Page 65 of The Devil's Weakness

I make sure the few things I had with me when I was brought here are in my bag. That’s when I see my keys.

My car!

I grab my key ring and zip up my bag, throwing it on my back. Then I unlock the door and head down the stairs in search of Blade. I hope it doesn’t take long to find him. I’m not comfortable walking around here by myself yet.

When I get to the kitchen, I don’t see anyone around, but I hear some noises echoing through a doorway across the house. I walk in the direction they’re coming from and open a screen door leading into an enormous garage. It looks more like a small airplane hanger.

I notice Pretty Boy and Cap standing near the front of the garage. They turn when they hear my footsteps, and I smile in greeting. Before I get a chance to ask if they’ve seen Blade, he comes into view with a helmet in his hand.

“Ready to go, Trouble?” he asks.

I look at him like he’s got two heads.

“What, I’ve got a nickname now too?” I ask.

“Road name. And, I don’t know. I’m trying it on for size,” he responds.

“I don’t think it fits me very well. I stay away from trouble at all costs,” I explain, giving him a serious look that tells himhe’sthe trouble in this scenario.

“What do you think landed you here? Luck?”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“No. A big oafish brute is the reason I’m here right now.” I throw him some attitude, only half-joking.

I don’t see the look on Cap’s and Pretty Boy’s faces, but the howling laughter that I hear differs greatly from the displeased glare I’m getting from Blade.

Shit.

I think I took things too far, but I hope he’s not expecting an apology. Instead, I tell him what I came to say.

“You don’t happen to have a 1989 Plymouth Horizon on your hands, do you? Light Blue. Stolen from the parking lot of a shitty motel in West Virginia a couple of nights ago.”

“Actually, I do. But you’re not going to be driving that piece of junk anymore,” he throws attitude right back at me.

At that, my snark turns serious.

“No, you don’t understand. It’s the last thing I have to remind me of my father.”

I feel the tears forming, but I shove them down. I refuse to let any of these men make me cry ever again.

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you this, Your Highness, but Cap barely made it home driving that thing. There’s no saving it. Anyway, here,” he shoves the helmet he’s holding at me.

“Um, no thanks,” I tell him.

“You’re not getting on my bike without one, so take it,” he orders.

“Correction, I’m not getting on that death cycle, period. I’ll walk home before that happens.”

“Get over here,” he says, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me away from the other guys. Whatever he wants to say, he doesn’t want them hearing it.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says when we’re out of earshot. “I’ll go slow until you get the hang of riding bitch.”

“Excuse me?” I exclaim.

He exhales and shifts his weight.

“It’s just an expression. It’s what we call passengers on our bikes.”

---