Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
He pulls back, his lips shiny and tilting up at the corners. “What are you doing?”
“It’s hot.” I pull at the thick zipper harder.
“You’re hot.” He sets me on my feet and drags my zipper down the front of my coveralls. They’re practically pristine next to his, loudly announcing which one of us actually works on cars and which one tinkers with them.
While I wriggle out of the stiff pants, Griff takes a few steps back and sheds his coveralls. He scoops mine up and sets both on the bench. I lean against the car and crook my finger. “Please come back here.”
He scoops me into his arms and spins us in a slow circle. “Don’t you want to take it for a ride?”
“I want to take you for a ride.” I laugh and kiss him again. “In the back seat. Watching you work hard all day has me worked up.”
“You worked hard too.” He carries me to the back of the car and sets me on the trunk. “Let me close the garage door. We don’t want spectators.”
“Hurry.” I tease the bottom of my tank top up over my stomach.
Outside, a loud grumbly engine pulls into the parking lot. A small rusty pickup truck that looks like it’s being held together with duct tape and coat hangers screeches to a stop.
Griff frowns and moves to the edge of the garage. “We’re not open, sir.” He edges sideways, blocking my view of the unexpected visitor.
“Are ya sure?” a man says.
“Yup. I’m closing now.”
“That’s too bad.” There’s a scraping of feet against gravel.
This guy can’t take a hint.
“I really need something,” he says.
Griff lets out a weary sigh. “What is it? If it’s something small, I can probably—”
I lean sideways to see what made Griff stop.
A skinny, dirty-looking man in tattered jeans and a hole-filled sleeveless shirt thrusts both hands forward. A black pistol’s held in his tight grip. Aimed right at Griff’s face. “I need you and your little girlfriend to back the fuck up.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Griff
“Are you sure you want to do this, man?” I say in a low, calm tone.
Behind me, Molly scrambles off the car, landing with a squeak against the concrete. Instead of putting distance between herself and the gun-waving lunatic, she rushes to my side.
I curl one arm back, keeping her behind me.
“You realize this is Lost Kings MC territory, right?” There’s a fifty-fifty chance that’s enough to scare him away.
He twitches and glances over his shoulder. My stomach drops with every jerky movement he makes while he’s holding that gun. “So what? No it’s not. They don’t run this far west.”
“Yeah, they do,” I say with exaggerated patience. “And my club’s under their protection.” We haven’t quite formed the club, yet, but Greasy doesn’t need to know that. Anything to get him and his gun away from Molly and me.
“That ain’t got nothing to do with me. Or our business.”
Fighting the urge to take Molly’s hand and run outside, I keep slowly backing us farther into the garage. Lots of tools that could be used as weapons are only a few feet away. If only I hadn’t put everything back as soon as we finished.
“Do you have me confused with someone else?” I ask.
“Don’t think so.” He takes a few steps closer.
Are we being pranked? This lowlife has his hair slicked back with so much gel—or grease—and twitches so often, he’s a living, breathing caricature of every strung-out junkie who ever robbed a liquor store on a cop drama.
Those jerky movements are a problem. One wrong twitch and he could accidentally blow a hole through Molly or me. Slow as possible, I hold my arms out in front of me, to show him I have no weapons and ease my body fully in front of Molly’s. She curls her hands into the back of my shirt, her warmth and fear soaking into my skin.
“Where’s she goin’?” he shouts. “Hey, stay put, bitch.”
I grind my teeth. “She’s got nothing to do with this.” Neither do I, but that’s beside the point. “And the way you’re waving that gun around’s making me nervous.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. You want to play human bullet vest for your little sweetie?” He licks his slimy lips and leans sideways, trying to look at Molly. “I get it. She’s a pretty one.”
Black dread expands in my stomach. But I keep my face blank. He’ll have to put every single one of those bullets in me to get to Molly.
“Just take it easy and tell me what you want,” I say, keeping my voice calm and even.
“Fine,” he spits. “She can stay back there. But I want to see her hands.”
Molly rests both of her hands at my waist, then flashes her palms at him.
“Good.” Greasy paces backward and rubs the barrel of the gun across his forehead. If he does that again, I might have time to take him to the ground before he gets off a shot.