Page 7 of Ride or Die

“Thank you, Mister!”

“Mister?” He scoffs, but then he tips his hat and nods. “You’re welcome, Miss.”

The man turns back to me then, a knowing look in his eyes as he retrieves the Butterfinger bar from the bag and holds it out, dangling it in Tom’s direction. Tom looks up at me, like he isn’t sure, but it’s not like I can take the dog back from Billie now. So, it’s only fair he gets his candy fill. With a roll of my eyes, I nod once, and his little face lights up. But as he approaches the man, he’s tentative, wary, so unlike Billie as he accepts the candy bar with a murmured, “Thanks,” before scurrying to his sister and ushering her back into the car.

“Thank you,” I say flatly, turning away from the man to finish organizing the trunk. And I expect him to leave—good deed done—but he doesn’t. He lingers. And I’m fully aware of him standing right there, anxiety swirling in my chest.

“So,” he says. “What brings y’all to Summer?”

I don’t answer. Not only because it’s none of his business, but I don’t have a lie made up yet. I need to get my story straight, and I need to relay it to the kids so that they don’t accidentally blow our cover.

“Long way from West Virginia.”

At that, I snap my head up, fight or flight mode kicking up a notch deep inside my gut.

Spinning around, I take a step closer to the man, glaring up at him all while my heart races. “Are you a cop?” I ask, searching his person for a badge. But all he’s got is some ridiculous, shiny belt buckle that’s almost as big as a dinner plate. “Because legally you need to tell me if you are.”

“I-I… don’t actually think that’s true, but no—” He chuckles, holding his muscular, tattooed arms out either side of him. “I mean, no offense to the law, but do I look like a damn cop?”

“How do you know where we’re from?” I press, trying to act calm when all I keep imagining is that he’s a member of a Texas chapter of the club, and this is his way of keeping us here, stalling. In a matter of minutes, a bunch of leather-clad bikers will probably pull into the parking lot and?—

“Your license plate, ma’am.” The man’s words interrupt my thoughts, and I catch the smirk he bites back.

My gaze dips to where his calloused finger is pointing. To the license plate that clearly says West Virginia.Way to play it cool, Clara. I barely contain my own grimace, keeping my chin held high in a show of confidence I sure as shit don’t feel on the inside.

“Cole Dawson.” The man grins, holding his hand out.

I don’t shake it. Just give it a look of indifference before meeting his eyes and arching one of my brows, impatiently tapping my foot.

Retracting his proffered hand,Coleclears his throat, and then he takes another step closer to me, dipping his head and lowering his voice as he says, “You need help?”

When I realize what he’s asking, and exactly where his gaze has settled, it’s only then that I remember my bruises. It’s hot as hell down this way of the world, even in April, and my tank top fails to conceal much, but I thought they’d faded enough. Obviously not. I swallow hard, averting my gaze and looking down, tugging my ball cap a little lower to shield what I can.

“I’m fine,” I say so quietly I’m not sure he hears me.

Cole pulls back, and I peer up at him again, noticing an unfamiliar look flash in his gaze, the firm set of his jaw that causes a muscle to tic in his cheek. “You guys got a place to stay?”

I nod, hoping like hell one of the motels in town has a vacancy.

“It ain’t safe out here to be sleepin’ in your car.”

At that, I take a step to the side, trying to hide the obvious pillows and blankets shoved into the trunk. “We’renotsleeping in the car,” I mutter, feeling simultaneously offended and guilty for putting the kids in any kind of danger the last two nights.

Cole nods, but he says nothing, one eye narrowing as he looks down at me like he doesn’t believe a word I say. Then, reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet, plucking a piece of paper out of one of the slits and handing it to me. It looks like a receipt from the Stop and Shop and I quirk a brow again, hoping he doesn’t expect me to reimburse him.

“I wrote my number on the back.”

I fold my arms across my chest, refusing to accept it.

He sighs and drops the receipt into the plastic bag before taking out a big value pack of Nicorette I know I sure as hell didn’t leave behind on that counter.

Placing the bag into the trunk of my car, Cole takes a few steps back, still looking at me in a way that makes me feel almost naked, vulnerable in the worst kind of way.

“Why do you care?” I find myself asking, even though I know I shouldn’t.

Cole sniffs and removes his hat to rake his fingers through a mop of wavy dark hair as he glances up at the dull blue sky, tinged with the haze of dust that lingers in the air. Replacing his hat, he tips it down a touch.

“This is Texas, ma’am,” he says with a casual shrug of one of his broad shoulders. “Believe it or not, we actually give a damn about one another down here.”