Page 64 of Forget That Guy
My next obstacle was the shed.
The door was locked—I’d heard that lock click into place the moment the man had left earlier—but the shed itself was laughably wobbly.
It took me no time to find two boards next to each other that were barely nailed in on the opposite side of the dog fighting to my right.
After I got out, I took a look around at my surroundings.
There were cars everywhere on this side.
People milling about, too.
Some women, so my presence wouldn’t be too noticeable.
I stood up like I was supposed to be there and started walking with purpose.
I made it to the trees and made my way to the house.
I’d just gotten to the yard line when a commotion besides the dog fighting caught my attention.
A motorcycle.
My heart leaped into my throat as excitement started to pour through me.
But just as I started to step out toward the sound of the bike, I had this feeling of ‘don’t do it’ and stopped.
Since I’d already ignored that inner voice trying to keep me alive once today, I decided to listen to it and stayed in the trees.
Thank God I did, too.
When the bike pulled to a stop, the biker—clearly wearing a Dixie Wardens MC cut—got off the bike and walked right up to my kidnapper. They did that manly handshake, then walked toward the house.
Their voices were pitched low, so I missed most of what they were saying until they got close enough.
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend. It’s just his tenant,” the biker was saying.
I still couldn’t see his face thanks to the dark and the beanie pulled down over his head, so I couldn’t identify him.
Not to mention he was wearing head to toe black.
He had a hoodie underneath his cut. His hood was pulled up, and the beanie kept most of his face hidden.
I could clearly see the cut on his shoulders, though.
There was no hiding that. Not with the sky illuminating every few seconds due to the lightning.
“Will he stop looking for her?” my kidnapper asked.
God, I hoped not.
“Nope,” the club member said. “But I made sure to stash the truck somewhere where it could be questionable if she fell down the mountain. Tossed a few of her things down there, too. They’ll likely find those tomorrow.”
“Good,” Mr. Kidnapper said. “Let me know if that changes. Are you staying to watch?”
“Not tonight,” he grumbled. “It’s all hands on deck looking for the woman. They’ll notice if I don’t actually look.”
“And you’re sure that you can keep your stuff straight?” my kidnapper asked. “You can work both sides?”
The biker scoffed. “Been doing it for years, man. This is just one more day.”
