Page 40 of Savage Prince
He jerks his chin. “Then get your ass over here and put on some safety glasses. We got a car to chop, and then you’ve got some shit to weld.”
My teeth threaten to crack with how hard I’m clenching my jaw.
I don’t like being told what to do. I don’t like being told who I am and who I’m not. And I really don’t like backing down from a challenge.
That’s how I ended up stealing that first car and ending up in the backseat. My brother threatened to beat me black and blue when he found out, but it didn’t stop me.
No. It took something a hell of a lot more than that.
I square my shoulders and cross the stained concrete floor, my heavy boots pounding as hard as the vein in my forehead.
I whip a pair of safety glasses off the nearest workbench and put them on, not caring if they’re clean. I shed the perfectionist part of my persona when I drove away from downtown and returned to my past.
Here, I’m not worried about trying to fit in or what someone’s going to think if they see the facade I’ve built slip. They’ve already seen the real me anyway.
“Give me a grinder. Let’s get this shit done.”
Once I have the tool in hand, I get to work. I don’t need instructions on where the VINs are that need to be ground off, or where we need to cut. As the saying goes, this ain’t my first rodeo.
Working together with the only sound in the building coming from metal on metal, we finish in record time.
When Elijah finally turns his tool off and steps away, I do the same. He tosses me a rag.
“Good to see you haven’t lost your touch.”
“You’re going to let me use the workshop, your metal, and your tools as much as I need, and you’re not going to give me any shit about it.”
He crosses his arms and leans against the workbench behind him. “Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“And what are you gonna give me in return?”
“Not a damn thing.”
His chest heaves with laughter. “Funny. You know that ain’t how shit works around here.”
He’s right, but I’m not about to offer what I know he would prefer to take as payment in a heartbeat—me.
“It’s called paying it forward, Devereux. Good karma.” I mimic his posture and cross my arms, leaning back on my heels.
“That sounds like some hipster bullshit to me. You want to use my shit, you pay for it.”
“How much?” I ask.
He shakes his head, a sly smile curving his lips. “I don’t want your money, girl. You know that.”
“Well, you’re sure as hell not getting anything else from me.”
He uncrosses his arms and walks toward me, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes my face. His boots halt only a few inches from mine.
“You got yourself a man these days? Is that the issue?”
I think of the man who has been haunting my thoughts for the last week. “Maybe.”
This time, Elijah’s forehead creases with shock. “Oh yeah? Who’s the lucky son of a bitch?”
“You wouldn’t know him.” It’s basically the only answer I can give without admitting that I don’t know him either. At least, nothing beyond the wild addiction I’ve developed.
