It was close to midnight when Leigh pulled up to the Mayans' clubhouse; her mind and body still on edge from the earlier scuffle with her would-be killer.
How the man had managed to break into her apartment without getting caught was beyond her. There were so many prying eyes that she could hardly come and go without someone knowing about it.
A weary sigh fell from her lips. She should have known better than to think anyone would intervene in her affairs. What with federal agents and a rebel organization running amok, it was a wonder that anyone even dared to leave their homes.
With a dismissive shake of her head, she reached for the doorknob. It still eluded her as to why she had even decided to come here. There were plenty of places in this town that had little to no connection with the M.C. life. The very life she had tried so desperately to escape back in her youth.
What the hell was she thinking?
Leigh let out a humorless huff of laughter. Old habits, she mentally surmised, knowing good and damn well that it was a deflection. The actual purpose behind her late-night visit was simple in its wording, but complicated in its meaning.
I want to see Bishop.