The salesman stares at me for a moment before bursting out laughing.
At me.
It takes him a solid sixty seconds to get his mocking laughter under control. He wipes a few tears from his eyes before condescendingly grinning at me. “Are you sure a tiny thing like you can control a motorcycle? These aren’t toys. They’re powerful machines that only a real man can handle. Why don’t you start with a scooter or, even better, a bicycle? We wouldn’t want a sweet little thing like you to get hurt.”
What a fucking cupcake.
First, I’m not short. I’m five-seven, which is above average in height, thank you very much.
Second, I can guarantee I’m stronger than him and the guy behind him put together. Being a shifter means I’m inherently super strong, at least compared to a normal human.
I can control a motorcycle just fine, you sexist jerk.
Of course, I don’t say any of that. I dig my nails into the palm of my free hand, hard enough to draw blood. Every muscle in my body is pulled taut as I’m in an internal tug-of-war between wanting to put Dave in his place and the fear of causing a scene.
I was raised to preserve the status quo, avoid rocking the boat, and make everyone else happy at all costs.
For the millionth time, I wish I were more like Wren. Before everything happened, she was a free spirit who didn’t care what anyone thought. She’d give as good as she got, unwilling to take shit from anyone.
But I’m not. So I just stuff down everything I feel and pretend to be unbothered.
In a tiny act of rebellion, I narrow my eyes at the salesman, who is lucky I didn’t bring my best friend, Charlie, with me. Dave would have a very short life expectancy if she were here. “I’m just going to look around,” I manage to choke out.
Spinning on my heel, I beeline straight for a pretty green bike. I know the two assholes who work here probably won’t sell me a motorcycle. But I don’t want to admit defeat yet. I’m determined to see this through.
Maybe looking at the bikes will give me a chance to think of some way to salvage the situation.
Right after I throw my leg over the bright lime bike to test how it feels underneath me, the door chimes as it opens again. Glancing up to see who it is, my eyes widen at the three colossal men who stride confidently into the dealership.
All of them are wearing perfectly tailored black suits that hug their muscular frames and polished black boots.
The tallest one in front has on a bloodred shirt and black tie. His onyx hair is swept back off his forehead, highlighting his otherworldly golden eyes. The man’s angular face is cold and utterly devoid of any emotion. Tattoos peek out above his shirt collar and wind down his large hands, the only hint of his personality he displays.
The man to his right is an inch or two shorter. His unruly brown hair curls around his ears, and his light green eyes dance with mirth at a joke no one else knows. His white shirt is carelessly unbuttoned at the top, giving a tantalizing glimpse ofthe tattoos that trail down his neck to his muscular chest. He has one hand shoved irreverently in his pocket.
The third man, who’s roughly the same height as the brunet man, paired his suit with a black shirt and black tie. His golden blond hair and tanned skin are in contrast to his dark outfit. Sharp gray eyes, full lips pressed into a harsh line, rigid posture, and more muscle than anyone I’ve met give him an imposing air. The black and gray tattoos on his hands and just above his shirt collar also complement his intimidating vibe.
Seeming not to notice me, the men make a beeline for the salesmen. They come to a stop, facing Dave’s desk, so I can only see their side profiles.
Dave gets up from his chair and nervously wrings his hands. “I’ll have your money by the end of the week, I promise.”
His eyes dart around, probably looking for an escape. I don’t know what the heavily tattooed men are, because they have a confusing lack of scents. But I do know they’re not human, so Dave doesn’t stand a chance of outrunning them.
The brunet tsks. “You see, Davey-boy, that won’t work for us. We’ve already been more than generous by giving you an extra two weeks. I’d hate for this to get messy, but you’re not giving me much choice.”
He flashes a now profusely sweating Dave a malicious grin. The man moves his left hand to rest on his hip, giving the salesmen a glimpse of a shiny metal gun in a shoulder holster.
I gasp softly when I notice the silencer attached to the barrel.
Well, that’s not good.
I don’t know who these guys are, but, generally, law-abiding citizens don’t carry guns with silencers on them. I need to leave before I get my ass killed in whatever the hell is happening here.
Chancing a glance up at the men, I startle when I see the three of them staring directly at me.
Oh shit.
I’m in trouble now.
