Don't Say It:Ronacks Motorcycle Club(6)

By: Debra Kayn

"Gia." Bianca's stern voice got her attention. "If he has a scar that affects his eye nd it makes him look like he squints, it's him. He got shot. It's not the kind of scar a person would get from falling and smacking their head on the coffee table or from a bar fight."

"I'll need to see his face in the daylight. I'm not taking any chances." Gia swallowed, not looking forward to the sunrise.

"When you do get another look at him, call me back."

Gia groaned. "I can't. I'm going to get rid of this one. You'll have to wait until I can get another phone or find somewhere to make a call."

"I hate that you're in this situation, but you need to stay safe. Be extra careful."

Tears gathered in Gia's vision, and she swallowed the weakness. She had to remain strong. With no one else around to help her, she'd need to set everything up herself and make sure the man on the other side of the duplex was the right one without screwing up. "I will. I'm too afraid to do much."

"You're going to be all right."

Gia inhaled deeply. "I hope so."

"I'm serious. Repeat after me, you're going to be all right."

"You're going to be all right," Gia mumbled.

"Smartass." The voice on the other end of the phone softened. "One day at a time, Gia. Be aware of your surroundings and don't ever go anywhere alone. When you must go out, stay where there are crowds and don't be afraid of yelling for help. Don't talk to too many people or raise any attention to yourself in the meantime. You want to be forgettable."

"Okay. I don't even want to leave the duplex. Though it stinks in here and I'm surprised the building hasn't been bulldozed."

"Don't focus on the living conditions yet. A lot can be fixed by soap and water."

Gia rolled her eyes. Bianca had no idea what the place looked like.

"Be smart, Gia. Call me when you can, okay?"

"I will. Bye." She lowered the phone and disconnected the call.

Before she fell apart, she walked into the living room and dug through her bag until she found a screwdriver. Then, she laid the phone on the carpet and stabbed it over and over, until the screen broke, the back came off, the battery flipped out. When she'd broken the cellphone in enough pieces, she felt confident that if the phone had somehow been trackable, she'd successfully stopped anyone from finding her.

She put the pieces in a bag and set the garbage by the door. Tomorrow, she'd find a place to throw the broken phone away where nobody could find it.

Chapter Three

By six o'clock in the morning, Swiss could no longer stay inside the duplex after returning from the bar, running into his new neighbor, and unable to go back to sleep. He walked out the door swinging his keyring on the tip of his finger. His work day started at eight when Watson's Repo and Towing opened for business, and he planned to waste time grabbing a couple of cups of coffee at Brewers beforehand. Hell, maybe he'd grab breakfast, too.

He'd need food to keep him going while he put in his time running security at Watson's during working hours while the owner dealt with a lawsuit from two brothers who thought they'd do a little pushing around in the form of vandalism and threats. His job was to make sure the brothers never set foot on Watson's property.

Metal clanked by the car at the curb. He walked around his bike and found the woman from the middle of the night on her knees struggling with a tire iron. Beside her sat a wienie balloon spare that wouldn't take her a mile down the road without throwing off the front alignment on her car.

"Hey," he said.

She startled and fell back on her ass. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No." He leaned over and peered under her car. "Where's the jack?"

"I don't have one." She pushed to her feet and held the iron at her side.

"How did you plan on changing the tire?" He rubbed the back of his head and checked out the curve of her hip.

She made a soft mewl sound as if she were thinking the question over. Attracted to the sound, he raised his gaze to her face.

"I thought if I could manage to get the nut-bolt things loose, I could use those concrete blocks in the flowerbed and maybe it would give me enough height under the car to wiggled the tire off." She half turned and pointed toward the duplex. "I'd put the blocks back when I was done, and straighten up the dirt. All I need is something strong enough to hold up the car, but so far, I can't budge these nuts loose."