Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (10 page)

I waited, impatiently, as she studied me. Her eyes roamed all over my face, down my neck, and back up again. I didn’t know what she was seeing other than a half Cholo mechanic. Maybe that worked for her. She leaned in and pressed her lips to mine abruptly. I fought to pull back to tell her I was not ready, like we were ten years old behind the playground.

I wiped my hands on my thighs to remove any grease before I gently placed one on her soft cheek. My pants were shrinking at an alarming rate, and suddenly she pulled back as abruptly as she’d started.

“So when are we going to start working on the car? I want to do some of it myself, not just watch. You’ll teach me, right?” She had a slight smile on her lips as she stepped back and spun on her heels, while I was still trying to process the taste of her lips. I licked mine and savored the flavor, trying not to groan. She tasted sweeter than my oatmeal pie.

“That might cost you extra, doll,” I muttered, thinking about everything I could possibly charge her for.

“You have internet on this computer in here, right? I need to do some research.”

“Um, yeah. Take your time,” I said, but she was already gone. I looked down. Cirque Du Soleil had enough room for a show under my drawers. I swore as I readjusted myself.

I felt used, emasculated, and I loved it. Over a damn kiss, for Christ’s sake. What was Grace playing at? This was not at all the girl I first met in the bar. Looking at the clock, I shook my head. Never mind, I would have to figure it out later. There was a nice old lady at the gas station awaiting her hooptie.

AS SOON AS THE DOOR
clicked behind me, I lunged for the trashcan beside the desk and dry heaved into it. Had I really just done that?

My lips tingled, and I licked them experimentally. They tasted sweet, like the pie with a little bite of coffee. I crawled to the rolling computer chair and climbed in, pulling my knees up as my mind whirled.

After Harvey laid down his decree, I was struck by fear. It was clear that this group of people, this motorcycle club, respected the strong and ate the meek for breakfast. If I was going to survive and get out of this town, I had to grow a backbone in the short walk from the saloon to the auto shop.

No one wanted me here. I didn’t want to be here. I did feel bad for Kit, and wished her the best. But that didn’t stop me from wanting those bikers to bring her home so that I could get on with my journey. Once again, someone had pushed the pause button on my life.

Snagging my cell phone out of my sports bra, I replied to Kit’s message of courage.

Me: Prez is worried

Resting my head on the headrest, I closed my eyes, my fingers drifting slowly to my lips. Kissing a man was nothing like kissing the back of my hand. The way his unshaven face tickled my skin, bringing it alive in a heartbeat, the way his hand cradled my face like he didn’t want me to move away from him, the way I felt slightly dizzy even minutes after from just a press of his full lips . . . it was a revelation.

At the age of twenty-one, I’d finally woken up, like Sleeping Beauty. My euphoric bubble threatened to burst, but I twisted it around to save it. No, Tread wasn’t a prince on a white horse; he was a biker on a black hog. Gritting my teeth, I pushed everything else back. My first kiss was good. More than I ever expected.

Just be happy with that and move on, Gracie.

Placing my feet solidly on the floor, I pushed it all away. What in the world was I going to do in a five-by-five room for the next six hours?

There were stacks upon stacks of paper on the desk, on top of the six-foot tall wall locker, the floor, and the couch. Old coffee grounds were piled in the corner and sprinkled like the coffee fairy flew in, leaving its pixie dust as evidence. I wiped my knees, thinking about how I just crawled on that floor. The gray door was streaked with black smudges, handprints visible around the edge, the doorknob completely black.

Glancing at my palms, there were streaks of grease already there. I ran a finger experimentally down the arm of the computer chair. Standing, I peeked through the window at Tread with his head under the hood of a car and left.

My steps were fast, and my eyes never stopped scanning the parking lot. All of the bikes from before were gone, and heat blurred my vision as it radiated off the cement. My cell phone vibrated.

Kit: Keep your head up, kid. Prez will have to get over it.

Right. When I walked into the kitchen, I kept my head up, instead of cowering like I wanted to. Veesa was just not the warm and fuzzy woman I would choose to run a kitchen. Did someone like that really need that much access to sharp objects? And was everyone one hundred percent positive she wouldn’t drug their food?

Grabbing what I needed, I jogged back to the office and looked for Tread through the window as I closed the door.

“What the fuck you doin’, girl?”

“AH!” I screamed, spun, then struck out with the bar rags and bucket in my hands.

Belatedly, I saw it was not at all the biker reaper I was expecting, and in fact happened to be an aggravated mechanic. He snatched the bucket as it continued to swing towards his head a third time, even after my arm had stopped moving.

I collapsed on the small loveseat, papers crinkling under me as I placed my hand over my heart to keep it inside of my ribs. “Cheese and crackers, you scared the fudge out of me,” I panted.

Tread’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You shit yourself?”

My eyes popped open. “What?! No! You are so crass!”

Tread tossed the bucket, where it bounced once on the seat next to me before falling with a racket to the ground. “What the hell were you doin’, leavin’ the garage without tellin’ me?”

I stuck my nose in the air and crossed my legs, even as my knees shook. “How did you know I left?”

The big man’s face showed surprise. “How—” he broke off to open the door connecting the garage to the office and gestured “—the fuckin’ garage doors are open. I watched you walk your ass away like you wanna be spanked. That what you want, Gracie?”

I sat up, indignant. “I have never been spanked in my life, and you aren’t touching me. I just went to get something to clean this petri dish so that I don’t die from exposure.”

“I did get that when the bucket hit my head.”

“You shouldn’t have been hiding behind the door.”

“You shouldn’t be wandering off when it would be my head that rolls along with yours if you got into trouble.”

I stood, my hands fisted at my hips. “Listen, buddy. I’m done being controlled. I’ve had it to here—” I sliced a hand across my neck as my voice rose “—and I’m not going to let you all run over me like road kill. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Tread leaned his back against the blind covered window, and they crinkled in protest. I panted, waiting for him to yell back, but he looked unsettlingly calm with his hands in his pockets.

“What?” I yelled when he didn’t say anything.

He gave me an enigmatic chin lift that I couldn’t begin to interpret. “I gotta be honest, I’m not usually a fan of gettin’ screamed at, but you’re sexy all riled up.”

I sputtered, my mind wanting to keep yelling, because it felt good to yell for once. But the wind had been stolen from my sails now that he wouldn’t give it back. What was wrong with me?

“Get out. I have to clean this place before I can sit down.” I looked around for the rags and bucket. When I straightened, Tread’s blue overalls were sagging down his body, and he was standing much too close in just a wife beater.

“Don’t mess anything up. We have a detailed system in place here.”

“I can tell,” I deadpanned.

“Hey, Gracie?”

I looked over at him as he walked out the door, his brown skin shiny with sweat, the muscles of his shoulders defined.

“You’ve got some grease . . .” He gestured to his cheek and chuckled when I threw a rag at the door he escaped through.

Maybe I should have been scared of him, and maybe tonight or tomorrow I would be. But the way he switched from irritated to laughing gave me a little bit of hope for my situation.

Lord knew I could survive on a grain of hope for a very long time.

“SO THIS IS A CARBURETOR?”

“No. That’s an alternator.”

“Huh. Do they do almost the same things?”

“Nope. Hand me the socket wrench. Three-quarter inch drive.”

I studied the pile of metal objects thrown haphazardly into the toolbox and shifted aside a long thing to find a C looking one. I handed it over, feeling like a nurse in an operating room.

Tread unfolded his long, shiny with sweat body from under the hood and held up the tool like it offended him. I blinked.

“What the hell is this?”

“A wrench. That isn’t what you wanted?” I bit my lip, feeling like I was about to be fired. Tread tossed the offending hunk of metal back into the pile and leaned against the car. I watched the sinew of his arms flex as he reached into the pocket of his coveralls—now tied around his waist—and came out with a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter.

“No.” He blew out smoke with a smirk and I tried not to wrinkle my nose. “That’s a regular wrench. I need a socket wrench.”

I shifted on my feet. “Is that a special one?”

Tread threw his head back and laughed, the muscles of his stomach clenching under his thin shirt. I watched his Adam’s apple bob and a bead of sweat roll down his neck to catch on his collarbone. Even hot and sweaty, I could watch him all day. He was more alive standing still than most people ever achieved in motion. I felt his energy filling up the room, making the temperature rise impossibly higher. He was a sun I couldn’t help but orbit.

“A socket wrench looks like this.” Tread reached around me and I stopped breathing. He stood up again with a tool that had a round end, one that I would never have guessed was a wrench.

“What does that do?”

Tread tucked the cigarette between his lips and reached blackened fingers to a hexagonal shaped bolt. “It goes around the nut, so that you can loosen it without taking the tool off. Saves a lot of time and is pretty essential in an auto shop. It’s hard to get a bulky wrench into those tiny places and maneuver around.” Tread tossed the nut to the side without looking then winked at me.

Nothing about that was sexual that I could pick up on. Maybe it was my newly kissed status that was pinging alerts to my brain for every nut and tight space it heard. Either way, I swallowed and forced myself not to look away. It paid off. Tread grabbed the cigarette and gave a little chin lift that could be interpreted as anything from ‘good job,’ to ‘let’s get naked,’ but I chose to think it meant ‘I see you. I see the effort you’re making.’

Maybe I was foolish, naïve, but I didn’t want to be. I was so tired of being those things. I wanted to be normal, pick up on innuendo, and know what it meant. Know what it meant to make jokes, laugh with friends, and give a man the right tool for the job.

Marley wouldn’t make these mistakes. Kit and Tatum wouldn’t make them, either. I bet even Holly would know what a socket wrench was. It was probably silly to get stuck on that, but it was a euphemism for my entire life. I wanted to grab Tread’s biceps and shake them, screaming ‘teach me the ways of the world!’

But no. While that may be the most direct route to the finish line, the embarrassment of him laughing in my face in a crowd of bikers forced the lunacy back down. I’d pay for the repairs on my new junker car with kisses, and learn to be sexy from Marley the nutritionist slash stripping instructor, and my attitude from Tatum the Latina, while I served as bartender to a motorcycle club.

I had a world of experience at my fingertips, just waiting for me to dig in. Consider me putting my back into it.

“Is there a vet around here? My dog is on special medication.”

Tread blew smoke out of his nose like a dragon then bent down to toss the spent cigarette in a bucket. His hair shined like black coal in a bun on top of his head.

“Yeah. Here’s an idea. Why don’t you go look online. Maybe one of the girls can take you over there later.”

“Oh. Okay, then. I guess I’ll go in.”

I walked back into the office and sighed as the air conditioning hit my sweaty skin. The thought of helping Tread restore a car I intended to drive was appealing. Until the heat index hit one twenty in the shade. Being from the mountains of Utah, I’d experienced heat, but not like this.

The men in the garage seemed not to notice the cloying, oven-like air. Granted, they were all stripped down to jeans or shorts, but I couldn’t imagine how hot the beards made them feel, even with the ceiling fans on top speed.

My eyes moved involuntarily to the little window into the garage just in time to see Tread chugging a bottle of water. A dripping, cold, wet bottle of water.

Holy Hannah.