Forcing the thought away, I take a breath and let my eyes roam over the other few frames nearby. I pause the moment a familiar face catches my attention.
This one seems to be the most recent of her small collection. In it, Kat is laughing with the man who has beenboiling my blood recently. The one who always manages to slip into focus when I’m watching her.
Fucking Roland Pierce.
Obviously, I did a background check on him after the first time I saw him in the shop. He’s a mechanic extraordinaire, apparently, assuming half of the provided services in the shop. His records are fairly clean, aside from a stray assault charge he caught after nearly blinding a guy at a bar, apparently for attempting to spike a friend’s drink. Not ideal, but also not the worst reason, I suppose.
Still, from what I could gather about him, it seems he used to brush shoulders with some of Yuri’s men, but hasn’t associated with them in some time. A similar route to Kat’s, it seems.
He might seem like an okay guy who gives Kat her space, but that doesn’t clear him from my shit list just yet.
I’ve seen them work together numerous times now. They’re practically in sync, grabbing each other lunch when they head out on break, offering the other a clean rag when they need it, or knowing exactly the right jokes to crack to get the other to laugh.
It’s almost sickening how well they get along, and while the relationship seems platonic, it still irks me.
I’ve been telling myself he’s nothing. That he’s nothing more than a familiar face to Kat. He’s just a grease-stained mechanic with no ambition beyond the next project and the resulting paycheck.
But the thought of him standing as close to her as he is in this photo while she holds up the keys with the garage in thebackground…sharing her trust, her time, and her life, for god’s sake…it makes my jaw clench.
Blinking down at the picture, I loosen my hold on the frame before I can break the glass, realizing I even picked the thing up.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I’ve never been the possessive type, and definitely not the kind to get so caught up over one single woman. I’ve never lost sleep over someone I don’t know on a deeper level, and I don’t let my emotions cloud my judgment.
Sure, I can be a bit impulsive at times, but never like this.
I’ve sure as hell never let a woman twist my mind into thinking breaking into her place while she’s at work is normal, all under the guise of surveillance.
But Kat is doing something to me, and I don’t know how to stop it.
Forcing myself to put the picture down again, I continue my search anyway, gathering whatever relevant intel about her I can while I have the chance.
Eventually, I find a pistol tucked in a velvet case in the top drawer of her nightstand, as expected, along with a salacious toy in the bottom one that gives me far too many ideas and so little time.
The mental image of her using it while alone at night is enough to make my pants tighten…But I shove that thought right back down again before it can spiral out of control.
Focus, Sergey…
But try as I might, those tantalizing daydreams follow me back to the shop, where Kat is working on my bike with the garage doors open.
She’s in their godforsaken coveralls again, but the top portion is rolled down and sitting loosely around her hips while the black tank top she has on reveals the beginning of a sleeve tattoo on her right arm.
Jesus Christ…
Her hair is pulled back in a careless yet endearing ponytail, and there’s a practiced ease about the way she makes careful strokes with the paint gun, seemingly lost in her work.
It’s almost absurd how little I care about that bike, given how I only bought it as an excuse to get closer to her. But her eyes had lit up the moment I mentioned the model, and seeing her work on it now with such quiet confidence has me feeling an unexpected flicker of pride.
She’s damn good at what she does, and I may be acting way too cozy about someone I don’t know all that well, but her dedication to this is far sexier than I’d like to admit.
And the thought of Roland having the privilege of working beside her every day, breathing the same air, and seeing that side of her up close makes something oppressive and dark curl in my chest.
With a breath, I remind myself these aren’t rational thoughts, but it doesn’t help in the slightest.
I want Kat’s attention on me, even if I don’t deserve it. I want every moment, regardless of how insane that makes me.
When I see she’s done with the bike from that safe distance, I give her some time before I step in through the front door, hearing the gentle chime of the bell above my head. Even ifI’m supposed to wait there, I don’t care, and I continue into the shop.
