Breaking Away Series by Meli Raine
(Breaking Away #1-3)
Finding Allie (Breaking Away #1)
Chase Halloway’s father is the president of Atlas, the drug dealing motorcycle gang that terrorizes most of our desert town.
My stepfather turns out to be a rival drug dealer, and I’m pretty sure he killed my mom two years ago.
I’m not supposed to fall in love with Chase. He’s not supposed to know I even exist.
But when he finds me, he can’t let go.
And when I find myself in his arms?
I hold tight.
I have to.
Because if I don’t, I might just die.
With or without him.
Chasing Allie (Breaking Away #2)My stepfather turns out to be a rival drug dealer, and I’m pretty sure he killed my mom two years ago.
I’m not supposed to fall in love with Chase. He’s not supposed to know I even exist.
But when he finds me, he can’t let go.
And when I find myself in his arms?
I hold tight.
I have to.
Because if I don’t, I might just die.
With or without him.
I feel the rumble of the motorcycle engines before
I can hear them. The glasses on the bar start to shake and I slip,
dropping one. It falls on the polished wood bar with a thud. Thank
God it doesn’t shatter.
And then I hear them. Tires scraping against
gravel. Engines without mufflers. The air changes. I’m filled with
worry, like someone’s injected it into me. I reach up to put my
fingers against my throat. I don’t know why. I haven’t done that
since I was a little kid, afraid of the dark.
Just plain afraid.
My stepfather comes running
from the back office, his eyes wild and arms tight with tension. His
face is twisted with something I’ve never seen before. For a
second, it makes me want to smile. For once, he looks like he’s
nervous about something.
Good.
“Allie,
you stay calm. Keep washing glasses.” His dark eyes narrow and he
goes back to being cool and collected. The deep grooves of wrinkles
in his face settle back to normal. His eyes are thin and tight, brown
underneath the loose skin.
He’s tall and wiry, fingers stained from chain
smoking unfiltered Camels. He looks at least ten years older than he
is. My mother’s death two years ago aged him. It aged me, too, but
I wear it on the inside. He wears it on his face.
Jeff has two emotions. Angry and neutral. I’ve
seen a lot of angry, but not much neutral.
He looks like he feels fear right now. That’s
new.
I push my long, black hair behind one ear. I wish
I had a scrunchie to pull it back in a ponytail. August in the dry,
desert heat of inland Southern California means it’s always hot.
Any other summer and I’d be getting ready to go back to school, but
I graduated this year. Late summer stretches out like one hot, empty
void.
Like the rest of a life I need to live but can’t.
The air conditioners have been groaning all day.
The sound of the motorbikes drowns them out now.
They are in the parking lot. Two. Three. Four. I
can’t keep track of how many bikes pull up. My heart races but I
keep it together. The last time a motorcycle gang came in, the bar
got trashed. They beat Jeff up and the sheriff came.
Jeff can’t afford to have that happen again.
Blood rushes through me, pulsing hard. My fear is
loud and clear.
He also got angry. Very angry.
I can’t
afford to have that happen again.
Working at the bar is my only way to save money to
move out of this town. I want to go live with my sister in Los
Angeles. If the bar shuts down I don’t know what I’ll do. My
hands polish the same shot glass over and over, like it’s a piece
of silver.
My heart dances in my chest. I look down at my
t-shirt and see drops of sweat trickling down from my neck.
The air is not that
hot. I’m nervous. Terrified.
One of the bikers roars his engine outside.
Another one does the same. Jeff comes back out with his cell phone in
hand and starts talking angrily to someone on the phone. He is
careful not to say anything loud enough for me to understand. I can’t
hear a word. I can hear his fury, though.
I finish the shot glasses and load them on the
shelf where they go. I’m shaking from the inside.
The main door opens a tiny sliver. Blinding
sunlight pours in like it’s invading.
And then he
walks in through the door. The sunlight behind him is a halo, like
he’s an angel. A rough one. The most amazing vision.
Thick, scuffed leather boots with hard wooden
heels crack against the bare wood floor, one at a time. My eyes start
with that first boot. Then I see another. He wears jeans, the kind
that are used to being on a motorcycle rider’s body. His pants mold
to thick, muscled legs.
He wears a red and blue patch with an insignia I
can’t see. Sunlight bounces off a thick belt buckle.
My blood runs cold and I freeze in place, my legs
turning to jelly. I lean against the counter for support. I’m glad
it’s there. My fingers need something to grab. My world is
disintegrating under me. Looking at him replaces the world.
He’s a member of a motorcycle club.
I gaze at the patch he’s wearing but I can’t
see it very clearly. It has a blue figure with red crescents on both
sides. A warm rush of blood fills my face. His thick leather jacket
is dirty and well-worn, dark as my hair and creased with age. A
light-blue T-shirt sticks to his belly, slick with sweat. I can see
the ridges of his abs. My fingers want to reach out and trace the
lines of his muscles. I clench my fists so I won’t give in to the
impulse.
“Jeff
here?” His first words sound like ragged smoke and sunshine. My
eyes meet his and he stays serious. We look at each other and time
stops. Just...stops. His eyes widen and his jaw tightens as he
searches my body with a look that says something I don’t
understand.
But he feels what I feel. I can tell.
Pinpricks of heat from something other than the
summer weather shoot through me. He looks like he’s older than me,
and he’s steady and commanding. His hair is thick, the color of
sand, and it’s messy, like he just rolled out of bed. Wolfish eyes
skim over me, but he’s not in a rush.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t do
anything when he’s looking at me like that.
Please keep looking at me like
that.
“Cat
got your tongue?” he asks, his lips curling up in a half smile. His
cheek moves the lines around his eyes. Light brown eyes with yellow
chips, like someone shattered a gemstone. His eyes are like a lion’s,
the color of a mane.
His eyes are dangerous and predatory. I can’t
look away.
“Uh,
Jeff’s in the back,” I say as the door closes slowly behind him,
blocking out most of the light. I’m amazed that my mouth works at
all. My mind can’t think. My body sure can feel, though.
I pause. What if I said the wrong thing? Jeff
might not want anyone to know he’s here.
Vroom! Vroom! Engines
blare outside. There are even more out there now. How many could
there be? The man’s eyes narrow. He’s studying me. I like it. I
don’t think I’m supposed to like it.
I can’t help myself.
“What’s
your name?” he asks, a low rumble in his voice making me shiver.
I’m not cold.
“Allie.”
I shift and jut out my chin to show him I’m not afraid of him.
“What’s yours?”
His grin widens and now he takes one more step
forward. I can smell him. His scent is sunshine and dust with enough
musk to make me take another deep breath.
He smells so real.
“Chase.”
His name rolls off his lips. “Nice to meet you, Allie.” He
reaches one gloved hand out to shake, then stops.
Pulling the glove off, he waves his hand in the
air. “Sweaty.”
I clasp it anyway. It’s hot and slick. The touch
of skin on skin makes everything else in the world disappear. Our
eyes meet and we can’t stop staring. Am I imagining this?
“Nice
to meet you too, I guess.” I look behind him, at the door. “Why
are you here?”
He laughs, tipping his head
back. It makes him seem less dangerous. “For a drink! This is
a bar, after all.”
I smile, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
He’s staring right back.
The engines all trickle to silence. Boots scrape
outside on the mottled gravel parking lot. Are they coming in? My
heart swells and slams against my ribcage. If trouble is coming, I
don’t know what to do. I’ve never been here before during an
actual fight.
“All
of you coming in?” I ask. If they’re paying customers, then this
is fine. Jeff acts like this isn’t fine, though.
“Allie!”
Jeff shouts from the back. “Get back here.” That sounds like an
order. Jeff likes to order me around.
Chase frowns. “He always talk to you like that?”
His words come out like a growl.
Surprised, I give him confused look. “Like
what?”
“Like
he doesn’t have to be nice.” His voice pounds through me like a
heartbeat. He is being possessive, like a protective boyfriend. I
only just met him.
The words sting because Chase is right. I swallow
hard. Chase’s eyes are combing my face as if he’s trying to
memorize me. I look away even as I wish he would watch me forever.
Chase. I want to say his name aloud simply to hear
it on my tongue. To feel it roll over my lips. If I say his name then
he’s really here, he really shook my hand, and he really is looking
at me like he wants to.
Like he needs
to.
“Whose
stepdad is nice to them?” I ask lightly, like I’m trying to blow
off the comment. This is too intense. Too unreal. He’s right,
though. A little too right.
Chase’s fingers twitch and then his hand forms a
fist. He’s staring in the direction where Jeff’s voice came from.
He looks back toward the door where he entered.
“Good
point,” he mutters, running his bare hand through that mop of hair.
It makes him seem stronger. Darker. More in command.
“One
second,” I say, turning away. I can feel his eyes bore into me. If
I turn around now, I bet he’s staring at me. As I walk through the
threshold to the back hallway I pause. Pretending to adjust something
on a shelf, I look in the mirror behind the bar and catch his
reflection.
I’m right. A shiver runs so fast through me I
have to inhale sharply. This is a new feeling. I don’t know what to
do. He’s gorgeous and frightening and the first of many bikers to
show up now.
“Allie!”
Jeff barks. I scurry back, cursing him in my head but knowing it
doesn’t matter. I turn the corner into his office and his voice is
so sharp he might as well cut me with it.
“You
stop talking to Chase Halloway.”
“You
know him?” Chase Halloway.
The name makes me buzz all over.
Jeff’s face tightens. I asked the wrong
question. By now I should know better. The butterfly of panic flaps
its wings in my chest. How could I be so stupid?
He gives me a look that makes my stomach burn.
“What
I know isn’t any of your concern. You just serve those bikers and
don’t make trouble. No checks. It’s all on the house.”
“What?”
My jaw drops. I can’t help it. Jeff never comps drinks for anyone
except the sheriff. And he knows I can’t serve drinks.
“You
heard me. Don’t question it.” His voice is pure venom.
I won’t. Not again. Jeff is not a violent man.
Not toward me, anyway. When he has his bad moods, though, life can be
hard. Very, very hard.
Loud voices interrupt us. I turn away and rush
down the hallway to find at least twenty men and two women standing
at the bar, lined up in a confusing group of laughing and angry
faces.
A wolf whistle cuts the air. “Hey there, pretty
girl.” A man older than Jeff, with all-grey hair in a fringe around
his balding head, whistles again.
“Where’s
your daddy?” grunts another man. This one is huge, taller than
Chase, but with features that are similar. Chase’s dad, maybe. It’s
hard to tell. All the bikers are covered with a layer of road dirt.
Their faces look tanner than they really are.
“I’ll
be her daddy,” shouts someone in the crowd. “Her sugar daddy.”
A bunch of men laugh. My whole body goes cold with fear. I shut down.
All I can think about is the baseball bat behind the bar. If I can
get back there, maybe I’ll be safe.
“Cut
it out,” Chase says, louder than the laughter. I look to my left
and see him, alone, standing right where I left him.
His eyes are on me. Only me. But his words are for
the crowd.
“Claiming
her already?” someone shouts. There’s a challenge in the
question.
Chase steps forward, closer to me. When he’s
only a foot away, he pauses. I can feel his heat reaching out to pull
me in. His arms don’t, though.
Chase turns back to face them. “And if I am?”I feel the rumble of the motorcycle engines before
I can hear them. The glasses on the bar start to shake and I slip,
dropping one. It falls on the polished wood bar with a thud. Thank
God it doesn’t shatter.
And then I hear them. Tires scraping against
gravel. Engines without mufflers. The air changes. I’m filled with
worry, like someone’s injected it into me. I reach up to put my
fingers against my throat. I don’t know why. I haven’t done that
since I was a little kid, afraid of the dark.
Just plain afraid.
My stepfather comes running
from the back office, his eyes wild and arms tight with tension. His
face is twisted with something I’ve never seen before. For a
second, it makes me want to smile. For once, he looks like he’s
nervous about something.
Good.
“Allie,
you stay calm. Keep washing glasses.” His dark eyes narrow and he
goes back to being cool and collected. The deep grooves of wrinkles
in his face settle back to normal. His eyes are thin and tight, brown
underneath the loose skin.
He’s tall and wiry, fingers stained from chain
smoking unfiltered Camels. He looks at least ten years older than he
is. My mother’s death two years ago aged him. It aged me, too, but
I wear it on the inside. He wears it on his face.
Jeff has two emotions. Angry and neutral. I’ve
seen a lot of angry, but not much neutral.
He looks like he feels fear right now. That’s
new.
I push my long, black hair behind one ear. I wish
I had a scrunchie to pull it back in a ponytail. August in the dry,
desert heat of inland Southern California means it’s always hot.
Any other summer and I’d be getting ready to go back to school, but
I graduated this year. Late summer stretches out like one hot, empty
void.
Like the rest of a life I need to live but can’t.
The air conditioners have been groaning all day.
The sound of the motorbikes drowns them out now.
They are in the parking lot. Two. Three. Four. I
can’t keep track of how many bikes pull up. My heart races but I
keep it together. The last time a motorcycle gang came in, the bar
got trashed. They beat Jeff up and the sheriff came.
Jeff can’t afford to have that happen again.
Blood rushes through me, pulsing hard. My fear is
loud and clear.
He also got angry. Very angry.
I can’t
afford to have that happen again.
Working at the bar is my only way to save money to
move out of this town. I want to go live with my sister in Los
Angeles. If the bar shuts down I don’t know what I’ll do. My
hands polish the same shot glass over and over, like it’s a piece
of silver.
My heart dances in my chest. I look down at my
t-shirt and see drops of sweat trickling down from my neck.
The air is not that
hot. I’m nervous. Terrified.
One of the bikers roars his engine outside.
Another one does the same. Jeff comes back out with his cell phone in
hand and starts talking angrily to someone on the phone. He is
careful not to say anything loud enough for me to understand. I can’t
hear a word. I can hear his fury, though.
I finish the shot glasses and load them on the
shelf where they go. I’m shaking from the inside.
The main door opens a tiny sliver. Blinding
sunlight pours in like it’s invading.
And then he
walks in through the door. The sunlight behind him is a halo, like
he’s an angel. A rough one. The most amazing vision.
Thick, scuffed leather boots with hard wooden
heels crack against the bare wood floor, one at a time. My eyes start
with that first boot. Then I see another. He wears jeans, the kind
that are used to being on a motorcycle rider’s body. His pants mold
to thick, muscled legs.
He wears a red and blue patch with an insignia I
can’t see. Sunlight bounces off a thick belt buckle.
My blood runs cold and I freeze in place, my legs
turning to jelly. I lean against the counter for support. I’m glad
it’s there. My fingers need something to grab. My world is
disintegrating under me. Looking at him replaces the world.
He’s a member of a motorcycle club.
I gaze at the patch he’s wearing but I can’t
see it very clearly. It has a blue figure with red crescents on both
sides. A warm rush of blood fills my face. His thick leather jacket
is dirty and well-worn, dark as my hair and creased with age. A
light-blue T-shirt sticks to his belly, slick with sweat. I can see
the ridges of his abs. My fingers want to reach out and trace the
lines of his muscles. I clench my fists so I won’t give in to the
impulse.
“Jeff
here?” His first words sound like ragged smoke and sunshine. My
eyes meet his and he stays serious. We look at each other and time
stops. Just...stops. His eyes widen and his jaw tightens as he
searches my body with a look that says something I don’t
understand.
But he feels what I feel. I can tell.
Pinpricks of heat from something other than the
summer weather shoot through me. He looks like he’s older than me,
and he’s steady and commanding. His hair is thick, the color of
sand, and it’s messy, like he just rolled out of bed. Wolfish eyes
skim over me, but he’s not in a rush.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t do
anything when he’s looking at me like that.
Please keep looking at me like
that.
“Cat
got your tongue?” he asks, his lips curling up in a half smile. His
cheek moves the lines around his eyes. Light brown eyes with yellow
chips, like someone shattered a gemstone. His eyes are like a lion’s,
the color of a mane.
His eyes are dangerous and predatory. I can’t
look away.
“Uh,
Jeff’s in the back,” I say as the door closes slowly behind him,
blocking out most of the light. I’m amazed that my mouth works at
all. My mind can’t think. My body sure can feel, though.
I pause. What if I said the wrong thing? Jeff
might not want anyone to know he’s here.
Vroom! Vroom! Engines
blare outside. There are even more out there now. How many could
there be? The man’s eyes narrow. He’s studying me. I like it. I
don’t think I’m supposed to like it.
I can’t help myself.
“What’s
your name?” he asks, a low rumble in his voice making me shiver.
I’m not cold.
“Allie.”
I shift and jut out my chin to show him I’m not afraid of him.
“What’s yours?”
His grin widens and now he takes one more step
forward. I can smell him. His scent is sunshine and dust with enough
musk to make me take another deep breath.
He smells so real.
“Chase.”
His name rolls off his lips. “Nice to meet you, Allie.” He
reaches one gloved hand out to shake, then stops.
Pulling the glove off, he waves his hand in the
air. “Sweaty.”
I clasp it anyway. It’s hot and slick. The touch
of skin on skin makes everything else in the world disappear. Our
eyes meet and we can’t stop staring. Am I imagining this?
“Nice
to meet you too, I guess.” I look behind him, at the door. “Why
are you here?”
He laughs, tipping his head
back. It makes him seem less dangerous. “For a drink! This is
a bar, after all.”
I smile, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
He’s staring right back.
The engines all trickle to silence. Boots scrape
outside on the mottled gravel parking lot. Are they coming in? My
heart swells and slams against my ribcage. If trouble is coming, I
don’t know what to do. I’ve never been here before during an
actual fight.
“All
of you coming in?” I ask. If they’re paying customers, then this
is fine. Jeff acts like this isn’t fine, though.
“Allie!”
Jeff shouts from the back. “Get back here.” That sounds like an
order. Jeff likes to order me around.
Chase frowns. “He always talk to you like that?”
His words come out like a growl.
Surprised, I give him confused look. “Like
what?”
“Like
he doesn’t have to be nice.” His voice pounds through me like a
heartbeat. He is being possessive, like a protective boyfriend. I
only just met him.
The words sting because Chase is right. I swallow
hard. Chase’s eyes are combing my face as if he’s trying to
memorize me. I look away even as I wish he would watch me forever.
Chase. I want to say his name aloud simply to hear
it on my tongue. To feel it roll over my lips. If I say his name then
he’s really here, he really shook my hand, and he really is looking
at me like he wants to.
Like he needs
to.
“Whose
stepdad is nice to them?” I ask lightly, like I’m trying to blow
off the comment. This is too intense. Too unreal. He’s right,
though. A little too right.
Chase’s fingers twitch and then his hand forms a
fist. He’s staring in the direction where Jeff’s voice came from.
He looks back toward the door where he entered.
“Good
point,” he mutters, running his bare hand through that mop of hair.
It makes him seem stronger. Darker. More in command.
“One
second,” I say, turning away. I can feel his eyes bore into me. If
I turn around now, I bet he’s staring at me. As I walk through the
threshold to the back hallway I pause. Pretending to adjust something
on a shelf, I look in the mirror behind the bar and catch his
reflection.
I’m right. A shiver runs so fast through me I
have to inhale sharply. This is a new feeling. I don’t know what to
do. He’s gorgeous and frightening and the first of many bikers to
show up now.
“Allie!”
Jeff barks. I scurry back, cursing him in my head but knowing it
doesn’t matter. I turn the corner into his office and his voice is
so sharp he might as well cut me with it.
“You
stop talking to Chase Halloway.”
“You
know him?” Chase Halloway.
The name makes me buzz all over.
Jeff’s face tightens. I asked the wrong
question. By now I should know better. The butterfly of panic flaps
its wings in my chest. How could I be so stupid?
He gives me a look that makes my stomach burn.
“What
I know isn’t any of your concern. You just serve those bikers and
don’t make trouble. No checks. It’s all on the house.”
“What?”
My jaw drops. I can’t help it. Jeff never comps drinks for anyone
except the sheriff. And he knows I can’t serve drinks.
“You
heard me. Don’t question it.” His voice is pure venom.
I won’t. Not again. Jeff is not a violent man.
Not toward me, anyway. When he has his bad moods, though, life can be
hard. Very, very hard.
Loud voices interrupt us. I turn away and rush
down the hallway to find at least twenty men and two women standing
at the bar, lined up in a confusing group of laughing and angry
faces.
A wolf whistle cuts the air. “Hey there, pretty
girl.” A man older than Jeff, with all-grey hair in a fringe around
his balding head, whistles again.
“Where’s
your daddy?” grunts another man. This one is huge, taller than
Chase, but with features that are similar. Chase’s dad, maybe. It’s
hard to tell. All the bikers are covered with a layer of road dirt.
Their faces look tanner than they really are.
“I’ll
be her daddy,” shouts someone in the crowd. “Her sugar daddy.”
A bunch of men laugh. My whole body goes cold with fear. I shut down.
All I can think about is the baseball bat behind the bar. If I can
get back there, maybe I’ll be safe.
“Cut
it out,” Chase says, louder than the laughter. I look to my left
and see him, alone, standing right where I left him.
His eyes are on me. Only me. But his words are for
the crowd.
“Claiming
her already?” someone shouts. There’s a challenge in the
question.
Chase steps forward, closer to me. When he’s
only a foot away, he pauses. I can feel his heat reaching out to pull
me in. His arms don’t, though.
Chase turns back to face them. “And if I am?”
It turns out my stepfather has plans for me.
Plans that make dying look like a walk in the park.
He’s selling my virginity to a Mexican drug lord to get out of debt.
Chase just found out and is here to take me away to safety. To the ocean. To my dreams.
But while I’m gone, a murder takes place back home.
I receive a phone call. It’s the police.
I’m the prime suspect.
And if I go back, I may become the prime victim.
They say love conquers all, but can Chase save me from this?
aaaThe door opens just as Jeff comes so close to me,
his hand reaching for my shoulder. Or maybe my neck.
It’s Chase.
And he’s holding a shotgun.
Pointed right at Jeff’s head.
Whatever I was about to scream back at Jeff dies
in my throat. All I can say is, “Chase?”
I can’t believe my eyes. Is that really Chase
across the bar? Jeff is staring at him like he wants to kill him. And
he does. My heart slams against the bones of my ribs like it’s
trying to break through. Maybe I should let it. Then it wouldn’t
hurt so much.
The tension between Chase and Jeff just might
break me. I could give in to it. Not because I care about Jeff, but
because all I want to do right now is throw myself into Chase’s
arms.
But Chase’s arms are kind of full right now.
He’s holding a cocked shotgun. And it’s pointed at Jeff’s face,
right between the eyes. A strange cheer rises inside me. It doesn’t
have a name. If it did, it would be named hope. Right now, hope
is the only good thing that’s about to come out of the brewing
fight between the man who I think is my future and the man who holds
me back.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing,
boy?” Jeff’s words ring out across the empty bar. The stale scent
of old cigarettes blends with the anger in the air. It all makes my
stomach hurt. Chase ignores me, though. Why is he pretending I’m
not here?
He sees me. I know he does. I am the reason why he
is here and everything in me burns for him.
“I’m here to set free what you’ve been
keeping prisoner for far too long, old man,” Chase answers my
stepdad. A shiver runs through me. I’ve never seen him like this
and it makes me wonder what else I don’t know about him.
“Prisoner? Who the fuck do you think I’ve been
keeping prisoner?” Both sets of eyes turn and look at me. I am the
prisoner. Jeff knows damn well that I’m who Chase has come for.
“Me.” My word brings out like a thunder clap.
It echoes against walls I’ve washed, floors I’ve mopped, bars I
wiped a thousand times. It bounces off all the memories I have of my
mother. It roams through the air to stop just short of Jeff’s face.
Like a shotgun.
Jeff just barks out a disgusted laugh.
“I know what you plan to do with her,” Chase
says in a tone that makes my spine go cold.
“Do with me?” I ask, confused. I look
at Jeff. He reddens. What are they talking about?
“You don’t know shit,” he says to Chase,
casting a nervous glance at me. “Now get out of here before I call
the cops. Bet that gun ain’t registered and you don’t have a
license to fire, either.”
“Try me, old man. Call the cops. I got a lot I
can tell them about you.” Chase is looking at Jeff with the cold
gleam of murder in his eye. I can tell he can taste it. Now I
understand the phrase “out for blood.”
I can see it in Chase’s face.
“What do you want?” Jeff asks. “Money?
Booze?”
“Her.”
“Nope. Can’t have her.” Jeff shakes his head
slowly, as if that solidifies it.
“Her is standing right here, you two! Her
has a name!” I yell out. I’m getting angry with both of them now,
talking about me like I’m a prize you win and fight over. Like I’m
a bone two dogs are playing tug of war with.
“He’s planning to sell you off, Allie,”
Chase says slowly. His words are measured and he’s speaking
carefully. His eye is fixed on Jeff, finger on the trigger, though.
He’s not losing focus. There’s a tone of sadness in his words,
like he doesn’t want to say them.
“Sell me? What do you mean, Chase?
There’s no such thing.” I stare at him, completely dumbfounded.
When I frown, my scabbed-over road rash hurts. I brush my hair behind
my ear and a piece catches in the scab. I wince. “You can’t sell
a person.”
Jeff chuckles. “Told you. The boy is nuts.”
But his eyes are wary. Shifty. Cunning. He’s afraid.
Afraid of...me?
More like afraid of the truth. Of being caught. Of
being exposed. All my skin goes numb at the thought that Jeff’s
hiding something and Chase knows what it is.
“Allie, move away from him.” Chase’s words
make it clear I need to obey. I do, moving out of Jeff’s grabbing
range.
“Chase, this is really weird. I don’t
understand,” I plead, trying to figure out what’s going on.
Chase just stares at Jeff. “Let’s just say I
learned through the grapevine why Wakefield here has been so
protective of you. Two years ago he got himself into a big mess. A
deadly mess.”
My heart goes cold. Two years ago? That’s when
Mom died.
“And he made a deal,” Chase continues. He says
the word “deal” like it’s distasteful.
“Shut up, boy. You don’t know what you’re
talking about,” Jeff says. He’s standing next to the bar and I
see his hand slowly move toward his hip. What’s he reaching for?
Are my boyfriend and my stepfather seriously
facing off over me, with guns involved? What is Chase babbling
about—me, being sold?
“That’s why he was so worried about your
virginity, Allie. You need to be pure. He’s trading you for six
figures of debt he owes a Mexican drug lord.” Chase’s voice is
filled with anger and resentment, seething with righteous
indignation.
“WHAT?”
I scream, looking at Jeff.
Keeping Allie (Breaking Away #3)
Help.I’m alone, tied up, bleeding and terrified.
I’m a prisoner at the Atlas motorcycle club compound. Someone kidnapped me, and it looks like it’s Chase.
No one knows I’m here. Then again, I’m no one, right? No mother, no stepfather, and my sister may have been kidnapped, too
They can make me disappear. Or worse. It turns out there are worse things than disappearing.
I thought Chase was my only hope.
Now he turns out to be my worst nightmare.
Something flickers in his eyes, though. A glimmer of love. If I can get him alone, maybe I can convince him to let me go. To let me live.
To let me go back to a time when I thought he was a good guy.
Only Chase has the power to make that happen.
Everything I am is in his hands right now.
And those hands are about to touch me.
Looks like a great read! :-)
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