Page 26 of Mile High With the Bikers
“You really want me to help?”
He shrugs. “Needs to be done, and it was that or suggest going back to my place to fuck.”
My eyes go wide.
“Yeah, I figured this was the safer choice.” He pauses to look at me with a raised eyebrow, a wrench already in his hand. “Don’t suppose you know anything about mechanics?”
“Not unless it’s a computer chip. I could probably solder something if I had to, but it wouldn’t be pretty.” I smile, hoping to lighten the mood.
Shrapnel peels his shirt off, tossing it aside. “Then find something to perch on and don’t get in the way.”
I look around and spot a stack of cinder blocks that someone put a seat cushion on top of and sit down. “Can I ask you a question?”
He grunts in an affirmative sort of way.
“Didn't those hurt?” I ask, pointing to his nipple piercings.
“Yeah.” He flicks one with his finger, and I watch in fascination as his nipple hardens.
“So why’d you do it?”
He keeps his focus on the bike, testing various thingamabobs that I’m sure are very important. “Short answer, I wanted to.”
“Long answer?”
“Sometimes pain reminds me that I’m still here,” he answers softly after staying quiet so long I wasn’t sure he would.
“You were in the military?”
His eyes cut to me. “You got one free, but an answer for an answer. Why were you so happy to run yesterday? You barely even hesitated after the crash.”
“Short answer, my father’s an asshole.” I try to make my voice sound like his which earns me a bark of laughter.
“Long answer?” he asks.
“Dad and I haven’t been seeing eye to eye lately. I already had this whole plan to ditch them at the airport and put some space between us. I thought… it’s stupid, but I thought it would make him listen to me.” It’s not the whole story, but it’s part of the truth. “So, military?”
He grabs a powered screwdriver and goes to work. It’s clear he’s done this a million times before. “I did a few tours in the Army. It didn’t agree with me.”
“Is that where you got hurt?”
He stiffens and misses catching one of the screws, so it bounces off the concrete floor.
I get up and close the distance, touching a spot on his shoulder where it looks like someone dug a chunk out of his skin and left it to heal. It’s one of many, mostly concentrated on his right side.
“Do you want us to send you back?” His voice is rougher than usual.
Right. An answer for an answer. I pick up the screw and set it in his palm. “Not really, but what I want isn’t more important than making sure nobody else gets hurt if I can stop it.”
“Those scars are from my last deployment. Do you wanna kiss them and make it all better?” He spits the question out with a little venom, but there’s a spark in his eyes that makes me pause.
“Is that question part of the game?”
Shrapnel stops and crosses his arms in front of his chest, flexing his arms in a way that’s very, very appealing. He seems to think about that, then shakes his head and goes back to working on a stubborn bolt. “Screw the game. Did you and Diesel fuck last night?”
I freeze and step back, denial on my tongue, but why? I’m not ashamed of it, and these guys don’t get to judge. “Yeah, we did. Is that a problem?”
“Not for me, but I don’t like being played with, and I don’t appreciate watching it happen to my friends, either.”
