“I’m Razor.” Though I have no doubt she knows and, if not, I’m aware she can read the road name patch sewn to the front of my cut.
“I’m Breanna,” she answers in this soft tone that dances across my skin. Damn, I could listen to that voice all night, especially if she sighs my name as I kiss the skin of her neck.
Yeah, I would like to see this girl on the back of my bike. As I said, I’m not a great guy, and earlier I was just going for good, but her luck ran out. My bad side took over. “I know.”
The right side of my mouth tips up as her face falls. I’m about to play Breanna like she’s never been manipulated before. I hitch my thumbs in my pockets and decide to enjoy the ride. “So, that twenty dollars? Why did you bring that up?”
“What?” She recoils.
“Do you have something you need me to protect?” I ask.
She’s lost and that’s my intention. “That’s what I do—protect things. I work for the club protecting semi loads from being stolen. Can be dangerous. Sometimes I’ve had to pull a gun. I’m assuming that’s why you brought up the money. You need me to protect something for you.”
She blinks. A lot. I fight to prevent from smiling. I press her again, knowing she’ll feel so bad for calling me a crook that the next time I ask, she’ll accept that ride. “Is that why you brought up the twenty dollars? Were you trying to hire me?”
Breanna
IS THAT WHY you brought up the twenty dollars? And things were going so well. As in I no longer thought Thomas was going to kidnap me and kill me. I made a mistake. A huge mistake. I insinuated he planned on robbing me because...well...I thought he was three seconds from robbing me. I thought if I told him what I had, the experience would be less painful.
Literally.
My phone vibrates. It’s my mother and I can hear her weary voice in the written words. Sorry¸ Bre. I could make excuses, but I thought your dad picked you up and he thought I got you and both of us were home and thought you were upstairs. Your dad left to pick up Zac and I let Joshua take my car. Liam’s on his way to get you now.
Liam. My fate rests in the hands of my older brother who has the mental maturity of a grape. For the love of God, he got a Froot Loop stuck up his nose this morning—on purpose.
My shoulders roll forward as I groan. Loudly. So loud that when I raise my head, Thomas is gawking at me like I’ve grown a unicorn horn.
That’s it. I’m going to die a horrible death. I’m alone with a biker who has a patch that indicates he carries deadly weapons and he already admitted he uses a gun. He’ll probably record my demise and upload a viral video as a warning to the rest of the world not to mess with him.
Twenty dollars. What reason can I think of for telling him about my twenty dollars that won’t insult him? I doubt that saying “Hey, Mr. Biker Guy, I was totally offering it as payment so you won’t kill me” would fly...or maybe it will. He protects things...semi loads...as a job... “Yes!”
His forehead furrows. “What’s a yes?”
I bounce on my toes. I’m happy. I’m excited. I am not going to die! Muppet arms are in full force. “I was offering you twenty dollars because I was going to hire you.”
He laughs. It’s more of a chuckle, but it’s a fantastic sound and it’s a beautiful sight on an already gorgeous face. My heart flutters for a moment beyond the fear, but as his laugh wanes, he narrows his frozen blue eyes on me. My happy moment fades, and my arms fall to my sides.
“I’ll bite. What are you hiring me for?”
I sweep my hair away from my face and steal a peek at the rest of his motorcycle friends, who are now talking among themselves and ignoring us. “To be my bodyguard.”
“Your bodyguard?” he repeats while crossing his arms over his chest.
He’s not buying it, but I’ll try to sell it. “I knew you protected stuff.”
“You did?”
I didn’t. “Totally, and when Addison had to leave, I was going to walk over to you and ask if I could pay you to stick around until my ride showed, but you...” Scared me to death. “Startled me and I lost track of what I was going to say.”
He works his jaw and my mind is ticking with what it might imply. Jaw flexing can mean a person’s agitated, but in order to know I’d need a baseline of behavior to compare it to...
“Is that right?” He interrupts the weird flow of information in my brain.
Not at all. “Yes.”
Thomas settles against the wall and he reminds me of an angel. An archangel. I was obsessed with them in elementary school. Easily consumed every archangel book in our town’s library—both volumes. Archangels are the warriors of God. This guy, he’s definitely beautiful enough to be a heavenly creature and he’s also deadly enough to wield a sword, but I’m not convinced he dabbles on the side of righteousness.
“If I agree to be your bodyguard,” he says, “you’ll owe me?”
“Yes.”
He nods like he’s hearing something way more than what I said. “Then I accept.”
Thomas holds out his hand to me and I stare at his offered open palm, then meet those cold eyes. I can do this and then all will be okay. I lift my arm and inch my hand closer to his.
“So we’re clear.” He stops me centimeters short of our hands touching. The heat from his skin radiates to mine. “The condition is that as long as I’m protecting you, you’ll owe me.”