She presses her lips together and considers my offer. Then she looks at Malcolm, who just so happens to be staring at the woman’s tits. He does a not-at-all-subtle double take, looking from her chest to her eyes and back, before she seems to decide on the lesser of two evils.
“Can I have the address?” she asks, her voice tight. She’s holding up her phone, and she sounds exasperated but resigned. “I’d like to map it before we go.”
She hands me the unlocked device, and I add my name, phone number, and address into her contacts, then I hand her the phone back.
She squints, reading what I wrote. “Your name is Shadow?” she asks.
I extend a hand to her, and she takes it. “Feel free to text your mom, your friends, whoever you want, so they know where you’ll be.”
“My sister,” she mutters softly, shaking my hand, “…and my boyfriend.”
Her fingers are ice-cold, and I almost wrap my hands around hers to warm them up. Instead, I lean forward. “If you’ve got a boyfriend, you’d better dump his ass right now. Only a worthless piece of shit would let a woman like you get stuck in this storm alone.”
Her mouth falls open, and she looks down at our hands. “I’m Violet,” she says quietly. “And thanks, I guess.”
I release her hand and point at Malcolm. “You’re responsible for my bike,” I tell him. “I’m moving it inside.”
Malcolm doesn’t say anything as I move my bike into the lobby. I tell him to get me some towels, and I use half of the ratty, shitty things to dry off the bike as best I can. I give one towel to Violet, and she blots her dripping hair. I tuck the rest of the towels under my leather vest and jerk a thumb toward the door.
“Let’s go. These are for your seats,” I tell her. We turn to leave, and I pull open the door and hold it for Violet. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I warn Malcolm, glaring at him. “Be ready for me.”
His face drains of color. He knows what I mean. We don’t give extensions with time. We don’t do favors. This is a one-time-only consideration. Since he’s gonna be responsible for keeping my bike safe, I can give him overnight to pull together the cash.
I yank open the door, holding tight to the metal handle so the damn wind doesn’t blow it out of my hands. Violet grabs the edges of her skirt with both hands, trying to hold the fabric down, but there’s no avoiding a Marilyn Monroe moment. The wind pummels us, physically pushing her dress from her hands and nearly sweeping her body through the lot.
“Where did you park?” I shout against the noise of the wind.
She releases one side of her skirt, apparently resigned to the fact that she picked the wrong day to wear a minidress, and points toward the street. “Over there. No spots,” she calls out.
I duck my head and put my hand on the small of her back. “Take my arm,” I call out.
The wind is so fierce, I can feel grit blowing into my eyes. Violet’s hair is whipping wildly around her shoulders. There’s no way she’s going make it to her car if she can’t see past her hair.
I hold up my elbow, and she slides a hand into the crook of my arm and uses her frigid fingers to hold on tight. We lower our heads, and she stands close to me, using my mass to block some of the wind from pushing her across the slick pavement.
“What do you drive?” I shout.
“There.” She points to a white sedan and fumbles in her purse with her free hand for her key fob.
She disarms the locks, and I put my hand over hers. She’s just as cold and wet as before, but she looks up at me with fear in her eyes.
“Hey.” I stop her there on the street and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got a safe place. You’re gonna be just fine. You want me to drive? This ain’t my first storm.”
She hesitates, those full lips parting as she considers, but then the wind whips some litter, a potato chip bag or something, against the back of her legs, and she jumps like she’s been cut. Then she straightens her shoulders and hands me the keys.
“I told my sister where we’re going,” she assures me in a loud voice. “She’s expecting me to check in every fifteen minutes.”
I yank open the passenger door and keep hold of it while she climbs in so it doesn’t blow off the hinge.
“All the more reason for me to drive,” I tell her. I hand her the towels I took from Shady Lane and slam the door shut once she’s safely inside. Then I run around to the driver’s side. I have to move the seat all the way back, but I manage to get in, fire up the car, and flip on the heat while only getting half beat to shit by the wind.
Violet has wrapped herself in towels like they are blankets, and she peers up at me with unblinking green eyes. “So, uh, where do you live with twenty other guys?” she asks softly. “A halfway house?”
I bark out my first real laugh in what feels like weeks. “Nah.” I adjust the mirrors, turn on the wipers, and pull away from the curb. “I live in a compound,” I explain. “With my brothers.”
“Brothers?” She cocks her chin to the side and seems to study me. “Your poor mom.”
“No, sweetheart. We aren’t blood.” I’m watching the rain, the traffic, and I’m not loving the way this sedan is getting tossed by the wind. “I’ll explain later,” I tell her. “Now, sit back, warm up, and try to relax. The worst is over.”
