Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(68)

Then, when payday came around, he'd stock a reasonable amount away and  blow through the rest like a tornado rolling through the Grain Belt.  He'd saved a nice little nest egg for himself, but he was getting tired  of going from job to job. He liked his work, but he liked not working  even better. This gig right here … well, he'd have enough to save for a  rainy day and a nice, long, multi-year vacation, as well.

He was humming again, unconsciously. He only noticed when Jeremy brought  it to his attention, the cop snapping his head around faster than a  nasty schoolmarm who'd seen one of her students passing a note in class.

"What the hell are you humming?" Jeremy snapped, eyes narrowed. Silas  didn't turn to look at him. That would only taunt the bull, and Silas  knew the best matador was the one who made it out of the ring alive.

"Just a little tune been stuck in my head for a few days. You know it?  Goes like this?" Silas hummed louder, the song that had been playing in  his head recently, an old Dylan tune called "You Ain't Going Nowhere".

"I know it. That's one of my favorite songs. Gabriella's too," Jeremy  growled, but the growl sounded forced and sad. Jesus Christ, kid, you  are one sorry piece of shit, Silas thought.

"Does it bother you, buddy?" Silas asked, his tone neutral.

"I'm not your buddy, and yes it does. Very much so," Jeremy said, now  looking back out the passenger side window. Silas noted, out of the  corner of his eye that his client's hand had unfurled, no longer a fist.  Now he sat his hand on his knee, palm-down. Silas guessed there would  be some distinctive crescent moons carved into Jeremy's palm from the  way he'd been clenching throughout the whole trip.

He wondered how long it would take before Jeremy went back into Rambo-mode.

Not long, he guessed. And he was right; fifteen minutes later, that hand  was a fist once more, whiter and tighter than ever. Silas kept his  vocal chords quiet, but the song still played in his head.

 … buy me a flute and a gun that shoots

tailgates and substitutes

strap yourself to the tree with roots

you ain't goin' nowhere …





19





"Well … I mean … it's got four wheels and an engine … I guess that's  really … all I need?" I chewed my lip as I stared down at the little  junker that the old man had proudly driven around the corner and parked  before me.

I couldn't tell if it was the color it was because of the rust, the  dust, or because it was supposed to be that color. A very faded and  half-unreadable logo indicated that the car had, at one time, been a  Ford, though I doubted the company would be willing to take ownership of  it in the shape it was in. The tires, at least, looked new-ish. A  dented passenger-side door, a missing handle on the back driver's side  door, and a crack in the rearview that would put a plumber to shame  completed the perfect aura of "total shit" that the car gave off.

"Ayup, it'll run ya where ya need to go, but she ain't no looker, that's  for damn sure," Frankie, the dealer, said, finishing with a healthy  spit of chewing tobacco juice onto the desert dust.

"Frankie, you're shitting me. You think a girl like this wants to be  seen in this beater? Now, I saw some shiny little pieces back there when  we were coming down the road, don't you tell me you can't do us better  than this," Reign said, his arms folded. He stood beside me in his cut, a  term I'd only just learned. I had no idea how he kept it on in the  oppressive heat, which seemed to crack everything in sight. I'd take a  sip of water and immediately feel it evaporate on my tongue.

"Short notice? Clean plates? Full reg? For a trade-in? I'll do you good,  you know that, but I ain't tryin' to put myself outta business,"  Frankie said, mimicking Reign's posture and drawing himself up to seem  taller than he really was. The two men stared into each other's eyes; I  fidgeted, arms behind my back. Finally, though, Frankie's shoulders  slumped and his eyes and arms both dropped.         

     



 

"Okay, okay, Reign, yer a good customer, I tell ya what, I'll see what  all I gots back there for the little Miss," Frankie said, another glob  of chewing tobacco spit flying from the side of his mouth as he turned  away and got back into the old rust bucket, driving away with a clatter  that could have raised the dead. Not ideal for discreet passage  anywhere.

"Thanks," I said, looking up at Reign gratefully. I'd doubted that the  car even had air conditioning, and in heat like this that was going to  be a must.

"No problem. I told you I'd take care of you. Frankie's a good guy, but  he'll always try to get one over on you if he can. He knows better than  to try and screw with me too much, though," Reign said. "But if I hadn't  been here, you'd have taken that hunk of junk?"

I shrugged. I wasn't much for haggling. And my ability to stick up for  myself in any sort of situation had been gathering dust ever since I'd  met Jeremy. I probably would have taken the deal, just to avoid the  conflict. Reign shook his head and reached out suddenly, hooking his  inner elbow around my neck and pulling me in close. It was too hot to be  that close to him, honestly, especially in all that leather, but it  felt good all the same to smell him, to feel his breath against the top  of my head.

"You gotta get better at stickin' up for yourself, dollface. You can't  be waltzing around on your own with fear in your heart. That's a recipe  for nothing good," he said, his jaw moving against my scalp. I pulled  away, feeling my body screaming for air. I couldn't remember ever being  so damn hot in my whole life; the day before, I'd slept through the  worst of the heat. Now, it was just past noon and the sun was high and  beating down relentlessly. This desert life would take some getting used  to …

No, it's not, because you're leaving, soon, I thought, surprised at the  way my mind had acted like I was staying there. That still wasn't the  plan, no matter how much I'd taken to Reign. He was, after all, just a  man. There would be other men. And I didn't need a man right then,  anyway, did I? I'd had enough man over the past five years to last me a  lifetime …

But I couldn't ignore the twitch of pain in my heart when I told myself all that.

With a sudden roar, I heard an engine kicking to life from the parking  lot behind the little office building, and moments later I had to shield  my eyes from the sun's glare as a bright, shiny, red car pulled around  the corner. This car was like Tom Cruise compared to the old Ford's  William DeFoe. It was an older model, for sure, but it had been well  cared for and looked brand new. I had to smile and suppress a giggle;  imagining myself speeding down the highway in this little red cruiser  seemed way too idyllic. This one was a Ford, too; a Mustang to be exact.

"This more your style, hun?" Frankie said, pulling up beside us and letting the engine idle.

"Perfect, Frankie, way to deliver, my man," Reign said, turning to me with a huge grin on his face.

"But … it's a little … flashy … isn't it? I mean … it'll draw attention, maybe,"  I said, eyes roaming back and forth over the humming car, drawn to it  for its obvious style and charm but worried all the same. I needed  something like a Honda Civic or something that was a dime a dozen; not  this eye-catching little number.

"Gabriella, you'd draw attention in a Kia minivan," Reign said with a laugh.

"I'm serious, Reign, I don't want to make any waves … "

"Baby, if you're gonna get caught, it won't be ‘cause your wheels are  too good. Trust me. Besides, would your ex ever imagine you'd find  yourself in something like this? The dick's gonna be looking for you in  something like that old jalopy Frankie just tried to sell ya, or a  goddam black sedan. Hidin' in plain sight, babe, that's the name of the  game," Reign said, clearly enamored with the car for his own reasons. It  was pretty cherry, with the gleaming sunlight caressing the curves and  making it look like a little red bullet.

"You want somethin' basic, I think I gotta couple I could show ya.  Toyota Tacoma, that's pretty basic … " Frankie started to say, scratching  his white beard, which was long enough to reach the collar of his shirt.  He didn't look like any used car salesman I'd ever met before; but,  then, nuclear families looking for something to take their kids to  soccer practice probably weren't his typical clientele.

"No," I said, the word flying from my mouth quite unexpectedly. I did  want this car. It was sexy, and cool, and I could just imagine how it'd  feel to gun down a lonely desert highway with the top down, headed  south, to freedom. "I'll take it."         

     



 

"Atta girl. Whooee, damn, Frankie, where was this baby last time I  needed a getaway car? You been hiding ‘er in the shed or something?"  Reign said, taking a step closer to the car to inspect it.