“Mindy!” Ian’s deep voice screams over the sound of his ridiculously loud engine. I’ve heard the man yell before, both when he’s pissed and when he’s not, and now I know I’m not crazy. He is pissed.
I don’t know what I did to anger him. Running at night, maybe? I might be bothered by how much of a hermit I’ve become, but Ian doesn’t seem to think it’s a problem. At least when I’ve rambled about being worried about it, he’s just shaken his head and said, “Don’t push yourself, babe.” The idea that he’s worried about my safely sends a glorious fluttering to my belly. I grin through strained breaths and keep going. I’ve been wanting Ian’s attention for months now, and in this moment I have it, so why the hell am I running? I’m being a bit silly, but my gut tells me that I’m not going to like his mood if I stop, so I don’t.
Chapter 2
“Melinda Claire Mercer!”
Crap-a-doodle! The bend up ahead is getting closer, and maybe, just maybe, if I run fast enough, I can make it past the last house before the bend and into the park where Ian’s Harley can’t follow. I’m only a few miles from home, but I’m not stupid enough to think I can outrun a Harley. But I don’t have to outrun it—I just have to outsmart the man on the Harley.
Easier said than done.
The bike creeps up beside me and slows down. Ian turns his attention toward me and shakes his head in disapproval.
“Stop now and I’ll make it easy on you,” he shouts. I raise my eyebrows and shrug my shoulders, trying to keep up my frantic pace all the while, and turn back to the road. I’m almost at the bend. If I can just get to the par . . .
“Five. Do not make me get to one.” His voice is clipped but still smooth and comforting like always. It’s occurred to me that this is, perhaps, the most I’ve heard him speak in such a short time frame. I’m so distracted by the sound of his voice that I don’t focus in on what he’s saying. What did he say?
“Four,” he shouts.
A countdown. He’s given me a countdown. Oh, this isn’t good. I’m in trouble over something, and I’d probably feel a bit better about this whole situation if I had any clue what’s made him so angry.
But I already know, don’t I?
Maybe it’s not paranoia. Maybe he knows what I was just doing.
No, that can’t be it, can it?
The road bends, and instead of following it around the curve, I take a sharp right into the park and head for the playground. I slow myself down just slightly with an ignorant confidence that I’ll likely regret.
“Fuck!” Ian screams from behind me. I stop for a moment, my lungs burning and chest heaving, legs aching and mind spinning, to turn around and eye him stopped on the road. With a shake of his head and a disapproving scowl on his face, he backs his bike up and pivots it to face me.
“Oh no,” I find myself whispering with a hand clamped over my chapped lips. With a quick peek behind me, I find that the park is deserted. He wouldn’t, would he? His engine revs, and he comes barreling toward me with a speed and ferocity that I’m sure is going to get me flattened by a couple hundred pounds of steel and muscle. I’ve nowhere to run now, so I do the only thing I can to put some distance between myself and the crazy angry outlaw—I run into the playground’s sandy circle and climb up to the top of the play structure. It’s not like I think I’m hiding up here, but the distance will give me a moment to figure out what’s crawled into his jeans and died.
Don’t be stupid, I think to myself. I already know. It’s not paranoia. Smirk said he had nothing for me, not that he was out. He kept me waiting for well over five minutes before telling me I wasn’t getting anything. I was barely at the curb when I heard the Harley behind me, and it’s not left me since.
Oh God. What have I done? What has he done? Even more important—what’s he going to do?
Ian pulls the bike up to the edge of the sand-laden circle and cuts her off. With jerky movements, he shoves the kickstand down and climbs off the bike. I’ve seen a lot of things in life, courtesy of my poor choices, but this is—without a measure of doubt—the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.
“Two,” he says as he approaches the metal slide that leads up to the top of the structure and to the landing I’m perched on. With a thud, he places one black boot atop the bottom of the slide and leans forward. Good job, Mindy. Not only have I gotten myself into being chased by an angry biker, but I’ve also got him giving me a countdown to God only knows what. As far as poor choices go, I’m doing fabulously today.
“You forgot three!” I shout and white-knuckle it to the durable plastic of the play structure. Go big or go home, I guess. If I’ve already dug myself a hole, I might as well make it a deep one.
“No, babe. You just didn’t hear me.” His lips curl up in the corner, and he purses his lips. “Now, do I have to get to one, or are you going to go easy on yourself?”