Ace
Naomi is full of surprises. Just when I think I have her figured out, she does the total opposite of what I expected. Watching her ride is a beautiful thing. I figured she’d be competent, but a weekend rider, someone who drives a bike for convenience, or perhaps to make a statement. She is neither of those. She rides like the bike is an extension of her body, like she could ride all day with no destination in mind, just for the joy of it. She rides like me, and I respect that enormously.
For a while, I forget where we’re going and why we’re headed there. I forget everything but Naomi and the open road. I feel a stirring in my groin as I look at her pert ass in those tight leather pants, her thighs gripping the seat as she leans forward, moving as one with her motorcycle.Snap out of it,I scold myself.You’re the one who said Naomi is off-limits, so start acting like it.
We eventually reach an abandoned mill, obscured from view from the road, hidden by trees. Riding slowly on the rough ground, we head down a long dirt track, the mill growing larger as we near. We kill our engines, and heavy silence envelops us. Faintly, in the distance, there’s the steady sound of traffic on the highway. A crow squawks at us, offended by our intrusion.
“This way,” Naomi says, her boots crunching on the gravel as she strides with purpose toward the mill.
I take a couple of longer strides to catch up, falling into step beside her. “Where’d you learn to ride like that?”
Naomi’s gaze darts to me before returning to the ground. “Why, are you surprised that a woman can ride?”
“Not at all.”
Is that really the impression I’ve given her? That I’m some sexist asshole who thinks women can’t ride motorcycles?
Naomi again gives me that measured look, as if she’s still trying to figure me out. “My dad started to teach me just before he died. Afterward, it felt like a way to keep him close, to remember him by. Eli taught me what he knew, and the rest I just kinda figured out on my own.”
“Impressive.”
Naomi studies me, as if she thinks I might be joking. After determining I’m serious, she inclines her head in acknowledgment. “The bike was my dad’s,” she volunteers. “He had a few, but Eli sold them all.” She doesn’t need to say why. “I know it’s probably too big for me, but I like it. It sounds dumb, but I feel like my Indian is an extension of me at this point.” She says this as if she’s used to people judging her or commenting on her and the bike.
“It doesn’t sound dumb at all. I feel the same about my Harley. For what it’s worth, I think the Indian is the perfect bike for you,” I offer—an olive branch of sorts.
She narrows her eyes, still skeptical of me. “So do I.”
We reach a door with a padlock and chain and she turns back and says, “I’m afraid it’s going to be a tight squeeze for youguys to get inside,” She pushes it to its limit to reveal a small gap big enough for her to squeeze through.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Cash says, echoing my thoughts.
“Naomi, there’s no way any of us is small enough to fit in that gap.” I silently curse myself for not bringing anything to help us break in.
“I might be able to,” Gage offers hopefully, no doubt angling for some alone time with Naomi. He’s the smallest of us, but at just under six feet, he’s not exactly small, and there’s no way his stocky build is fitting either. I simply raise my eyebrows at him in response, wordlessly expressing my disbelief.
Naomi looks at us, as if only now realizing there’s no way we can get inside. “Shit,” she mutters, pacing. All of the windows are boarded up; there’s no other obvious way inside. “I guess I’ll just have to go get them alone.”
“No,” I snap, unsure why exactly I don’t want her going inside alone. It’s not like there’s anywhere else she could go, but I still don’t like it. It could be a trap. For all we know, there’s another exit, and she’s devised this elaborate plot to escape. Either that or she comes back armed to the teeth to hold us at gunpoint. Naomi seems sweet and genuine, but she’s a stranger that the guys found in the hands of the Rusted Scythes. Her brother works for them, and for all we know, so does she.
“Come on, Prez, how else are we supposed to get the guns?” Gage asks. “We can trust Naomi,” he adds, no doubt sensing what I’m thinking. However, he’s compromised, given his obvious obsession with Naomi.
“Either we all go inside or none of us do,” I growl, stalking away from the door in search of another way in.
“There’s no other way in, trust me,” Naomi says, trotting behind.
“Forgive me if I want to see that for myself.” I eventually come across a side door that seems promising.
“It’s locked, I already tried it,” Naomi says.
The door is constructed from heavy wood. However, years of misuse and exposure to the elements have taken their toll, and the wood has started to rot. I examine the hinges, which have become rusted and bent. “We can break it down,” I state confidently.
“It’s solid wood, there’s no way,” Naomi replies, rapping her knuckles on the door to punctuate her point.
“Step back,” I reply, preparing to kick it down.
Naomi rolls her eyes, muttering, “Boys,” but she does as I ask.
My first attempt is unsuccessful. The door groans and splinters, but remains stubbornly intact. Undeterred, I glance back at Cash and Gage. “Little help, guys?” They eagerly step forward to help.
