Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl(64)

“Car trouble?”

The sound of Dane’s voice sends a surge of fear through my veins.

Swallowing hard, I fix my attention on my phone. “I’m fine.” I open my text messages and scroll through my contacts, pretending to be calm when I’m one window knock away from peeing my pants. My heart only pounds harder when Dane tries to open the door.

“Come on; let me in,” he says, jiggling the door handle. “I’ll get your car to start for you. And I won’t even charge you cash.”

“Go away.” I honk the horn, and he jolts.

He then quickly recovers, pressing his forehead to my window. “Honk all you want, sweetheart. No one can hear you out here. And if they did, they wouldn’t care.”

He’s right. Well, mostly right except for Everette. He cared.

But he’s not here, is he?

And the only other guy in your life who’s ever protective of you is about thirty miles away and doesn’t know about your dirty little work secret.

No, you’re going to have to handle this on your own.

I reach for my pepper spray, and start to roll down my window, ready to spray him in the face. But when a Mercedes rolls up beside my car, I freeze. Terror whiplashes through me as a man in his forties wearing a button down shirt and jeans hops out and strides toward the front of my car.

Good God, I’m going to die tonight, either by the hand of Dane or this man who’s clearly stalking me for reasons that probably have to do with my mom.

You’re not going to die. Just fix the problem. Call Beck because it’s either that or let Dane or rich dude end you.

My fingers tremble as I start to push Beck’s number, ready to accept the consequences of my actions and pray I don’t lose him. But I pause as the older guy storms toward Dane, slams his palms against his chest, and shoves him to the ground.

“What the fuck!” Dane shouts, scurrying to his feet.

The man puts his boot on Dane’s chest, pinning him to the ground. “If you so much as come near her again, I will fucking end you. Got it?”

My jaw nearly smacks my knees. Who the freak is this badass old guy?

“Fuck you, old man,” Dane spits, struggling to get up. “This isn’t any of your business.” His face bunches in pain as the man leans more of his weight on Dane’s chest.

“I don’t think you’re really in a position to decide that, are you?” the man asks, rolling up his sleeves and revealing his muscular, tattooed arms. “Now, I’m going to move my foot. You have exactly five seconds to get up, get in your car, drive away, and never, ever come back here.” With that, he steps back, removing his foot from Dane’s chest.

Dane launches to his feet, balling his hands into fists. “You’re going to regret ever doing that.”

“One,” the man starts counting, sounding kind of bored.

Dane spits on the ground, as if that somehow proves he’s tough.

“Two,” the man continues, and Dane’s eyes briefly widen. “Three.”

Dane spins around and barrels for his car. The man keeps counting as Dane starts up the engine. He reaches five as the Mustang flies out of the parking lot, leaving a cloud of dust behind. Once the taillights have vanished down the road, the man turns to me.

“Are you okay?” he asks cautiously.

“Um … Yeah …” I don’t know what to say. Why did he do what he did? If he expects some sort of payment …

He must read my hesitancy because he says, “I just wanted to help. That’s all.”

“Okay … Thanks.” I stare at his eyes, which look strikingly familiar under the glow of the lamppost. “Do I know you?”

Instead of answering, he walks toward the front of the car. “Pop the hood, and I’ll see if I can figure out why it won’t start.”

The fact that he knows about my car trouble puts me right back on edge.

“I can’t pay you,” I say, “with money or anything else.”

His eyes enlarge, and then he promptly shakes his head. “I don’t want anything at all.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“To help you.”

I don’t know whether I should trust him, but the doors are locked and the pepper spray is in my hand if I need it.

“Fine.” I pull the lever that pops the hood.

He flips the latch underneath and raises the hood, disappearing out of my sight.

I hold my breath as he works, my finger hovering over Beck’s contact number, preparing to dial if I need to. Several minutes tick by before the man peers around the hood.

“Turn the key and see if it starts,” he says.

I turn over the key and breathe freely again as the engine grumbles to life.