Five by Christie Rich
Lunch was awkward. Cassie was really quiet. We came out of the cheesy restaurant in utter silence. The place had saddles for barstools, wagon wheels for chandeliers, and a mechanical bull in the corner. The only entertainment I’d had for the past hour had been watching complete strangers repeatedly fall off the thing.
As I walked to the car, the air grew thick with electricity. Every hair on my body tried to take flight. Suppressing a shudder, I glanced around the desolate landscape but didn’t see anything that looked out of the ordinary.
Although my scar had been itchy, tingling almost nonstop since my near-miss with that motorcycle, my terror had vanished with the sunrise. However, it was back like recurrent heartburn. I snapped my neck around when a throaty rumble sounded from somewhere close by.
A leather-clad rider pulled onto the road from the gas station across the street. Figures I only caught the back of him. It could have been the guy from last night, but there had to be thousands of black motorcycles in America ridden by huge men in leather, right? When her gaze locked to the motorcyclist, Cassie’s face dropped three shades paler than vanilla ice cream.
I leaned closer to her, whispering, “Do you think that was him?”
She hadn’t moved a muscle, as if she was frozen where she stood. “Who?”
Why was she acting like this? She’d have to do better than that if she wanted me to drop the subject. “Don’t,” I said.
She glanced up at me coolly. “I really can’t imagine what you’re talking about, Rayla.”
I steeled my expression, still not getting why she refused to admit what had happened. “You should try harder, like when we were kids.”
She glared at me before stalking away. Arm outstretched, she waited at the driver-side door.
I tossed her the keys. “Why won’t you talk about it?” I asked, sliding onto my seat. “We both saw the thing.” My mind told me I couldn’t have really seen that pegasus, but something in my heart refused to deny the experience.
Her hands shook while she fumbled to get the key into the ignition, and her usually steady voice held an edge of fear. “You should get some sleep. You look exhausted.” She hadn’t even glanced at me. In all the years I’d known her, Cassie had never been this freaked out.
I couldn’t blame her. Even though the motorcyclist was gone, his presence clung to me like a second skin. How was I supposed to sleep while believing that man was somewhere in this world? I hoped my senses were wrong—that he wasn’t actually following us, unseen. I tried not to think about it, but the vision of him haunted me every time I closed my eyes.