Whitney moves back, and I step away from the woman. “We’re leaving.”

Bruno shoves his sister behind him. “I got this.”

His fist comes flying toward my face. I block the first punch, conscious of the press of Whitney’s body against my back.

The woman comes charging toward my side, no doubt to get to Whitney, but Cricket grabs her arm and spins her around.

“Not today, bitch. That’s my cousin.”

Glancing at Cricket costs me. Knuckles connect with my chin, and my head snaps sideways.

Instinct kicks in as adrenaline dumps into my system. I retaliate with a combination. The biker’s head rocks back and he crashes into a tall table. The two women sitting at it screech as their drinks go flying, and he hits the floor.

Hunter lifts Cricket away from the woman who started this shit show, and Cricket uses the leverage to kick out and catch the redhead in the chest. Bruno’s sister flies backward to land on her ass in front of a group of bikers before Hunter carries Cricket out the front. The bikers stand, their attention split between Hunter and me, and it’s time to go.

I throw an arm around Whitney and hustle her out the back door just like I did last time.

Forty-Six

Whitney

I trip on the step behind Mo’s, and Lincoln picks me up and jogs toward a Range Rover parked around the side. The lights flash, and he sets me down next to the passenger door before yanking it open.

“Get in.”

I scramble into the SUV and slam the door shut as he rounds the hood. Out the window, Hunter has Cricket over his shoulder as he heads for his truck. Cricket smacks his ass with every step.

Even that comical sight can’t stop reality from intruding and killing every hint of my buzz.

I’ll never get past what happened. Never. I’ll always be the woman who killed Ricky Rango, even though I didn’t do it.

All I wanted was a divorce.

Bikers spill out around the side of the bar as Lincoln throws the Range Rover into reverse.

“As much as I don’t mind defending your honor, we’re not coming back to Mo’s. That place is—”

“Cursed? Like me?” I laugh, but there’s not a bit of humor in it.

“You’re not cursed.”

A beer bottle hits the back window of the SUV, and I flinch before jerking around to watch as Lincoln floors it. Hunter does the same, and his spinning tires shower the bikers with gravel. As they take cover, we haul ass out of the parking lot.

“I’m so sorry. I’d offer to pay for the damage, but I don’t know if I can afford to fix a Range Rover.”

My words bring forth a wave of humiliation. My life is a joke. I’ll never outrun my past. I’m destined to repeat it over and over.

I stare out the side mirror as the lights of Mo’s disappear behind us.

“Don’t worry about it.”