Page 2 of Fletch’s Protection

With a loud crack, the biker smacks my ass, kisses my forehead with a growl, and turns to look at Clark with a deadly stare.

“You get your eyes full, asshole?”

It’s a good thing this man’s massive arm is locked around me again because my knees just buckled.

Clark’s face contorts, eyes burning with hate. His oil-stained hand clenches around a roll of duct tape until it’s shaking.

“Filthy fucking bikers,” he mutters. “Are you really that cheap, Mari?”

“I told you I was seeing someone,” I say, somehow sounding almost normal. All while I cling to the gigantic man like a life raft, resting my cheek against his leather vest.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you get off, because we are not fucking done,” Clark sneers and takes a step back but doesn’t move his glare away from the biker.

Below my ear there’s a feral growl followed by a low, venomous tone. “Stay the fuck away from what’s mine.”

Every hair on my body stands up on end. Chill bumps rush across my skin.

I have no idea what’s going to happen, but the door chime rings. Someone yells, “Clark, did you get that capacitor?”

Clark takes another step back, spins on his heel and stalks off.

All the air goes out of me in a rush. “Oh my god,” I choke out, swaying on my feet as I step away the from man I’ve just been hanging on.

I finally get my wits about me and him an apologetic look. “I didn’t think he was that crazy. I’m sorry for getting you involved.”

A large steady hand grips my arm and he turns me to face him.

“Well, I’ve had a lot of first dates and that’s got to be the fastest one ever,” he says with crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

My god. He’s handsome. But my mind is whirling and all I can think to say is, “Now what am I going to do?”

It was a question I meant to keep in my head.

His expression turns serious, that hand tightening a little more on my arm. “What has he done that you that makes running into my arms the safer choice?”

Good question. Because this man looks like he could bend steel with his bare hands.

But Clark is terrifying for a whole different reason. A shudder tightens my muscles. The nausea peaks inside my stomach. Keeping my voice low, I tell the stranger, “He cornered me in the back room. I was the only one working and I didn’t know what he was going to do. It was terrifying. But another customer came in the store and he backed off.”

A scary expression takes over the biker’s rugged face. His jaw muscles tic, eyes hardening. “Your boss won’t ban him from the store?”

“No way. They spend a lot of money,” I reply. “That’s the sad reality and nothing is going to change that.”

“What time you get off?”

I hesitate, then I cave and tell him. “At four.”

“I’ll be waiting out front.”

I’m already shaking my head. This man has done enough. I feel terrible. “Oh, you don’t have to⁠—”

“Yeah, I do.” His hand lingers for a moment longer, warm and strong against my arm, with his thumb stroking against my skin.

He clears his throat, drops his hand, steps back and reaches for a pack of bolts.

Crazy ideas are forming in my head like a movie roll. Maybe he can walk me to my car. Maybe this isn’t terrible. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Could you walk me to my car when I leave?”