I snort. “Not gonna happen.”
Carefully, he pushes me back and sidesteps me. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
He throws me a little wink to accompany that stupid charming smile of his. Then he gives me his back and saunters to the black sports bike at the end of the lot. He pulls on a full-faced helmet, mounts the machine, and kicks it to life. As he rips by me, the rumble of the engine shakes the ground below my feet.
My heart doesn’t stop thundering until he’s well out of sight and the growl of his bike has long been silenced.
14
They’ve released my bike.
Hell. Yes.
I skip across the parking lot towards Donovan’s Auto Repair, my limbs twitching. Anxious to revel in the familiar vibration ripping through my body, the warm air sliding over my skin when I ride. God, I’ve missed it. Tearing up the pavement, the rush of adrenaline, the world flashing by as I jack up my speed.
Need isn’t the word for it.
Like my father, my brothers, I was born to have an engine purring between my legs.
Just as I’m reaching for the door leading into the shop, I come face to face with my shirtless, blood-covered big brother.
“Jesus, Jack. What the hell happened to you?”
There’s a deep cut across his eyebrow, another on his cheek, and a few more scattered across his body. Blood drips from his nose and is streaked across his chest, but he only grins and motions to the garage behind him.
“All good, Gracie. Just did a couple rounds in the ring.”
The ringbeing the fighting pit in the club’s gym. Where the guys go to blow off steam and beat the absolute shit out of each other.
“Did you fight a bear? You look like you got your ass handed to you.”
“Please. I won. Obviously.” Grin still split across his face, he raises both arms and flexes, showing off his bulging muscles. “Guy wasn’t prepared for the gun show.” With obnoxious flair, he kisses one bicep, and then the other.
I snort. “Easy. I think maybeyouweren’t prepared for whatever the hell he hit you with.”
“You should see the other guy,” he says with a wink. “Hell of a machine you got in there, Gracie. You sure you can handle that thing?”
“You forget who you’re talking to,” I tease. “I was on two wheels by the time I could walk.”
He laughs. “The Sinners didn’t raise no bitch, that’s for sure.”
“Better believe it, Grave Man.”
This is what I’ve been missing. The jokes, the easy laughter. Like the ten years of awkwardness sitting between us has evaporated. Like he never stopped missing my phone calls or responding to my texts. For a second, it’s like we’ve picked up where we were before everything got messed up.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask as I scan his torso.
His stomach is littered with old, puckered scars. Some big, crossing several inches of skin, and others much smaller, the size of my thumb, maybe.
I nod to the injuries. “What are those?”
As he looks down, his smile drops. “Oh. Uh. Some shit went down a couple years back. I got jumped.”
My stomach lurches. “Like… you were stabbed?”
“It was a while back,” he says. “I’m good. All right?”
“No, Jack. It’s not all right. You didn’t think to call? Jesus, look at you. You got hit in some pretty serious places. How hurt were you?”
