Page 6 of Link (Dragon Riders MC 1)
His eyes fell to my arm. “You good?”
I looked down. “Oh! Oh, oh. Yeah. I mean, it stings. But it’s superficial. Nothing a nice clean with some peroxide won’t fix.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, yeah. Totally sure.”
“Uh huh.”
My eyes fell against his boots and slowly raked up his body. I took in his faded jeans and the slim features of his waist. The leather jacket he donned stretched over his shoulders as the seams practically cried out for help. And as my eyes danced up his neck, I thought I saw the faintest hint of a tattoo against his skin.
Huh.
“You tried calling someone?” he asked.
My eyes whipped up to his face. “What was that?”
He chuckled. “Calling someone. With your phone. You tried that?”
My mind kept going back to the peekaboo tattoo beneath his shirt. The bike still humming with life behind him. The leather jacket he wore. The scar that cut through his left eyebrow.
He’s trouble. Be careful.
“Uh, I mean, I tried leaving messages with some people, but it’s pretty late on a Sunday night. I’m sure they’ll wake up soon and get them, though. They never leave their phone completely off at night.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “That so?”
I nodded. “Yep. My friends always have my back.”
“Your friends.”
“Uh huh.”
“Your friends around here.”
I didn’t like this one bit. “Yep. One of them is less than a mile from here.”
“Then, walk to her house.”
I blinked. “What?”
“If she’s so close, walk to her house.”
“What makes you think it’s a ‘she?’”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really believing any part of your story right now. Want to try to convince me your friend is a ‘she?’”
My heart rate sped up, my breathing growing ragged. I had to project an air of strength to this man, otherwise I was in big trouble. He needed to know that he couldn't take advantage of me. He needed to think I was surrounded by people who cared about me even though I was new to town and knew literally no one. And had no one. And relied on no one.
And loved no one.
“Well, while you’re getting your story straight, want me to take a look under the hood?” the man asked.
His voice ripped me from my trance. “No use. There’s no smoke, no leaking, no loose fuses, no weird smells. No cracks in any of the reservoirs and none of the tubes are punctured.”
“So, you know your way around cars, then.”
I shrugged. “Was a family pastime of mine during my childhood.”
“Same here. Mind if I take a look anyway?”
“What? You don’t trust me?”
“About as much as you trust me right now.”
I nodded. “Fair enough.”
He snickered as he walked by me, and his body heat reached out to wrap around me. It held me close before he walked away, but the scent of leather and cologne still held me hostage. The smell sent a shiver down my spine. I slowly turned around as a flush worked its way down the nape of my neck. I lifted my phone and winced at the pain shooting through my arm. If anything, I needed to get that cleaned quickly. Otherwise, I was in an entirely different world of trouble.
Because I certainly didn’t have a well of money to draw from when it came to doctor’s appointments.
“You’re right,” the man said.
I made my way beside him. “Told you.”
He pointed. “You tried whacking the alternator yet?”
“That’s how I got this gash in my arm. Reaching down, only to not be able to reach it.”
He slid his arm through all of the mechanisms. “I can reach it just… fine… here we go.”
A loud “CLANG!” resounded before he smacked it again. He gave it four good whacks before he pulled his arm out from the mire that was the hood of my car. Then, he pointed to the steering wheel.
“Try cranking it again. I want to listen to what happens when you do,” he said.
And even though I knew the action was futile, I did as he asked. Because if anything happened, I could simply lock myself in my car.
With the gun I had in my glove box.3LinkThe alternator clicked quickly before the engine sputtered. Which was odd, because usually those two things happened in tandem. And even though the engine sputtered, the car didn’t strike up. So, I held up my hand.
“Okay, okay. Give me one second,” I said.
The car stopped making sounds and I reached my hand back into the mire that was the chaos beneath the hood of this car. She wasn’t joking; she knew how to keep this thing running with all sorts of chop shop solutions. Tubes that had been repaired over and over again. A reservoir that looked like it had been switched out recently. Despite the age of the car, everything underneath the hood was incredibly clean. As if she gave the damn thing a once-over after every fix she had to do.
