He huffs at me, having the nerve to sound indignant. “We’re going sixty. Calm down, you drama queen.”
“Really?” I snark. “I didn’t know your overpriced crotch rocket was capable of such commoner speeds.”
“Stop calling it a crotch rocket,” he grits out as we take another turn.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I hold on to him with everything I have. When we get out of the curve, I hiss, “Stop kidnapping random women and forcing them to ride behind you. Then you won’t have to listen to what they call your crotch rocket.”
Azrael sputters. “I didnotkidnap you.”
I grin at how put out he sounds. “Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You really did,” I reply like a super mature adult as we pull into Davenport’s Cycle Repair’s parking lot.
Azrael turns off his bike and lets me hop off first.
It’s a relief when my feet touch solid ground. There is no way in hell I’m getting back on his liter bike to go home. I’d rather walk the whole way in the pouring rain than have to cram myself onto that pathetic excuse for a passenger seat again.
Pulling off my helmet, I shake out my braids and finger comb the flyaways down as much as I can. From what I can hear, the repair shop is bustling with people. I’d rather everyone insidenot see me looking like an electrocuted Pomeranian if I can help it.
Once he has the bike turned off, Azrael dismounts and rips off his helmet. He pins me with a pissed-off glare. “For the last time, I didnotkidnap you. You’re so fucking frustrating. It’s a miracle no one’s strangled you yet, just to get you to stop talking.”
With that parting shot, he stalks off toward the open bay. The auto shop has three huge garage doors surrounded by slate-blue brick. I can see guys and a couple of girls talking and laughing inside the bays as they work on a bunch of motorcycles. To the right of the garage is what I assume is the front door with a cheery welcome sign.
I bark out a humorless laugh and rush to follow after him. When I’ve finally caught up to him, I say, “Oh, they’ve tried. I’m just hard to kill.”
Over the years, I’ve found out the hard way that I’m really, surprisingly, hard to kill, even for a shifter. I’ve wondered if it has to do with my ability to shift into any creature, but I really don’t know.
The last time someone attempted to murder me tries to creep up, but I forcefully shove it down. Of all the places to think about that memory, right here and right now is definitely not it.
Instead of laughing, like I thought he would, Azrael freezes where he’s standing just inside the auto shop. It’s so abrupt that I almost crash into him. I’m saved by his large hands landing on my hips and pulling me flush against him.
His eyes glow neon gold as he leans down and snarls, “Who? Who put their fucking hands on you?”
My lips part in surprise at his reaction.
I have no idea how to respond, because there’s no way I’m answering his question. I don’t know him well enough to trust him with that information. Even Charlie doesn’t know how badit got with Andrew. No one knows, other than me and him, and I’d like to keep it that way.
I’m saved from having to answer by Hal bursting through a door and making a beeline toward us. As Hal marches to us, I extract myself from Azrael’s hold, much to his displeasure if his glare is anything to go by.
“Azrael. Thank fuck you’re finally here. One of your bimb—” Hal cuts off as his gaze collides with mine. His mint-green eyes widen, and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Lark. Hi! What, um, what are you doing here, wild girl?”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his blue mechanic’s coveralls. The denim-like material has faint navy pinstripes and a red-and-white name tag on the chest pocket. Hal has the top unzipped low enough to show off a tantalizing glimpse of his inked pecs, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
I smile at how uncertain the usually confident man sounds and shrug. “I need silicone grease.”
Before he has a chance to respond, a woman with long platinum hair, baby blue eyes, and curves for days saunters up to Azrael. She’s a good four inches shorter than me but makes up for it with her chest and ass that make me look flatter than a board.
She somehow manages to make white sneakers, black leggings, and a tight black quarter-zip look sexy. I glance down at my decidedly not sexy riding jeans, jacket, and boots and feel a little self-conscious.
“Azzy, baby,” the woman purrs as she runs her perfectly manicured nails up his arm. “When are we going to go on that ride you promised me?”
My eyes widen at the interaction, and I realize I really need to get out of here. I know Azrael can’t stand me, but there’s a part of me that’s just as infatuated with him as the others. And I don’tneed to be watching him flirt with his girlfriend or fuck buddy or whatever right now.
Spinning around, I march over to Hal and grab his hand. I drag him in the opposite direction of Azrael and ignore Azrael when he calls after me.
CHAPTER 15
