One More Step

by Colleen Hoover

  The bus screeched to a stop and Eight let go of me so she could use her fingers to peel open the door’s seal.

  Four women tumbled out of the bus in a panic. The open door seemed to be an invitation for the passengers on the bus to try to escape. Some streamed out of the emergency exit in the back.

  Eight pushed me into a huge dude who was trying to leave the bus while Deal screamed for him to get out of the way.

  I felt my shin scrape against the first step as I tried to catch myself with my hands. I managed to avoid hitting my face. The sensation of a huge European dude using my prone body as a doormat was not my favorite. I looked over my shoulder as Eight punched the dude with one hand and aimed her gun over her shoulder to return fire.

  I did a pushup to throw the guy off balance. He tumbled out of the bus. The few remaining passengers backed up when they saw the topless woman with the gun.

  This must have been terrifying for them. It was terrifying for me. I mean, at least I knew I was heading for a sketchy situation from the jump. They were just trying to get from point A to point B.

  Eight leaped over me and Deal closed the door. I was able to pull my feet in at the last second. And we were off.

  “Todo mundo desce! Everybody get down!” The gunfire lit up the bus, the windows exploding around us.

  Eight grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled on me until I crawled in the first seat behind Deal.

  “We gotta get these people off the bus,” Eight yelled at Deal while looking out the windows.

  “I have to get us away first, lady pants.”

  Deal was driving like an insane person. The passengers yelped and screamed as we rounded corners on two wheels. I slid my bike shirt off my back. I was barefoot and clad in only my bike shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. I held the shirt out to Eight.

  “For the boobs!” I hollered over the commotion.

  She ignored my offer, so I set the shirt on the seat next to me. Maybe that was offensive here. I wasn’t trying to be a prude dick, I just wanted to be a gentleman. And that was hard to do with the boobs. My eyes kept going to her chest.

  Eight gave Deal directions from time to time. It felt like a million years before Deal screeched to a halt.

  “Saia! Out now!” Eight projected.

  The passengers didn’t hesitate and scurried off the bus, launching some words at her that I didn’t understand, but I could tell they were pissed.

  Eight grabbed my bike jersey and slipped it over her head. Somehow the thin yellow material made her boobs even more obvious. My hard-on was doomed. He was scared, but also doomed.

  Deal took off again. Eight told him she had a car in a parking garage a few blocks away.

  “This is what you want?” Deal asked.

  That they could have a conversation while we were running from murderers blew my mind. Or maybe they were murderers, too, and this was their regular commute to work?

  “I want him safe. And his niece. And his brother’s family.” She was standing near Deal, gripping a metal handrail for stability. “I didn’t know asking for my favor involved convincing you I knew what I wanted.”

  Deal took two hard turns, tipping the huge bus one way and then another. He came to another squealing stop, the rubber from the tires smoking and instantly smelling toxic.

  “Your wish is my command, Camber.”

  Her face softened briefly before she swung toward me and pulled on my arm. “Take his gun.”

  Deal held his pistol out to me, grip side offered up. I took it from him and let myself get tugged down the stairs.

  We ran flat out to a parking garage as Deal took off.

  “He’s going to lead them away from us.” Eight made her way through the garage like she had lived in the building for ten years. She moved next to a red Puma GTE, crouched to free a key from the undercarriage, and unlocked the car door.

  I got in on the other side. The car was in mint condition and roared to life with a purr. We both put on our seatbelts. She took a second to pull her hair up and tuck it into a bun, revealing the nape of her neck which I really wanted to trail a beautiful set of kisses down. Her eyes were waiting for mine as she held out a black ball cap. “Wear this and slump down.”

  I did as she said.

  “Is Camber your real name?” I think it was the way her earlobes looked so biteable that prompted me to ask her.

  Her mouth slid into an amused smirk. “You pay attention when there’s gunfire?”

  She took the Puma out of the garage carefully, like she was a mom on the way to a soccer game with the whole team in the car.

  “I guess. You drive much better than Deal.” I felt instantly more comfortable as she put on her blinker to turn left.

  “You’ve gotten yourself into a heap of trouble, Case.” We waited at the lights, following the rules of the road. The dark tint on the windows gave me another layer of comfort.

  I gazed out the window and, sure enough, I saw one of the resort's transport vans trolling through a cross street. Eight turned right slowly, like we might even be window shopping.

  “Were you really trying to end your life on the beach?” I unslumped and turned in my seat to face her.

  Her eyes clouded. “I’d found what I’d been looking for. And it wasn’t a happy ending.”

  “So you decided to live to try to give me one?”

  When we finally cleared the city, a nice highway lay out in front of us.

  She faced me now while dropping the Puma into fifth gear.

  “I got a sign that this was what I needed to do.” The car hesitated for a beat before having the hammer drop. Eight/Camber hit the gas. We flared onto the road, eating it up at easily ninety-five miles per hour. Or well, 152.888 km/h…

  “Thank you.” It didn’t seem like enough, two simple words, but it would have to do.

  “No problem. And yeah, my name is Camber. Nice to meet you, Case.”

  KESS

  * * *

  TIJAN

  ONE

  Kess

  ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death.

  The words were scribbled on a piece of paper, taped to a bathroom stall, and I was about out of patience. I ripped it off, balled it up, and tossed it into the garbage. I knew why they put the note up, because this was the druggie stall.

  Asshats.

  There were three other stalls open, which wasn’t normal, but we were in the end run of the school year. Graduation was in two days. It was our last official day of school, though most seniors stopped coming a long time ago. Not me. I was here because of detention.

  Detention.

  I growled under my breath.

  I was about to head inside the stall, find the drugs I knew were stashed somewhere, and I was going to mess with them. I was going to hide them somewhere else in the bathroom, but just as I hit the door to open, the main door to the bathroom swung wide.

  In walked Tasmin Shaw.

  “Hey, Kess.”

  I paused, trying to stomp down some of my irritation. It wasn’t her fault I was here for detention, but it was her brother’s and his whole group’s fault. There was a situation they brought about that ended with me getting detention. It was a whole round-about thing, and it didn’t really matter in the long run. But, I couldn’t be mean to Tasmin Shaw, or Taz as she was called by her friends. There were a few different reasons why I wanted to, but none really had to do with Taz as a person.

  One, Taz was nice. Like actually nice.

  Two, she was connected. Taz was not only popular, but she was well connected with the toughest crew still going strong in our school. We have a system, or had a system. There used to be a whole chain of groups that weren’t gangs, but we weren’t all friends either. We were in the medium between those extremes, and tended to look down on those who weren’t in a crew. That meant you weren’t loyal, and if you were crew, loyalty was like blood to us.

  You needed it to be crew, or you were simply ‘less than.’

  Or I used to t
hink so.

  And three, there was a respect issue here because Taz’s brother’s woman was now the only female in a crew. There’d been one other girl, but no more, and I can say that because it was me. I used to be in a crew. We weren’t big or even tough, but we were a crew and I loved my crew.

  Now we were nothing.

  “Hey, Taz.”

  She stopped before going into her own stall, noted where I was standing, and raised her eyebrows. “You okay?”

  I’d forgotten what I was going to do.

  “Yeah. I’m good.”

  Taz gave me another smile and went into her stall.

  I moved inside mine, and a second later, her voice came through the room. “Do you have any plans for the weekend?”

  The weekend. Shit. I usually did, but that was before my crew broke up.

  Now, “Not really. You?”

  Her toilet flushed—when had she even pissed? A beat later, her door opened, and she went out to the sink. Me, I was still standing just inside my door. I hadn’t even closed it behind me, so here we go I guess. I nudged it back open, edging farther out as she washed her hands. Her eyes found mine in the mirror.

  An emotion flickered in them, and oh no.

  I was already readying myself, because whatever that was, I didn’t like it. My gut was tightening up.

  “You know, I heard that Zeke Allen from Fallen Crest Academy is probably going to throw a rager. They party almost every night over there.”

  I wanted to snort in disgust, or at least disdain. I didn’t.

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded, finishing up drying her hands, and stepped back from the sink. “Where are your guys? Usually they’d be out in the hall if you’re in here.”

  There was the whole gut tightening again. Right there.

  I jerked a shoulder up. “They’re out doing their thing. I’ll catch up with them later.”

  “Are you dating one of them? Monica mentioned that one time.”

  “Monica doesn’t know anything.”

  She was referring to one of her friends, who truly didn’t know shit.

  “Oh.”

  Those eyes of hers. Tawny and hazel, and there’s a reason she and her brother were some of the most ridiculously good-looking people in our school. It wasn’t fair. But the kindness and concern were what was really setting my teeth on edge.

  I didn’t need her pity.

  “Anyways,” I blasted her with a bright, but dismissive smile, “I gotta go to the bathroom. So…” Enough said. I moved inside my stall, shut the door, and sat. Then I waited.

  That was rude.

  I was feeling like an asshole, but a moment later she was edging for the door. She was going slow, and that tugged at me because Taz Shaw wasn’t known for moving at a slow pace. She bounced. She hurried. She darted. She didn’t move slow, and she wasn’t my friend.

  The door swished open and closed, and I cursed under my breath.

  But, what? Go and attend a rich asshole’s party tonight as a tagalong? I wasn’t a tagalong. I’d never been a tagalong, and fuck if I was going to become one.

  But because my day was still in the toilet (lame humor), that didn’t mean I couldn’t mess someone else’s day up, too.

  I found the drugs, but I didn’t hide them. I flushed them.

  Then I went to my last detention of my high school career, and that sucked too.

  I wished I hadn’t flushed the drugs.

  TWO

  Kess

  I WAS WALKING to the parking lot when I heard the bike’s engine roar. A moment later, he parked on the clear opposite end of the lot, right next to my own motorbike. He did that on purpose. His head turned, his helmet still on, but I already knew the cockiest smirk of all smirks was on his face as he was watching me come toward him.

  Christopher.

  How I knew this guy was beyond me.

  He transferred in the beginning of the year, and he was barely around. In fact, people really didn’t know he was even at our school and I could get why. He showed up for first period, ducked out, and who knew where he disappeared to until seventh period.

  I didn’t know his story. I didn’t know why he was only around for those two classes, how he got exempt from class projects, speeches, anything that might’ve drawn attention to him. But somehow it worked. The teachers never called his name for roll call. They literally skipped over him as if he wasn’t in the classroom, and after a month of whispering from the girls and weird looks from the guys, they all accepted it.

  It helped that he didn’t say anything.

  It also helped that he didn’t linger after class. I’d never seen him talk to anyone. He showed up in the morning, went to class, left, and repeated the process at the end of the day. Did he have a locker? I hadn’t a clue.

  But I did know he was gorgeous.

  Dark hair that he liked to run a hand through and pull on so the ends were a sexy mess. Then there was the square jawline. It always looked as if he’d done just a quick buzz over his jaw for the whiskers, and he let it go until the night again. And his face, nice and hella smoldering.

  Seriously. It wasn’t fair.

  But he had the clearest blue eyes, and that’s what gave him away. He didn’t know I knew where he got those blue eyes, and that little fact kept my mouth shut. I didn’t say one word about the secret I did know about Christopher Raith, besides his name and how him just waiting on his motorcycle gave off this intense pulse in the air.

  He was sizzling.

  He was also Red Demons royalty.

  Red Demons. The fast-growing motorcycle club that was starting to take over not just California, but Nevada, New Mexico, Colorado, and all the way north from Montana to the south where rumors were circulating they were going to start moving into Texas.

  Yes. This gossip I did listen to, mostly because my uncle was a Red Demon, and he’d stayed with my mom and me earlier in the year for a month. He hadn’t said why he was here, but him showing up, then Christopher Raith popping up in class the next day seemed too much of a coincidence to not be connected.

  My uncle never said a word, and I knew he wouldn’t. He just grunted he was there on ‘MC business’ and that’s all we got.

  The other thing I knew was that Christopher knew I knew who he was.

  But we’d never spoken a word to each other.

  I was almost to my bike when he turned his engine off.

  He stood up, and I stopped about ten feet back.

  I guess the whole ‘no talking’ thing was about to end.

  THREE

  Kess

  HE SAT BACK down on his bike, stretching his legs out. One hand rested on his thigh and the other on his handlebar. He was still wearing his helmet. He sat there, staring at me.

  I stood there, staring back.

  Neither said a word.

  We were in a standoff, but yet we were speaking a whole lot. I was feeling the vibes in the air. They were strong, rippling back and forth between us, and my whole body was heated from the inside out. I felt feverish, and the strength it was taking to not break was a strain. A big strain.

  I was going to break soon.

  But, man. He had a helmet. That wasn’t fair.

  Finally, I flicked my eyes up. “Can I see your helmet?”

  He stalled. I was guess that’s not what he expected from me, but he reached up and took it off.

  Goooood, those eyes. That face. That mouth.

  I didn’t have words. No guy who was MC royalty should be as pretty as him. A model, yes. Actor, yes. Even a punk preppy, and I had to admit, some of those looked decent. They weren’t my cup of tea, but a girl could appreciate a nice face, nice physique, and what was promised to be a six-pack underneath a certain shirt.

  My mouth was dry just wondering what was underneath his faded and ripped jeans, his riding boots, and his grey shirt shredded on the side. I saw it because his leather jacket was unzipped and hanging to the side.

  He handed the helmet over,
his face stony.

  I took it, making sure our hands did not touch, and he noticed. The corner of his mouth lifted for a split second, then he went back to being a wall.

  I didn’t wait. I gathered my hair up and pulled the helmet down. When it was in place, I stood back, crossed my arms over my chest, and cocked my head to the side. Then I waited.

  He frowned, his own head tilting to the side. “You trying to be funny?”

  “Just wondering what it’s like on this side of the helmet.”

  His eyes narrowed, those gorgeous blues, but he didn’t say anything further.

  Neither did I. That was the whole point of this.

  After another few seconds, he shook his head slowly. “What are you doing?”

  Maybe the gig was up, and it hadn’t put him on edge. That’d been the hope.

  I sighed, taking the helmet off, but I didn’t hand it over. I held it, resting it just on the back of my thigh, and I nodded at his bike. “Since when do you guys wear these, anyway? I thought you needed open-face helmets?”

  He leaned forward, plucking the helmet away from me, and moved back. “Easier for cameras not to spot me.”

  I looked at his bike’s plate, but it was smudged over.

  Who was this guy?

  Fine. I’d try a different tactic, and what the tactic was for, I couldn’t answer. I was going with it, feeling my way because there was a weird ebb and flow between him and me.

  He probably wasn’t here for me. Right?

  I don’t know.

  He might’ve needed to hand something in, or... I had no clue, but my gut was telling me he was here for me. That he knew I had detention today. That he knew the exact time I’d be let out, and I’d even be let out early.

  He had it all worked out to be here when I would be walking to my bike.

  “What do you want?”

  He didn’t wait a beat. “You know me.”

  “Your name is Christopher Raith.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You know where I come from.”