Page 29 of Raziel
“Take me home,” she said, voice flat.
I clenched my jaw. Started the engine.
The silence between us was thick enough to choke on.
I passed her exit.
She snapped around to look at me. “Where are we going? I said take me home.”
“Shut up, Maya.”
“Mean ass,” she muttered, then slammed back into the seat.
I sighed, knuckles turning white from how tight I was gripping the wheel.
This woman was going to drive me to drink.
Chapter Nine- Raziel
We pulled into the Harley dealership in Largo twenty minutes later, the tires crunching over gravel still damp from yesterday’s rain. The showroom windows gleamed under the midday sun, polished bikes lined up like soldiers at attention.
Maya stared at the building through the windshield, her arms still crossed tight over her chest. When she turned to me, her eyes were wary.
“Why are we here? I got five grand from the money my sister gave me when I got out of rehab. I can’t ask for more. I can’t afford shit in a place like this.”
I kept my eyes forward, pulling out my phone. “Just wait.”
I could practically hear her grinding her teeth.
I shot a text to Tony, an old mechanic buddy who owned a stake in the dealership. Two minutes later, a bald guy in a black polo came strutting out, wiping his hands on a shop rag.
I got out and opened the door for Maya. We met him halfway.
“Raz, you son of a bitch,” Tony grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. His eyes flicked to Maya, still sulking in the truck. “Your newest victim?”
I ignored that and pointed through the glass. “That matte black Street Glide Special. She wants it. It’s not a piece of shit, is it?”
Tony made a cross over his heart. “Fresh off the truck last week. Old guy bought it, rode it home, his wife took one look and made him return it.” He lowered his voice. “I can get you the demo price—fifteen even.”
Behind us, Maya scoffed.
“Yeah, great. Only ten grand over budget.”
She turned toward the parking lot, but I caught her wrist.
“Test ride it,” I said.
Her anger faltered for just a second—long enough for Tony to wink and say, “C’mon sweetheart, let’s see if you can handle a real bike.”
She flew around the lot. Eyes locked in. Total control.
I leaned against a post and just watched.
I liked seeing her like this. Free. No sadness in her eyes.
She rolled back in front of me and hopped off the bike.
“It’s perfect,” she said. Then added, “He do payment plans? Financing?”
