“Three seconds, and I blow the fuckin’ lock off.”

Shit.

“One.”

I leap up onto the couch, and I’m thankful when it doesn’t squeak. I grip the handle on the hole, and luckily for me it comes open easily. I take hold of the ladder and pull it down. It squeaks. I stiffen.

“Two.”

He didn’t hear me. Thank God. I begin to climb until I’m up in the dusty, no doubt snake-filled hole. I pull the ladder up, and then lean down, pulling the door closed. I have to put my hand over my mouth to stop myself breathing in the dust and coughing. I find the USB, and I tuck it into my pocket.

“Three!”

I hear a shot, and then I hear the door being kicked open. I close my eyes, and try to focus on anything but the small, dark space I’m cramped in. If he sees any dust, he might figure it out. I hear him order the men to search the room, and I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t find me. Minutes feel like hours as I hear them shuffling through my room.

“Here’s the bag, boss,” I hear someone say.

“She’s taken all her fuckin’ stuff,” Axel barks. “Fuck her!”

I hear something smash, and I slowly let my breath out. He doesn’t know I’m in here.

“Let’s go, she can’t be far.”

I hear more shuffling, and then my door slams. I wait for a long ten-or-so minutes, before swinging the door open and glancing down. They’re gone, but I have to get out of here. I realize my backpack is gone, and I curse. Dammit. I was hoping he wouldn’t take it. I climb out of the small space, and close it up. I have to get out of here—I just don’t know where I’ll go. I need to figure out a way to keep myself hidden. I don’t know how to do that.

I’m so tired of running.

I’m so tired of being hunted.

CHAPTER 4

MEADOW

I am the devil’s friend. I’ll be there to the end.

“Where are you headed, darlin’?” the old truckie says when he pulls over to the side of the road early the next morning.

“I’m heading to San Diego,” I say, hoping he can get me that little bit closer to L.A.

“I can take you there. It’s on my route.” He nods.

He looks friendly enough. In case not, I purchased a good knife that’s tucked into my jeans. I open the truck door and climb in, sitting as far away from him as I can. I clutch the USB stick like it’s my lifeline.

“What’s a young, pretty girl like you doin’ catchin’ rides with strangers?” he asks as he pulls out.

“I’m just in a bit of a pickle, that’s all. I’ll see my family in San Diego,” I lie.

“Oh? You got folks there?”

“Ah, yeah. A mom and dad.”

Another lie.

“You goin’ to school?”

“No. I never really had an interest to do anything professional.”

He nods as if he understands. “Fair enough.”

I peer around the truck, and see empty packets of food, drink cartons, and smoke packets everywhere. Gross. Then I spot the laptop tucked into the side of the seat. Oh God; maybe it works?

“Does that laptop work?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah, have a look if you need.”

I grip the computer and place it on my lap, turning it on. I wait for it to load up.

“Does it get service?”

“Yeah, got me one of those fancy-ass little sticks that give me Internet.”

I nod, forcing a smile. The computer connects to the Internet, and I begin researching Raide. I have only had limited access to the Internet, so it’s not been easy trying to locate him.

I start searching all the Raide’s in L.A. Turns out the name is actually quiet popular, and there are thousands of them. I add in a profession, which is police officer, and narrow it down to about thirty of them.

Some are too young, or too old, so I rule them out. Some are retired, so they’re gone. I narrow it down to three, and I pull out my cell and write down their numbers. That’s when curiosity sparks. I’ve always wanted to know what’s on the USB, but I was scared of being tracked. I won’t be in this truck long, so the chance of tracking me is slim. I pull it out of my pocket, glance at the truckie who is whistling and focusing on the road, and then I put it in.

It takes a long time to load. When it finally pops up on the screen, I glance at the hundreds of files. What is this? I click one, and narrow my eyes. There are loads and loads of pictures of drugs, all tightly packed in what seems like a warehouse. The next lot of pictures has my stomach turning. Oh God, they’re dead bodies, like police shots. Why the hell does my father have police shots?

The information is extensive. There are drug locations, and information on all the massive motorcycle clubs, but there’s a lot in there about Axel’s club. I don’t get a chance to read the rest because truckie is glancing at me, and I don’t want him to get suspicious. I eject the USB, and tuck it back into my pants.

He shifts, and the seat squeaks loudly. “So what’s your name, girlie?”

“Laila,” I lie.

“Pretty name.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

I can’t concentrate. What does all that information mean? Why was my father gathering information on clubs when he was running one himself? Is that why he and Axel had a falling out? Was my father working for someone else? I don’t understand it, and the confusion is making my head feel likes it’s spinning. Is this Raide guy safe? Or am I running into a trap?