Page 65 of Rose
Savior tried to focus on the ride he was fixing, but not even the smell of oil, the pounding bass of trap music, or the screech of drills could drown out the thought of her. Sweat coated his chest as he worked shirtless beneath the chassis, the night creeping in and the shop now empty except for him. Just as he wiped his face, a voice cut through the garage—soft, guarded, and unmistakable.
“Hey, are you closed?”
He rolled out from under the car, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating. But no. There she was. Ahzii. Real, solid, beautiful—and clearly annoyed.
She rolled her eyes the moment they locked gazes, like she’d stepped straight into a cosmic joke. Her curly pixie was fresh, her slightly oversized graphic tee draped just right, hung over those Gallery Dept sweats that hugged her curves like a second skin, but was still slightly baggy. Marni slides on her feet, dog leash in hand. A hulking, sleek Rottweiler sat by her side, gold collar tag catching the light—ACE.
“Hell no,” she muttered under her breath, turning to walk off. Savior moved before he could think, reaching out. She yanked away instantly.
“Don’t touch me. How the fuck do I keep running into your crazy ass?” she snapped, eyes skyward like she was asking God for answers.
Savior chuckled. “It’s written in the stars, Allure. God clearly know what He doin’.”
“Clearly not,” she bit back, but he could see the way her eyes slipped down his frame, just for a second.
Dark skin glistening with sweat, muscles cut sharp beneath the lights, tattoos winding down his arms and legs like living stories. Black Essentials shorts hung low on his waist, and his legs—inked, strong, and dusted in grime—stood rooted. Yeah, she was looking. But she wasn’t staying.
“You like what you see,” he said, voice low.
“No. I came to the wrong place.” She folded her arms, but her voice lacked conviction.
“Nah, I think you right where you supposed to be,” he said, eyes never leaving her. “What can I do for you… besides what I wanna do to you?”
The nerve in his tone was calm—too calm—and that’s what shook her more than the words.
“There is nothing you can do for me,” she said coldly. “I came to the wrong place. Like I said.”
She turned, but he followed.
He saw it then. The matte black AMG parked outside. Sleek. Hers. And the front passenger tire? Flat. Savior smirked slightly. God was playing chess, and she didn’t even know it yet.
“I can fix that for you,” Savior said, nodding toward the flat tire as Ahzii helped Ace into the back seat of her car.
“Like I said, I’m good. I’m sure there’s another mechanic shop around here somewhere,” she replied, her tone sharp with dismissal.
“Not one that’s open this late.” His voice was calm, but firm.
It was nearly eleven. She had just left her shop, mind already on her bed, when the tire gave out. This place—the only shop with its lights still on—was supposed to be a quick stop. Had she known it belonged to him, she would’ve risked riding home on three damn wheels.
“I’ll just take my chances,” she said, opening her door with defiance in every move.
“Allure, let me fix your tire. I’m not letting you ride home like that—you’ll blow your shit,” Savior warned, stepping in front of her.
She rolled her eyes. “If so, I got a nigga who can fix it.”
His jaw flexed so tight, he tasted blood.
“You better be talking about me, Allure,” he said low, cold, deadly.
She shot him a glare. “I don’t know you, and you are not my nigga. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“A lotta shit,” he said with a careless grin that only pissed her off more.
“Yeah. I can tell.”
He chuckled, unfazed. “So you gonna let your man fix the tire so your beautiful ass can get home? My son-son in the back lookin’ like he about to pass out.”
Ahzii glanced into the back seat where Ace was curled up, his eyes fluttering closed. Her expression sleepy, confused, annoyed, and just a little bit thrown.
