Hide & Seek Page 7

  He blinked upward, his fury merging with a resentful hatred, but Rora smiled. That computer had tried to kill her and if she got the chance, she had no trouble returning the favor.

  Strike was dressed when Rora got out the shower and there wasn’t a sign of the laptop anywhere. “What’s going on?” she asked, noticing that resolve was stiffening him.

  “We’re taking a day off from the road,” he said.

  Rolling her eyes, she folded her arms. “Is this about what I said about your computer? I promise not to touch her again, ok? I was hurt.” Rora waved her fingers at him. “Still stings by the way.”

  “Then you’ve learned your lesson,” he said. “But this isn’t about that. You wanted a day off from the bike, right?”

  She did, but she didn’t think she’d said it out loud. “Ok,” she said, taking a step toward him. “So, what are we going to do today?”

  “You do whatever you want,” he said, pulling a wad of money from his pocket to toss it over the couch onto the coffee table. “Just be back here tomorrow by check-out time if you want to keep going.”

  That seemed like an odd thing to say, why wouldn’t she want to keep going? “Do you want to keep going?”

  But he didn’t say anything either way, just turned around and walked out, leaving her alone. Insulting his precious computer hadn’t been intentional, but he’d obviously taken it to heart.

  When she heard what sounded like rotor blades, her eyes traveled upward, he wouldn’t have… would he? No way Rora was going to wait around to find out if he’d sent some covert international organization after her. Hurrying across the room, she grabbed the money, and her jacket, and ran out of the motel room.

  The town was small, but still had a shopping district. To her delight, she found a beauty salon and treated herself to a mani/pedi. She got her hair done too, choosing to get purple streaks through her auburn locks. The stylist was overjoyed by her choice, claiming she didn’t often get to work with hair as thick and soft as hers. Rora was sure the woman was feeding her a line to get a better tip. Her hair couldn’t be in that great a shape, she’d neglected all her beauty needs for the last six months. Not that she’d ever been much of a spa bunny.

  The body scrub felt great and the massage even better. For one day, she let herself relax. It had been impossible to chill out since Benjamin was taken. But now, with Strike on the case, she wasn’t as worried. Not only wasn’t she alone anymore, but she had one of the world’s most skilled men helping her fix her problem.

  Walking down the street with her shopping bags, she felt freer than she had for a long time. He wasn’t at the motel when she got there, not that she’d expected him to be. But she changed her clothes, took time to do her make-up, and began to feel like a normal human being again for the first time since all of this.

  Even going to dinner by herself was a liberating experience. Strike was out there somewhere. She might not know exactly where or how to get in touch with him, but he was nearby, and that was enough to make her relax.

  She was out walking in the moonlight when her pocket buzzed. Smiling to herself, she wondered if Strike was calling to check why she wasn’t at the motel when it had to be after midnight.

  Except when she took her phone from her pocket and saw that it had no number or identifier, she stopped walking and lost her smile. Hesitating for only a second, she held her breath, pressed receive and lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Aurora,” a voice said and although it was distorted, this time it was definitely female.

  Rora knew she hadn’t misinterpreted it the last time, whoever this was they’d either changed their voice or there was another party coming to the table. “Bella?”

  A chilling digital laugh made her shiver. “Seems we have the same taste in men. You have mine and I have yours,” Bella said. “I would ask what we should do about that. But I have no problem sharing mine with you… Do you have a problem sharing with me?”

  Benjamin? Did she have Benjamin? Rora was confused. How could a woman hold a man as powerful as Benjamin? He’d be able to physically overpower her. Except, she’d seen the marks on Strike and remembered what he’d said about Bella’s minions.

  “Yes,” she said, heated by anger. “I have a huge problem sharing. I want you to let him go.”

  “I would give him back, course I would. But your man has something I want, something he won’t relinquish. Odd because Exile was once in the same position. Did he tell you how we met?” Rora said nothing. “He was a prisoner of my father and brothers. They held him for half a year. Tortured him. But that didn’t make any ounce of difference to a boy who’s been tortured since the day he was born. He was born hated. Conceived in evil. His mother killed herself on the day he was born because she couldn’t stand to look at him. I’d say it was sad if it wasn’t so tantalizing. It’s difficult not to fall in love with a man like that, isn’t it? A man so… unmoved and unafraid. So untethered. He’s so broken and damaged that he doesn’t have a thing in the world to lose. He revels in the pain, cares about nothing. He doesn’t fear pain or death. His indifference… it’s arousing. He’s the epitome of freedom and I’d say that’s why a girl like you would fall for him. You, a girl always concerned with what everyone else thinks about your past, must be drawn to a man so invulnerable.”

  “Why did you call me?” Rora asked. “Are you going to ask the question?”

  “No. I called you to caution you,” Bella said, and to her credit, she sounded sincere, like she had a grave warning. “Tread carefully with him, one day you think he’s your savior and the next, he snaps, and he’s like a stranger. I could handle it, before Exile killed them all, I dealt with the brutality of my father and brothers on a daily basis, but you don’t deserve to live through another trauma.”

  “You don’t care about me,” Rora said, not falling for it. “What’s this really about?”

  “Men have ruled over us for too long. They believe themselves better, stronger. Only women like us can stand up against them. Fire forged us. We were burned, scarred by the men forced upon us. We owe it to ourselves and each other never to let them mark us again.”

  eight

  Tracking down Strike wasn’t as difficult as Rora had thought it would be.

  Without a phone number for him, or even an email, she had no way to reach out. But her desire to see him had reminded her of how she’d found him in the first place. In the darkest corner of the most rundown and terrifying bar in town.

  There wasn’t a biker bar around here, but she recalled overhearing a conversation in the salon about a woman who was upset with her husband for going to the seedy strip club near the highway.

  The cab driver did a double take when Rora asked to be taken there, and she thought there was something ironic about the parallel of cab drivers not wanting to go to the place Strike coveted.

  But he took her, and Rora kept her eyes open on the journey to the club. Checking out the corner near the rear exit as they drove by, she spotted Strike’s bike. Bingo. He was always in a position to make a quick getaway. If his bike was here, with its special custom spot for his beloved laptop, then he wasn’t far away.

  The doormen didn’t look any less surprised to see her than the cab driver had been, and she was let in for free even though she offered to pay. Descending the stairs into the dark club, she smelled the scent of a smoke machine and saw the flash of lights swinging in various arcs past the circular glass windows in the doors at the bottom of the stairs.

  Pushing through, she felt a sense of deja vu. The large room with its various podiums was better lit than Last Resort and there were women in here, even if they were basically naked for the most part.

  The darkest corner.

  Scanning the room, she turned slowly, letting the flashes of light from the mainstage reflect off one of the mirror balls to light up the corners. But the curved walls didn’t give much opportunity for darkness to fester in corners.

  Her attention went past the bar
and then back… There he was, sitting at a table at the end of the bar, tucked in a corner formed by it. He probably couldn’t even see the main stage from there. Not just because he was so engrossed in his precious laptop, but because the bar was high and would block his view.

  In her tight cocktail dress, she got a few glances. Rora guessed the patrons considered her too overdressed to work here and the only women around were employees. Some of the women followed her progress too, probably expecting that she was someone’s wife or girlfriend, here to throw a hissy fit.

  But there were more important things to consider than creating a scene for sport. Striding over to his table, she didn’t even come to a stop before he was sliding a hundred over the tabletop.

  “Not interested,” he grumbled, tapping away on his keyboard. “Leave me alone.”

  Picking up the bill, she pouted at it and shrugged before tucking it into her bra. “No Buddy here to keep the masses away, huh,” she said.

  His fingers froze. She smiled, it was funny to literally feel the air around him begin to crackle with annoyance. “You’re like a goddamn homing pigeon,” he grumbled when she spun around and dropped onto the seat beside him, thigh to thigh.

  “Or a cadaver dog. You are meant to be a ghost, right?” she asked, crossing her legs toward him and admiring the view. “You know, I wouldn’t have pictured you in a place like this.” He was quite happy to type and she was quite happy to keep voicing her opinions. “There are a lot of people here and most of them are happy.” Rora made a dramatic show of shaking her whole body in a shiver. “Imagine the horror? They could infect you… Oh my God, what if they make you smile? Quick, we better get out of here fast or we might find ourselves…” She curled her fingers around her throat and swallowed down feigned fear. “Having fun! Strike, please, don’t let it happen! You’re stronger than this! Resist temptation! Step away from the light!”

  “Did you come here for a reason?” he asked without reacting to her theatrics. “You didn’t get yourself in trouble dressed like that, did you?”

  Opening her arms, she admired her own dress. “Do you like it? I got my hair done too.”

  “I noticed,” he mumbled.

  “Do you like it?”

  “No.”

  Well, ok, she had asked, but he really didn’t get the point. “There’s an implied right answer to that question,” she said from the corner of her mouth. “Want to try again?”

  “I told you, I don’t do implied,” he said.

  “So why—”

  “Color like that makes you distinguishable,” he said. “Reason?”

  She hadn’t thought about how she might want to blend into the background. But he was right, she’d just given herself an identifiable feature. Damn it.

  “Bella called me.”

  “I know, I ran a trace,” he said. “She’s on the move. Heading north.”

  “We’re heading south,” she said.

  “Right now, we’re heading nowhere.”

  Sighing again, she noticed one of the half-naked employees walking by eyeing them. Rora grinned and gestured her over. Plucking a couple of hundreds from her bra, she gave them to the woman. “Would you help me out with my boyfriend? We’re experimenting with kink. Touch as much as you like. He needs a little boost to get him going.”

  The woman was happy to take the money. Strike had no opportunity to say a word. Rora grabbed the laptop, closed it and hugged it to her chest. The dancer pushed the table away, moved between his thighs and began moving for him.

  Rising a fraction, Rora murmured in his ear. “A-sexuality is a recognized thing now, you should look it up.” The dancer pushed her ass into Strike’s groin. He leaned away, wearing a look of disgust when the blonde lay back on his chest and put her head on his shoulder. Running her hand through her hair, the blonde spread her shimmering locks all in his face. When the dancer licked his jaw, Rora had to smile. “Have fun for a night, just one won’t kill you.” The dancer spun and dropped to squat, her hands open on his knees. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

  Smacking his chest once, she kissed his cheek and got up. Handing the dancer another bundle of bills, she widened her smile. “Make sure the girls treat him well,” Rora said and flounced away, still hugging his laptop to her chest.

  He’d taken her phone from her after the last Bella call. Maybe it made sense that he’d done something to it to ensure he was notified of who was calling. Figuring she should’ve asked if he could listen in too, she thought about what Bella had said.

  Until now, she’d been so determined to find out where Strike was to tell him what had happened that she hadn’t focused on Bella’s words and what they meant about who he was. But if it was true… Had his mother committed suicide? Rora couldn’t believe it, there was no way that a woman could do such a thing to a newborn… could she?

  Strike had told her not to trust his ex, that she was a plausible person. Rora had been determined not to be drawn in, she wasn’t going to be naive and prove him right. But she could interpret facts in her own way. And the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He came from nowhere, he had no family, and he had a major chip on his shoulder.

  What chance did any person have when they had that kind of start in life? Walking down the side of the road, back toward town, Rora was proud of herself. It might have started as a joke, but now she felt like she’d done a good thing. Strike did deserve to cut loose and have a bit of fun and he was in the perfect place to do that.

  Her mouth was dry when she woke up.

  Rora yawned and turned her face toward the heavy warmth that had made her stir. “Strike?” she whispered, recognizing his scent and the texture of his palm on her face.

  “Open your eyes before you say my name,” he said. “The next time, it might not be me touching you.”

  His hand moved away, and she opened her eyes to see him getting off the edge of the bed where he’d been sitting. “What time is it?”

  “Time to check out,” he said. When she turned to blink at the curtains, she noticed daylight shining from the other side of them. Strike was grabbing up her things and stuffing them into her pack, and she realized he was wearing the same outfit as he had been last night. “Are you just getting back?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You were right, that blonde was just what I needed.”

  Pushing onto her elbows, Rora didn’t expect to feel a sharp pain in the middle of her chest above her breasts. “You slept with her?” she asked, her words little more than a breathy gasp.

  He spared her just a brief glance and tossed her pack toward the door. “You gave her almost a grand. We don’t let money like that go to waste, Cupcake.”

  She couldn’t close her mouth, was he really using her pet name after admitting he’d been intimate with another woman? What was the sickness and the fever that was making her feel weak?

  Rora had been fine last night, she’d slept fine, waking up with his hand on her face had been a pleasure. But now, she didn’t want to move. Flopping onto her back, she pressed both hands to her face. She’d paid that woman to dance for him, not to…

  Another pain hit her chest and heaviness filled her gut. It was wrong that she should feel betrayed, because she’d set it up, but she did feel disappointment, in him and in herself.

  “Where’s the laptop?”

  “Under my pillow,” she said, her hands still over her face. “I figured there was joking around and then there was a capital offense. If I let anything happen to your Precious, I’d probably pray for a smothering compared to what you’d do to me.”

  “Opal proved yesterday she can take care of herself. I’d never have let her leave with you if I didn’t think the pair of you would make it through the night without killing each other.”

  Letting her hands slip from her face, his shadow crossed her and there he was, standing next to the bed, looming over her. “Opal?”

  “Figured now you’ve slept with her, you should know her name,” he sai
d and leaned over to shove a hand under her pillow, displacing her to tug the laptop out, which also sent her switchblade skittering to the floor.

  “You slept with the blonde, did you get her name?”

  “The blonde’s name’s irrelevant,” he said, bending over to retrieve the switchblade. Laying it on her chest, over the sheet, he turned to walk away. “Did you put the blade there just in case or did something happen?”

  Pointing her toes, Rora stretched her hands over her head, pushing against the headboard to slide herself down the bed. “If someone had come to attack us, I’d have let Opal zap him… She taught me about pain without blood, and blood means evidence.”

  “Good tip,” he said and opened the motel room door. “I’ll give you five minutes and then I’m on the road.”

  “Are we heading back north?” she asked, grabbing the blade and leaping out of bed, pulling her tee-shirt down as fast as she could.

  “No,” he said. “East.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No one said you had to.”

  He turned around, opening the door wider and taking a step out. “Strike,” she said. He stopped to look at her. But the longer he stood there, the faster her nerve fled. She had no right to ask him about his night, about whether or not he had gone home with the blonde, her friend, or a posse of women. She smiled. “I’m glad you had a good night… Five minutes.”

  nine

  East became north became west, until five days had passed and Rora had no earthly idea where they were going anymore.