Chapter 47

Zara 

We arrive at the clubhouse late. 

Claims 

Not dramatically late, not middle-of-the afternoon late, but close enough to noon that the second Locke pulls his bike into the lot and cuts the engine, I can already see the front windows of the clubhouse brimming with observers. They’ve clearly been waiting for us, with the kind of organized enthusiasm usually reserved for ambushes. 

I remain pressed against Locke’s back for an extra few seconds, my arms still wrapped around his waist, my cheek almost resting between his shoulder blades. It occurs to me that I should probably move before the audience inside starts applauding. 

Which, knowing my family, is absolutely possible. 

“You see them?” I ask.