Page 10 of Live Love Steal
“Hey, it’s still here. The immobilizer worked. I got parts to fix the steering column. And if they aren’t a match, the club runs a junkyard. There’s bound to be what I need somewhere.”
I didn’t know what to address first. “Junkyard? You’re a mechanic?” I glanced down at his fingernails. I hadn’t noticed before, but there was the familiar partial ring of black grime embedded around the edges that never quite disappeared, no matter how deep you dug. Dad’s hands were the same way.
“More of a body work guy, but I know my way around.”
“Wait… club?”
He looked away. His expression was… guilt? “The Destroyers.”
Holy fuck. No, wait… holy fucking cunt fuck shit. That combo was applicable for this. Little sis had nothing on me now. I’d been ogling a Destroyer? A member of one of the most vicious motorcycle gangs in the region? Heck, I think they were the ONLY gang in town because they ran everyone else off. Rumor had it one of them raped the former mayor’s daughter. Another rumor said they supplied all the drugs anyone moved through the region.
And then there were the disappearances that happened around them. Get on their bad side and you were just… gone. Never to be seen again.
Sketch noted my silence. “I see you’ve heard of us.”
“I don’t know how to answer that.”
He grinned. Grinned, like it was a badge of honor or something. My white knight of the elevator, a father, mechanic, and all-around helpful guy, was…
Huh. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as the rumors? Then again, he knew exactly how far someone got with hot-wiring my car.
Mentally, I was kicking myself. I’d just extracted Audrey from an awful relationship with a gang member. What was I doing?
He walked around the car and stared at the back bumper. “How’d that happen? You lose a fight?”
“Backed into a parked car.”
His eyebrows went up. “Did you report it?”
I closed my mouth rather than lie.
One corner of his smile quirked up. “You’re a bit of a rebel, aren’t you?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“No? Who’d you back into?”
That I wasn’t afraid to answer. In fact, it might get me some answers of my own. “My sister backed into her ex-boyfriend’s car. You might know him, Victor King. He also goes by?—”
“I know who you’re talking about.” He glanced at the courthouse.
“Who in their right mind would try to steal a car from a courthouse parking lot?” Which was why I hadn’t used the wheel lock. That, and running late.
“You’d be surprised,” Sketch muttered. “I can fix this, too.” He pointed at my bumper.
I shook my head. “As much as that’s awesome, and really nice of you, I gotta get going. My boss is waiting for me to return to work.”
Sketch stepped to the side. “Be my guest. Try to start it.” He motioned to my poor, abused car.
“It isn’t going to, is it?”
He tried to hide it, but there was something devious going on inside his head. He probably knew exactly how to get my car started and was just playing with me. I crawled in and put my key in the ignition. It wouldn’t budge. It even stuck a little as I yanked it back out. The cylinder came with the key. I swore under my breath and worked the stuck key loose.
“Are you going to call a tow truck?” Sketch stood in the gap where I’d left my door open. Close enough to touch, but keeping enough distance that I didn’t feel claustrophobic. He had one hand on the hood of my car, the other resting on the door frame. He was backlit by the sun as I tried and failed to look him in the eye.
Defeat. That’s the stage I was at. I pulled out my phone and texted my boss. Telling him I wasn’t going to be in for the rest of the day. Car trouble.
My ringer blared out almost immediately. I let it go for at least two full rings before answering. I closed my eyes and mustered up a weak, “Hello?”
