Run To Me

Chapter 5 - Loralie

Three days. It’s only been three days since this all started.

I sit by the bus window, watching the world blur past in streaks of green and gray, my reflection faint in the glass. Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of myself—just for a second—and then I look away.

I still don’t like what I see.

My fingers tighten slightly around the strap of my backpack resting in my lap. Three days since I ran. Three days since everything changed. It doesn’t feel real. It feels too fast.

Thomas said it would be quick, but this… this is something else entirely. One minute I was locked in that bathroom, staring at a version of myself I didn’t recognize… and now I’m on a bus heading to West Haven, Virginia.

To people I don’t know.

To a life I don’t understand yet.

My stomach twists…

The bus hisses as it pulls into the station. My heart starts racing before we even stop.

This is it.

I tighten my grip on my bag, forcing myself to stand when the doors open. My legs feel stiff, like they don’t quite trust the ground yet, but I move anyway—step by step, following the small crowd off the bus.

Once outside, the air feels different here.

Cooler, quieter even…

I scan the area slowly, my chest tightening again as my eyes move from face to face.

Then I see him. The man holding a sign with my name on it. He lowers it slightly when our eyes meet.

Jamie.

I recognize him from Thomas’s description immediately.

He looks… normal. Not in uniform. Just jeans and a dark shirt—something simple. Approachable.

I felt like he meant to do that so he didn’t scare me. I walk toward him slowly, my steps careful.

“Loralie?” he asks gently.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He gives me a small, reassuring smile. “Hey. I’m Jamie.”

“Hi.” My voice comes out quieter than I meant it to.

He doesn’t react to it. Just nods once like that’s enough.

“You hungry?” he asks. “There’s a diner down the road. Figured we could talk somewhere a little more comfortable before heading out.”

I hesitate just for a second, then nod. “Okay.”

The diner is small and warm. The kind of place that smells like coffee and syrup the second you walk in. It should feel comforting, but my nerves don’t let me enjoy it.

We slid into a booth near the back. I take the seat facing the wall without thinking. I’m sure Jamie notices, but he doesn’t say anything.

A waitress comes by, and Jamie orders for himself. When she turns to me, I freeze for a second before forcing out the first thing I see.

“Just… pancakes,” I say quietly. She nods and walks off. I stare at the table after that, hands folded tightly together until the food arrives. When the plate is set in front of me, I pick up the fork slowly.

One bite. I say to myself. I chew, swallow, and force it down. Then I set the fork back on the plate. I can feel Jamie glance at it. Once again, he doesn’t say anything. We sit in a quiet pause before he leans forward slightly, lowering his voice.

“Everything’s set up,” he says. “You’ll be staying at my brother’s place for a bit. It’s safe there. Off the radar.”

My fingers curl slightly against the table. “Your brother?” I repeat softly.

“Yeah.” He hesitates for a fraction of a second. “He runs a motorcycle club.”

That makes me pause. I glanced up at him for the first time. “A… club?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he says quickly. “They’re good people. Just… different.”

Different. That doesn’t exactly help. But I nod anyway. Before I can ask anything else, the bell above the diner door rings. Jamie’s attention shifts first. Mine follows, and then, I see him.

He fills the doorway without trying to. Tall. Broad. Solid in a way that feels grounded instead of showy. Dark hair, slightly pushed back like he’s run a hand through it one too many times. A constant shadow along his jaw. His shirt stretches just enough across his shoulders and arms to hint at the strength underneath. Tattoos wind up his forearms, disappearing beneath his sleeves.

There’s something in the way he moves—steady, controlled—that shifts the air around him without effort.

My breath catches slightly. My gaze drops quickly before I realize I’m staring. But it’s too late. I know he already saw me. Our eyes met for only a fraction of a second, but that awareness settles heavily in my chest as he makes his way over.

“Griffin,” Jamie says as he slides into the booth beside him.

So this is him. Griffin Monroe. His eyes move over me once, not lingering or invasive. But definitely noticing too much. The bruise on my cheek. The way I keep my shoulders pulled in. The barely touched food in front of me. I shift slightly under it, my gaze dropping again.

“Loralie,” Jamie says. “This is my brother.”

I nod, barely lifting my eyes. “Hi.” My voice is small again.

“Ma’am,” Griffin replies simply. Respectful. Flat. But not unkind.

Jamie clears his throat, stepping back in. “She’ll be staying at the clubhouse,” he starts. “One of the back rooms—”

“No.” Griffin cuts in. The word is quiet. But it cuts clean through everything. Both of us look at him. “She’s not staying in the back, where all the guys take their one night stands and drunken-stupors, ” he continues, his tone steady. “She’ll be in my office. Second floor.”

Jamie blinks. “Griff—”

“It locks,” Griffin adds, still looking at me, not him. “Soundproofed. She won’t hear the guys after hours. And no one’s walking in on her.”

Silence falls for a second. My chest tightens—but not from fear. Something else. Something I don’t recognize yet.

Jamie nods slowly. “Okay… yeah. That works.”

Griffin leans back slightly, his attention still steady. “You’ll be working the bar,” he says. “But not right away.”

I nod quickly. “Okay.”

“First, you learn how things run.”

Another nod.

“There are rules.”

My fingers tighten in my lap. “Okay.”

“When we have club meetings, you stay in your room. Door closed.”

I glance up, slightly confused.

“No women are allowed near that space,” he adds.

I nod again. “Okay.”

“You don’t leave the property alone,” he continues. “Not until we say it’s clear.”

“Okay.”

“If you need something, you ask. You don’t go looking for it yourself.”

“Okay.”

His gaze holds mine just a second longer. “You’ll meet the old ladies,” he says. “They’ll show you how things work around there. Routines. Expectations.”

Old ladies? The term sounds familiar, I think it refers to Long-term girlfriends and wives. Women who belong and establish themselves in the club. My chest tightens slightly at the thought.

“Okay,” I say again, quieter this time.

He studies me for a moment, like he’s trying to figure something out without asking. Then he nods once, like that’s enough for now.

Jamie exhales beside him, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

And me? I sit there, hands folded tightly together, my heart still unsteady, trying to understand how I went from running for my life… to sitting across from a man who just changed where I’ll sleep, what I’ll do, and how I’ll live, without raising his voice once.

Lost in my thoughts, I’m pulled out of them when Jamie’s phone rings.

I jump at the sound and hate myself for it. I glance up once, feeling heat rise to my cheeks in embarrassment. Both men are looking at me.

Jamie excuses himself, stepping outside to take the call, leaving me alone with Griffin.

I normally like silence. But this one feels… different. Heavy and awkward. I start biting my lip without thinking.

Griffin clears his throat, making me look up. “You shouldn’t bite your lip,” he says. “You’re too pretty to have chewed lips.”

The comment completely catches me off guard. My cheeks heat up again. “Oh… okay.” The words come out soft, unsure.

Jamie comes back a minute later, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks irritated.

“Loralie, I’m sorry. Before I can take you to the clubhouse, I have to stop by the precinct. That was them calling.”

My nerves spike again. I tug at my hoodie sleeves, slipping back into old habits—biting my lip again.

Griffin stands. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I got her.”

Jamie looks between us. “You sure?”

Then both of them are looking at me.

“As long as she’s okay with it,” Griffin adds, holding out his hand.

I hesitate.

Not because I don’t want to go, but because this is the first real choice I’ve had in days.

Go with Griffin. Or go to the police station first. More people. More questions. More time. I don’t want that. I don’t want any of that.

So I reach out, and take Griffin's hand.