Page 14 of Full Throttle

Leon didn’t have a house; he lived in an upscale high rise downtown and owned an entire floor of the parking garage. He took me there to pick out the car that was just blown to pieces by the fucking Russian Mafia.

“So, why exactly did the Russian bad guy blow up your car?” I asked, twisting my neck to look at Leon.

He sighed and stood, putting his hands into his pockets. My eyes followed his upward, remaining on his face. The teardrop tattoo was the only imperfection on his warm brown face, but to me, it wasn’t a bad thing. Leon was one of the nicest men I’d ever met— and trust me, there are some shitty ones—and I never judged him on that piece of ink. I didn’t know the story behind it, and I never wanted to know.

“I’m not telling you anything else,” he said finally.

I sat up. “Lee—”

“Nikki, you just went had a panic attack over the little information that I did give you,” he reminded me, his voice gentle. Then, he shook his head. “I’m not going to be the one responsible for that.”

I nodded, respecting his choice. “But you started with the attack on me,” I stated, throwing my hand out.

He stared down at me, clearly wanting to move on from the subject.

A knock on the door broke our stare down, and one of the nurses came in with my discharge paperwork. After she left, I said, “I want to get out of this bed. I want to shower. I want some of Sullie’s chicken wings, and then…” I trailed off, pausing for affect. The two street racers waited, not looking even the slightest bit amused. “I want Jeremy to tell me everything.”

Dontell’s handsome face split into a smile before he barked out a laugh, and Leon narrowed his eyes.

I shrugged. “If I have another panic attack, it’ll be on him and not you,” I offered.

Lee’s jaw jumped twice before he muttered. “For fuck’s sake. Fine.”

“Let’s get you home, Nikki,” Dontell said, still chuckling.

An hour and a half later, I was looking out the window, admiring Sullie’s old building. It was nestled in the heart of Soulard, a suburb of St. Louis, minutes away from downtown, the stadiums. The loft had an amazing view of the Arch, which was another thing I’d come to love since being here. For me, that monument signified a new beginning. It was symbol and testament to how far I’d come. Most nights, when I couldn’t sleep and journaling wasn’t helping, I’d sit at the little breakfast table and stare at the Arch. It gave me a sense of peace I’d never felt before.

Leon slowed his Audi R8, pulling into a parking spot in front of the old bar. Judging from the number of cars in the lot, lunch was booming today. My stomach grumbled.

I was ready for some real food.

“You okay?” Lee asked softly.

I turned away from the window, giving him a smile. “I’m doing better than I should,” I admitted honestly. Since discovering that I’d survived a bomb, I was having trouble wrapping my mind around the reason as to why I survived.

I should’ve died.

I should’ve—

“Is the car in one piece?” I asked, my mind running a thousand miles a minute now.

Lee shook his head, looking to the front door of Sullie’s. “Nah. After the three of us pulled you out, it exploded.”

“Shouldn’t bombs, you know, explode on the first go?” I wondered.

His eyes met mine. “I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t need to analyze something when there’s nothing to go over. It was C-4 purchased off the black market, and the bomb they made probably wasn’t the most advanced. Homemade bombs are tricky and don’t always go as planned,” he explained, his wrist still resting on the top of the steering wheel.

I raised a brow. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

He gave me a look as he deadpanned, “Nikki, I was raised on the fucking streets. I know a lot of shit that other people shouldn’t.”

My stomach growled, the sound echoing through the beautiful vehicle. Lee’s massive chest shook as he silently chuckled, his breath coming out his nose. He shook his head as I winced. “Sorry. I didn’t eat much for breakfast.”

“I noticed that,” he muttered, opening his door. “Stay there. I’ll come around.”

As soon as his door was shut, Dontell pulled up beside us in his Porsche, Mina in the front seat. She was out in a flash, running around the front of the car to get to me. She beat her brother by half a second, yanking the door open. She bent down, poking her head inside the car, and the look on her face triggered tears to form.

“Oh, honey girl,” she murmured, tears in her eyes.

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