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a wrench.
    He smirked. “You’ve never been on the run before, have you?”
    “No.” I’ve never been this broke before, either. She rummaged around the car and pulled out her phone and her purse. She packed a quick backpack full of belongings from the backseat - just clean clothes, toiletries - and left the rest behind. Maybe another homeless person will live in it. It wasn’t as miserable as it could have been. Goodbye, ugly minivan.
    He was sitting on the bike and waiting for her when she finally finished. He pushed his helmet into her hands. “What about you?” she asked.
    His lip curled. “What sort of asshole do you think I am? You’re not cracking your skull on my watch. Get on.”
    That was almost sweet. She’d only ridden on a motorcycle a couple of times in her life, and none as big as Gunner’s. Climbing on was an undignified affair and her heavy backpack didn’t help - he had to push and shove her to help her up. He didn’t appear to be as exasperated as she felt at least - if anything, he looked amused. She wrapped her arms awkwardly around his waist, still conscious of the fact that this man had driven out originally planning on killing her. “Tighter,” he warned. When she hesitated, he grunted with impatience and hit the gas.
    So much for being sweet, she thought as she was nearly flung off the back. She locked her arms tight around him as he took off down the road like a rocket. Trees, shops, other vehicles whizzed by - apparently traffic laws did not apply to Gunner, gang member.
    She had to keep reminding herself of that - gang member. She couldn’t let herself forget that she was still in deep trouble - that the man she was clinging to, with his rock-hard abs and deliciously strong arms, was dangerous. Maybe it was just the ride and the freeing feeling of the sun and wind on her skin, or maybe it was their closeness - she couldn’t shake the thought of how it would feel to plant her lips on his neck at that moment - the tanned skin and taut muscles beneath beckoned - she’d bet he tasted as good as he looked. She shook her head. She was just reacting to the relief of being alive, that was all. She was just grateful that he hadn’t killed her. Senna wasn’t the sort of girl to give in to silly impulses - she held back, turned away, focused on the scenery as it screamed by. Keep it together, Senna. Don’t forget that he drove out here prepared to kill you.
    The bike sped up and her heart beat faster.
     
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    Too long or too soon later - she couldn’t decide - he pulled into the parking lot of the Little Blue Motel. It was small but appeared to be clean enough, at least on the outside. Oddly, no part of it was painted blue. It was all white with touches of green. He stopped the bike right in front of the front doors. “It’s no Hilton but they keep the pests out,” he said as he swung his leg over and off the bike, “Wait here.” He strode inside before she could protest.
    There goes to last of my funds. How many nights can I afford, two? Three? She wasn’t used to worrying about money, as much as she hated to admit it. Her family hadn’t lived the mega-rich lifestyle that Gunner seemed to imagine, but she’d never swiped her bank card and prayed it didn’t get rejected. She’d never felt anxiety while handing over a few dollars for a frivolous purchase. Now she was considering snack machine prices and the cleanliness of motel tap water. It wasn’t a good feeling - in fact it made her feel a little sick.
    She glanced around the parking lot - it was fairly empty. She supposed people wouldn’t be inside in the middle of the day. This looked more like a stopover place for truckers and people on road trips. She wondered idly if they charged hourly - if it was that kind of motel - when her eyes landed on the newspaper dispensers next to the front door. “Glenn Moore Killed Two Months Into Sentence” was bolded right across the top of the national