“True enough,” I say with a smile, leaning my head back and wishing I could just fall asleep right here. With the way the bus is rocking, I could easily be out in seconds. I watch the scenery outside the window slowly change from downtown high-rise apartment buildings that probably cost more per month than I could ever hope to earn, to nice, rich subdivisions filled with mini-mansions, and then finally to the dumpy part of town. It always depresses me to have to come back here. People who have money never seem to understand how damn depressing it is to live somewhere that’s visually unappealing. It affects your entire mood to see nothing pretty, nothing that makes you smile, and certainly nothing that makes you want to actually stay outside. It just adds salt to the wound to know that the ocean is so close, but you’d never know it from our neighborhood. I’d give just about anything for some pretty trees and flowers and a view of the water.
When Gale stops at my corner, I give her a quick side hug and tell her I hope she sleeps well. Her shift is just about to end too, and despite what she said, I know she’s just as tired as I am.
“See you tonight, sweetie,” she says, patting my hand.
“I’ll be here,” I assure her, stepping off the bus and giving her a wave goodbye.
I walk as fast as my tired legs will carry me, and I’m all set to crawl under my covers when I walk inside and see the note on the counter. The handwriting is barely legible, which means my dad got up last night, drank several more beers, and then decided he needed to yell at me about something. I curse the whole damn universe when I see what he’s written.
I used the last of the toilet paper. Get some when you get off work.
A murderous rage rushes through me, but when it leaves, I just want to sit down and cry. I’m so fucking tired, and I feel gross after a night of work. I can go without a lot of things, but toilet paper isn’t one of them. Fighting the urge to go upstairs and strangle him in his sleep, I tug off my coveralls and grab his keys, because I’ll be damned if I’m taking the bus again. I should have plenty of time to run to the grocery store and get back before he wakes up. It’s not like he needs to be in for work. He lost his last job, one of many, and has been milking those unemployment checks like a starving baby at the teat.
With a groan, I head back outside and start the truck, praying like hell he doesn’t wake up. He’ll kill me if he catches me touching his precious. Backing out of the driveway, I head towards the grocery store. It’s the world’s fastest trip. I run in, grab the toilet paper and add in a couple of things we’re out of and then book it back to the truck. The rising sun is right in my eyes as I pull back onto the main road. I fidget with the visor, but I’m too short for it to make a difference, and with my glasses on, I can’t wear sunglasses. I squint and try like hell to see. When the light up ahead turns yellow, I start to slow down, but the combination of blinding sunlight and lack of sleep makes my worst nightmare come true when I hear the thud of me hitting the car that’s already come to a stop.
My hands grip the steering wheel while my heart races and my body breaks out in a light sweat. I squint out the window, groaning when I get a good look at the car I hit. It looks expensive, likereallyexpensive, and then I see the door open.
Sweet Jesus.
The man who steps out looks like he just got done posing for the cover of some posh men’s magazine. His suit fits him like a glove, accentuating the broad set of shoulders headed my way, and the dark sunglasses hide his eyes from view, so I have no idea how pissed he is. I do notice the chiseled jaw that’s covered in a day’s worth of dark stubble, though, and is that a neck tattoo I see peeking out from his suit? God, why is that so sexy?
When he’s at my window, I’m still clutching my steering wheel and trying not to hyperventilate. He bends down so he can see me and calmly knocks on my window, waiting for me to roll it down. My face is beet red, and I’m trying like hell to not cry and make this whole thing even more awkward and embarrassing.
Knowing there’s no way my ass is getting out of this, I roll down the window and say, “I’m so sorry.”
I want to sound strong and in control, but it comes out as a shaky, pathetic whisper. I feel stupid enough as it is, but why did he have to be so gorgeous? That just makes it a thousand times worse. I’m fully aware that I probably stink of cleaning supplies and that I must look as tired and worn out as I feel.
“You hit my car,” he says, and his voice is just as deep as I knew it would be, and he has an accent, but I’m not sure what it is. Sexy is how I would describe it, unbelievably sexy.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat, because that’s really all I’ve got.
He looks at me for a few seconds, at least I think he is. His glasses are too dark for me to see anything, and when I start to fidget, his lip quirks up the tiniest bit before he says, “Follow me so we can sort this out.”
He leaves before I can respond. When the light turns green, he takes a left, and I follow him. I know if I try to run, he’ll follow me, and I can’t handle that kind of embarrassment on top of what I already feel. My hands start shaking when I think about my dad’s truck. If there’s a dent, I’m fucked. He will kill me for this. Mr. Sexy turns into a parking lot, and I get a better look at his car. An Aston Martin, of course it fucking is. I park next to him, noticing the dent he’s sporting in his bumper thanks to yours truly, and it takes all the courage I possess to force my ass out of the truck, hoping like hell this guy is in a merciful mood.
Chapter 2
Valeri
Iget out of my car and lean against it, waiting for the girl to work up the courage to face me. She’s obviously terrified, and that fear is the only thing keeping my temper in check. I just bought this car last week, and I’m not thrilled about it already having a dent. I watch her take a breath and then open her door. The truck is way too fucking big for her, and it’s not anything I would’ve ever guessed she’d be driving if I’d just seen her walking around. She looks like she’d need a little stepladder just to get into the damn thing.
“Oh my god,” she groans when she sees the small dent in the front bumper. Her hand comes to her mouth and for one horrible second I fear she might actually pass out. When she makes her way over to me, I notice she’s shaking, and that has warning bells ringing all through my head. Upset, yes, that makes sense. Angry and pissed, I’d expect nothing less. But scared to death? That’s not normal.
My eyes run over her small frame and the long, dark hair that’s pulled into a high pony tail. The clothes she’s wearing look like they came right off the rack of a discount store, and the huge glasses that are at this moment slipping down her nose are designed to make her invisible. It’s almost working. Everything about her feels like it was done on purpose to make a man’s eyes run right over her without a second glance. My curiosity is piqued, although it shouldn’t be.
Her voice shakes when she says, “Would you be willing to work something out with me without involving the police or insurance?”
I have to bite back a laugh, because I sure as fuck wasn’t planning on calling the cops. My brothers and I run the most powerful Bratva in this city, and the last thing I want is a cop nosing around, even if it is just to write this up and give her a ticket.
“Is this your truck?”
“It’s my dad’s,” she whispers, fidgeting with the sleeves of her shirt and worrying her bottom lip. I watch her tongue as it runs over the plump lip, and the fact that she’s not even trying to be sexy just makes it all the sexier.
“What exactly did you have in mind?” I ask her, wondering if she’s going to offer me sex. It wouldn’t be the first time, and I’ll be very disappointed if she does. She seems different, and I can’t help but like that about her. I’d hate to find out she’s just like so many other women I’ve met.
When her light brown eyes meet mine, there’s nothing in them but genuine fear and worry. “I can slowly pay you back over time. I’m really sorry. I can’t believe I hit you. The sun was in my eyes, and I’m tired, and it just happened so damn fast.”
She doesn’t look drunk or high, but I ask anyway. “Why are you so tired? Been out partying all night?”
