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“What is wrong with everyone these days?” Soleil asked.
The woman shrugged. “Most likely someone didn’t pay when they should have.” She picked up a small tote, started out and then stopped, turning back. “You have a cell phone?”
Soleil nodded.
“I’m Lana.”
“Soleil.”
“You here alone?”
“With him.” She held up her bruised arm.
“Where’s your family? Maybe you should give them a call.”
Soleil looked down at the floor. It was absolutely clean, just like everything else. She sniffed and wasn’t at all shocked to find even the bathroom smelled good. That citrus fragrance from the sitting room had drifted right in.
“I don’t have a family,” she admitted in a low voice.
“Friends nearby?” Lana stepped closer to her, concern in her voice. In her eyes.
Soleil struggled not to burst into tears at the obvious sympathy. The few friends she’d had, Winston had managed to alienate. She shook her head.
“Sometimes these things get ugly. You have any trouble at all, you can call me. I have friends. They’ll come get you out of any situation.” Lana snapped her fingers and held out her hand. “Give me your cell.”
Soleil had no idea why in the world she would allow a perfect stranger to take her cell phone, but she did. She pulled it from her pocket, keyed in the code and handed it to Lana.
“I meant what I said. He’s already proven he’s willing to put his hands on you, so when you break it off, make certain you’re not alone with him. Have your cell handy and call the cops. If you can’t, you call me, understand?” Lana turned and pointed to her vest even as she programmed her number into Soleil’s cell. “It’s under ‘Lana.’ Don’t you forget it.”
On the back of her vest there was a very cool tree with ravens in the branches and skulls in the roots. A rocker above the tree proclaimed her Torpedo Ink. The one below said Sea Haven-Caspar. Soleil had heard of Sea Haven but not Sea Haven-Caspar and had no idea where that was, or what Torpedo Ink was other than a club. But it was cool as hell and Soleil’s first time ever talking to a woman who rode motorcycles.
“We’re in Vegas celebrating our brother’s wedding to his woman, but you call, you understand? He lays his hands on you again or does anything that frightens you, lock yourself in a room and call.” She handed the phone back to Soleil. “Someone will come for you, I promise.”
“Thanks.” Soleil wrapped her hands around her phone as if it were a lifeline. Maybe it was. At least, it was the first truly nice thing someone had done for her since Kevin had died.
Lana gave a friendly wave and walked out.
About the Author
Christine Feehan is the New York Times bestselling author of many novels, including the Carpathian series, the GhostWalker series, the Leopard series, the Shadow Riders series, and the Torpedo Ink series.
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