"You need to worry about yourself. I need to get you out of here now." He stopped at the next door. "Walk beside me and don't draw any attention to yourself. If for some reason, we get split up, I want you to get outside and hide. When it's safe to do so, take the main road leading away. Run. Don't stop. More Tarkio members are waiting to get you to safety."
Lines marred her forehead. He gripped the door handle. There was no time to wait to see if she understood. Time was running out.
Even more dangerous than shooting the men to get to Josie was the thought of his MC brothers coming in with shooting the place up and getting arrested if he failed to get her out in time.
Stepping out of the stairwell, he scanned the casino's main room and started walking, setting their course. He kept his hand near his waist, where he'd tucked his pistol. Any sign of aggression or someone coming close to Josie, and he was prepared to shoot their way out of the casino and ride like hell off the Blackfoot reservation.
Josie slowed. Tightening his hold on her, he kept her moving forward.
"Keep walking," he murmured.
He'd had no time to make sure she was okay. Physically, she could walk. That's all that mattered at the moment. Once he got her home, he'd deal with everything else.
Slipping past the two guards standing at the front door, he stepped outside and kept going. If someone was going to shoot him, there would be witnesses around.
The parking lot was only a quarter full at two o'clock in the afternoon. He and Josie were sitting ducks.
His stride made her jog beside him. "Can you run?"
"Yes," she said.
He grabbed her hand, not willing to let go of her in case she changed her mind and headed back to the casino, and forced her to run as he jogged.
Twenty-five yards from his Harley, he slowed and looked behind them. He'd already killed one guard. The others involved in kidnapping the women should be after him.
The fact that nobody appeared behind them, intent on following Josie and coming after him, puzzled him. He suspected they would wait until he headed away from the casino, away from other people, and take him out before he rode off the reservation.
"Have you ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle?" He grabbed the helmet he'd left on the handlebar and plopped it on her head, quickly securely the strap through the D-ring.
"No."
"Sit behind me. Put your feet on the pegs. Wrap your arms around me. Hold me as tight as you can and don't move." He sat the Harley. "Now."
She climbed on behind him. He waited until she plastered her body against his back and roared the engine to life. Setting the pistol between his legs, he rode out of the parking lot, popping gears one after another.
If the tribal police wanted to chase him, he'd lead them to the border because he had no plans of stopping.
Twelve minutes later, he spotted the other Tarkio members up ahead. Glancing in his side mirror, he expected company.
Not stopping once he crossed the road and went up Pelham Road to Interstate 90. He hauled ass straight to Missoula and straight to his house. He'd already told the others that if the rescue was a success, he wouldn't return to the clubhouse. It would be the first place anyone from the casino would come looking for Josie after seeing him. Then, they'd go to her apartment. But he'd make sure she wasn't there.
Conscious of Josie on the back of his motorcycle, the forty-minute trip seemed to take much longer. Throughout the ride, she clung to him without moving, exactly how he'd told her.
He couldn't shake off the feeling all hell was going to break loose. That Josie's life was still in danger. That if he closed his eyes or turned his back, she'd disappear.
Josie wasn't his sister, Penny. But his past clung to him.
He'd take her home and not let her out of his sight.
He pulled into his driveway and shut off the Harley. "Go ahead and slide off."
Josie got off the motorcycle on the wrong side. He held the bike, and once she cleared her leg, he got off.
He unlatched his duffle. "Let's go inside the house."
"You live here?" She walked beside him, hugging her middle.
"Yeah." He unlocked the door and pushed it open. "You're safe here."
She stepped inside and stopped, looking around at his modest home. There were three bedrooms and a bathroom in the ranch-style house. Enough for him, and too big on occasion.
He locked the door and walked straight to the kitchen, where he could keep her in sight. Grabbing the whiskey bottle and two glasses, he returned to the living room.
Using the coffee table to pour them each a drink, he handed her one of the glasses. She shook her head. "I don't drink alcohol."
"Fair enough." He returned to the kitchen and shot back her drink instead of wasting good alcohol, then got her a glass of water—which she took and held between her cupped hands.
"What time is it?" She drank half the water with a shaky hand. "Can I use your phone?"
"Three o'clock." He retrieved the phone from the end table, dragging the cord, and set it on the coffee table in front of her.
She scooted to the edge of the couch, set the glass down, and picked up the receiver. Pausing, she frowned. "I can't remember..."
"What's wrong?"
She inhaled deeply. "I need a phone book. I-I can't remember the number."
He grabbed the book and handed it to her. She thumbed through the pages until she came to what she was searching for and held her finger on the page as she dialed.
Leaning over, he read the print above her unpainted fingernail. Shorty's Cab Service.
He reached over and pushed the button, hanging up before she could complete the call. "You're not leaving."
She stared at him. He took the receiver out of her hand, and she jumped from the couch, backing away.
Regretting his harshness, he put up his hands in surrender. He had to remember she wasn't used to his lifestyle. The sight of him with all his tattoos, long hair, and gruffness frightened women on the street.
While he surrounded himself with hardness and violence, Josie walked gently through life, skirting the things that would hurt her. He'd learned a lot about her through her journal. The same softness coming from her worked against her when dealing with the mob at the casino and what happened to her father.
Her shoulders straightened. "Are you involved with kidnapping women?"
He sprawled his hand on his chest, remembering he wasn't wearing his vest. "I’m a Tarkio Motorcycle Club member."
"I know who you are." She sidestepped toward the door. "I want to know if you are responsible for kidnapping my friend."
"Your friend?"
Her gaze narrowed. She wasn't going to volunteer more information.
"Banks grew concerned when you failed to show up at work, knowing there were other women in Missoula who'd disappeared recently. Tarkio figured out what had happened and came after you. Now you're here, and I'm going to make sure you remain safe."
"I've seen you before. What's your name?" she asked.
"Paco."
"What's that mean?"
"It doesn't mean anything." He studied her intently, unable to figure out where she was going with the conversation.