Page 1 of Bear

CHAPTER ONE

Bear

Fuck.

My bike coughs and sputters again, dying out in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. I push forward with my legs and steer it toward the shoulder. Then I flip the stand down, climb off, and kick rocks in a fucking toddler-sized temper tantrum before parking my ass in the dust on the side of the road. I pull out my phone and stare at the spot where the bars should be.Fucking AT&T.

“Motherfucker!”

It’s not all bad. In the distance, I can make out the shapes of Main Street, Uprising, Georgia, and it’s not that far to walk. Not even in the heat. I’ve experienced much worse in the Navy—even got the scars to prove it—but I ain’t leaving my bike for any asshole who wants to come along and pile my twenty-four-thousand-dollar piece of shit in their truck. She might be a hunk of shit, but she’s my hunk of shit, and I can’t afford to lose her.

I glance up the long stretch of road. Nothing but woods between me and the first few buildings.Aww, shit. I haul my gimpy-legged self to my feet and turn, holding my phone in the air, trying to get a goddamn signal.

The beefy growl of a truck sends a jolt of panic through me, and I whirl around. For a heartbeat, I lose myself in a war zone.

The woods of Georgia give way to desert sand, the sun beats down upon my back, the engine roars, and blood whooshes in my ears as the oppressive heat pushes in around me. It feels a lot like Afghanistan, but the restored powder-blue Chevy pulling to a stop beside me says otherwise.

A woman with tattooed sleeves, cherry-red lips, and lavender hair tied up with a bandana leans out of the driver’s side window.

“Hey, sugar.” She smiles. “You need a hand?”

I narrow my gaze and shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans to quit from shaking.Pull it together, asshole. “Just what are you proposing to give me a hand with?”

“Well, it seems like that broke-down Harley could use a little push.” She winks and opens her car door, jumping out.

She’s all of four feet—not even kidding—and when she struts toward me in her little Daisy Dukes and a Slayer T-shirt knotted at the waist, I roll my gaze over her shapely legs and the inch of skin exposed around her midriff.Jesus. She’s a fucking smoke show and my dick is itching to say hello.

Where the hell has Uprising been hiding you, darlin’?

She squats in front of the bike and turns to look over her shoulder at me. “Problems with the clutch?”

My brow furrows. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

She laughs. “It’s a 114, isn’t it?”

“What the hell do you know about Harleys, little girl? It looks like you’re barely out of high school.”

“Oh, you’re one ofthose.” She frowns and stands to her full height, which is pretty much laughable next to my six-foot-six frame. “Shame you had to open your mouth, because with a body like that I bet you’re a really fun ride. Now I guess I’ll never know.”

I smirk. “Listen, Tinkerbelle. I’m flattered, but I don’t fuck jailbait. Not even ones that look like you.” Not that she’d know what to do with me anyway. One look at my fat cock and she’d be running for the hills.

“Well, I’m so glad we got that cleared up. Anyway, looks like an internal leak is preventing the clutch from receiving enough lift. You’ll need to install a secondary clutch actuator piston.”

Come a-fucking-gain?

I stare at her like a slack-jawed fuckin’ yokel. This bitch knows bikes.Reallyknows bikes.

I glance back at the truck, and the brightly colored logo emblazoned on the side that reads, “Jupiter’s Custom Builds and Auto.” Beneath the obtrusive logo—which is practically giving me a fucking stroke—is a line in cursive, “We’ll get your motor running”.

They weren’t fucking kidding.

She stands with her hands on her hips. “So, you wanna help me get this thing into the back of my truck, or are you just gonna wait for another big, strong man to come along and save you?”

I narrow my eyes. I don’t like her fucking tone or the fact that she’s deliberately pushing my buttons, but her sassy little attitude makes me want to put her over my goddamn knee. It’s been a long time since a woman affected me like this, and the last one who did practically took a goddamn sawn-off shotgun and blew a hole right through my heart.

Still, I can’t help but smile at the arched brow she’s giving me, and the attitude packed into that tight little body.

“Help you get it in the truck?” I give her a dubious look. “What are you, five feet and one hundred pounds soaking wet?”

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