Shadow Of The Past Trilogy ∞ THE DISPLACED

18 ∞ exhaustion

Day Four ∞ Monday night

IN A NIGHTCLUB some sixty-five miles southeast of Eufaula, Jagg was about to make a move on a hot number at the end of the bar when a hand landed on his shoulder.

It was his pal TJ. "Yo! Jagg! There's a white chick messing with your ride," he shouted over the loud music, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

Jagg scowled, grabbed his bottle, and pushed his way through the dancing throng toward the exit with TJ on his heels. As he stepped out into the warm night air, he stopped next to the bouncer, eyeing the gathering around his bike. In the center sat a blonde girl on his '75 Kawasaki Z1 900 with newly installed four-to-one muffler; she was sporting a bright blue jacket, testing the feel of his superbike handlebars, reaching down to touch his highly polished 81 HP engine in front of her knee. She was ignoring the guys surrounding the bike and Ramiro, who was standing with arms crossed behind her, blocking her reverse exit.

Jagg took a last swig of his beer and swung the half-empty bottle into TJ's chest as he signaled to Ramiro to back off. He wanted to confront this audacious girl himself.

∞

Lora lifted her head as the mixed lot of guys and a handful of daringly dressed girls backed away from her. There was someone else approaching from the entrance to the club. She knew this was the one who was in charge, but she decided not to look yet. Instead she got off the motorcycle and turned to face the heavy-set male standing wordlessly on guard in the street.

She crossed her arms without interlocking them and remained calm. But she was mentally exhausted. In addition to the lack of sleep, she had spent the entire day keeping that gentle sphere of distance between her and her surroundings, so that no one would pay her any mind—or try to approach her. Now she was interested in finding out how these young people would react to her—without her covertly influencing their behavior. Perhaps she could find someone to ally herself with.

Without turning her head, she observed the dark figure walking around the motorcycle. He was a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned guy in his mid-twenties, wearing a black leather jacket. He halted an arm's length in front of her, arms crossed, looking her down and up from her boots to her neck. Then he stared into her eyes while chewing on a toothpick at the corner of his mouth. Two chains glinted on his chest.

"I dig your jacket," he said after a minute of sizing her up.

She waited.

"And your choker," he raised his hand to touch it, "I like."

Her hand flew up to block him. "Touch not," she said icily, aware that her eyes would be gleaming in the glare from the streetlight.

"Aah, she speaks!" The man lifted a brow, apparently impressed by her fearless attitude. He looked around. They were center stage with curious onlookers quietly making comments to each other and tittering. "Hey! The show's over! Scram!"

The crowd scattered, leaving only a handful of guys.

He turned back to her, glancing at her shoulder strap. "So... you new in town?"

Lora met his dark eyes steadily. "Aye... yes."

"And you dig my ride, huh?"

"Yes."

"It's gonna cost you."

"I have no money."

The guy smirked. "You new in town and you got no money? Where are you staying?"