Lily’s arm tightens around mine and she pulls me down the aisle. “Corrupt asshole,” she murmurs under her breath as we put some distance between the cop and us.

I’m fighting back a dizzy spell and the rising nausea. I need to go somewhere quiet where I can pull myself together.

After a couple seconds, I rasp out, “I need to find a bathroom. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Okay, honey. It’s right there.” She points off to the right. A sign hangs from the ceiling, confirming that’s where I need to go. “I’m gonna find my friend Rigor. He’ll make sure Officer Davis keeps his distance. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She holds out her hand. “Here, give me those and I’ll get them.”

I shove the items in my hands at her and turn, but she stops me by placing a hand on my arm. “Look, if you need a ride, or maybe a place to stay for a little while, I can take you somewhere Davis can’t bother you.” I nod vigorously. She looks over at the long lines behind the cash registers, frowns, and says. “I may be a bit, but I’ll come find you soon okay?”

I flee to the bathroom.

After slapping open the restroom door, I bolt for the nearest stall, making it just in time. My knees skid on the cold hard tile, my face hovers over the porcelain bowl for only a moment before I retch. I palm the wall for some stability, though honestly, right now, I have none.

Too close.

That was too goddamn close. And not just my mad dash to the toilet.

The look on Officer Davis’s face. He recognized me. Maybe he hasn’t put two and two together yet, but I have no doubt he will . . . in time.

I heave numerous times trying to get rid of the nausea and images inside my head. Me, shackled in handcuffs. Me, looking out from behind bars. Me, wearing an orange jumpsuit.

My freedom gone. My secret garden replaced by an iron cage for God knows how long.

I breathe deeply and force myself to calm down enough to stop the retching. Then grab some toilet paper and wipe my face.

At the row of sinks, I choose the last one and splash cool water over my face. It helps. A little. I watch in the mirror as the drops fall from my chin. My eyes shift to the closed door and a knot forms in my stomach. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller, the beige walls closer, and the closed metal door gets larger than it was a moment ago. I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t think about it.

When I reopen them, I don’t focus on the room. Instead, I gaze down at the gnarly scars on my wrists. They’re jagged and though caused by the same thing, they’re different. A small sign of the damage Warner inflicted.

The door squeaks open behind me. The noises of a busy grocery store file in. Shifting my eyes, I look past my reflection. Chills skate up my spine and every muscle in my body goes stiff.

“Ember Dee Pierce.” My name falls from Officer Davis’ lips. The one on my birth certificate. The click of the lock sounds like a gun going off as he flips it in place, followed by the thud of his boots on the tile floor as he strides toward me.

I scan my surroundings. My senses wake up and instantly search for a way to escape or hide. Only there’s nowhere to go. Being locked in a small space, cornered, as a predator bears down on me, is not something I ever wanted to experience again.

In no time at all, he’s standing behind me, his hazel eyes locked with mine through the mirror. The light above the mirror illuminates the sweat just under his hairline on his forehead.

“San Diego Police Department has been looking for you for quite a while. I’m sure they’d be happy to know you’re alive and living with Lily and her gang of criminals.”

I clench my jaw shut and grip the edge of the counter like my life depends on it. I could run, but I’d never make it. I’m fast. But I’m not that fast.

The way he snarled the last part makes me think maybe he has some beef with the men Lily’s associated with. Disassociating myself might be the smartest thing to do.

“I-I’m not her cousin. I just met her. I’m not connected with her or them.”

He scrutinizes my face. “Is she coming back for you?”

I swallow down my panic. I don’t understand what this has to do with her. “She said she would.” Then I ask the all-important question. “A-are you going to arrest me?”

It feels like forever before he responds. “Maybe we can work out some kind of deal.”

The tiny hairs on my neck prickle. “What do you mean?” Lines appear around his mouth as he smiles and a shudder rakes over me. A large knot forms in my belly. “What, sex?”

He shakes his head. The corner of his mouth lifts in a malicious smirk. “Not that I’m not tempted, but I need something more than a blow job or a quick fuck, sweetheart.”

A wave of relief washes over me. Then I realize I have nothing else to give him and tell him so. “I don’t have anything else to give you.”

“Not necessarily true. If Lily takes you with her, you might be very useful to me.”

I’m lost on his meaning. “Where is it you think she’s taking me?”

“Ever heard of the Harbingers of Chaos?”

“Where?” I ask.

“Not a where, a who.” He sweeps my hair off my shoulder and I flinch away from his touch. “They’re a motorcycle club. Their hangout’s not too far from here.” He gestures toward the door. “Lily’s boyfriend’s a member. A real piece of work, like the rest of ’em. We’re talking murderers, drug dealers, and gunrunners. They launder money through the local casino. You name it, and if it’s illegal, they have their hands in it. They think they own everything and everyone. And they trample over the people who get in their way.” A muscle in his jaw ticks.

Dread falls like a heavy weight to the pit of my stomach. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I need you to get me something I can use to put these guys away for good.”

It sinks in. What he’s asking me to do. “How—”

“You make nice. Do what you gotta do. Get them to let you stay at the clubhouse, then you keep your ears open and you supply me with anything and everything you hear that I can use.”

Do what you gotta do? Aka . . . let one of them, or all of them, fuck me? Become his snitch? On. A. Motorcycle. Club.

Is he insane?

No. No freaking way.

“I have no doubt those dirty fuckers are going to love you.” He brushes his fingers over my arm and I pull away.

“What if they don’t want me there?”

“Then I guess we’ll be seeing a whole lot more of each other while we wait for the San Diego PD to come collect you. But don’t you worry. I can think of so many things we can do to pass the time. I’d hate to see a pretty thing like you get locked away though. And you know arson’s a pretty fucking serious crime. What do you think that will get you? Ten, fifteen, twenty years?”

If I hadn’t already thrown up, I’d be doing so now.

I’m not a stranger to motorcycle clubs. I mean, I’m not an expert either. I don’t know the ins and outs of what they’re all about, but I know enough. I know to keep my distance. I know they’re trouble, the worst kind of trouble. I know most of the guys are scary as hell and revel in riding on two wheels, banging massive amounts of women, alcohol, drugs, partying, and pretty much anything and everything that allows them to partake in those things as much as possible.

They’re like the poster boys for the seven deadly sins.

However, I’ve only had an up close and personal experience with one particular biker. Needless to say, he left a lasting impression. Left me with a healthy dose of fear too. It’s the second time today I’ve thought about him.

“The Crow,” as my sister dubbed him, had visited our house around the time I was seven and then stopped around four years later. He had long, black hair, which he wore in a braid that went to the middle of his back. He was dark-skinned and had strong features. Features I only later realized were Native American. Usually, I was sent to the neighbor’s during his visits, or hurriedly stashed in a closet, so I only caught small glimpses of him through the crack of the closet door. But I was a curious child, and he was an interesting character. Not like my mother’s other fly by, tree hugging boyfriends. Even as little as I was, it seemed to me The Crow was more interested in my sister than my strawberry blonde-haired mother. His presence in our home had always been somewhat of a puzzle. Not only because Sundown withdrew into herself for days after his visits, but also because he had a habit of leaving an envelope full of money on the table.