gas station sandwich.

"You should have stayed in your biker's bed, Lane," he said. "I didn't want to do this part."

"Which part?"

"The part where you're in the room."

"You filmed it," I said. "You posted it. You sent me out the front door with a timer."

He chewed and shrugged.

"That was Winona's idea," he said. "I only did the camera."

"She picked the minute."

"She picked the minute because I told her the minute," Carl said. "I'm the one who knew when you'd walk out. You're a creature of habit, Lane. Seven o'clock, every Thursday, your hair in the same ponytail."

I looked at him, and for the first time in my life I did not feel anything for him at all.

"How much do you owe the Kings?" I asked.

His jaw tightened.

"Sixty-one thousand."

"On football."

"On football, and then on the money I borrowed to win it back."

"And they said they'd wipe it."

"If Boone Kessling was off the sidewalk, yes."

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