Chapter Three
Riley
The night air bites at my skin as I step out of The Noble Fir at the end of my first shift; my breath rises in faint, exhausted clouds that linger in the air before fluttering away on a gentle breeze.
I shiver. Nights are colder here than I’m used to.
Part of me wishes I had run south instead of north; then maybe I’d be somewhere in Mexico.
On a beach, maybe. With waves gently lapping at my sandy toes and nothing on my mind except for when I want to have my next margarita and what tacos I want to eat for dinner.
But it’s not like I put a lot of planning into my running; I just took off the moment it felt safe enough to do so.
I sigh, shake my head, shiver again, and look around with eyes that hang heavy.
The parking lot stretches out under the hum of a single flickering streetlight, rain still dripping off the edges of the roof.
My old sedan sits at the far end, shadowed and lonely and full of a couple of bags that contain all my possessions in this world.
I should’ve parked closer. Now I have to walk through the dark just to get to my car.
My car and my home.
I take a few steps into the dark, and I shiver. I wish I had a warmer jacket right now.
That, and a stiff drink.
“Hey there, sweetheart.”
The voice slithers out of the darkness. A man steps away from the side of the building.
I don’t remember his name, though he tried often enough to introduce himself and left a trying-too-hard tip that, though I appreciate the cash, I sure as hell wasn’t going to do anything that his eyes were suggesting to show my gratitude.
He’s grinning now, with a beer-heavy belly and swaying unsteadily, blocking my path, his glassy eyes roaming over me.
“Long shift,” he drawls, and he licks his lips. “Big tip I left you, huh? Bet you appreciated that." He grins, swaying. "Could show you more appreciation if you want.”
My pulse spikes. I grip my keys between my fingers, metal teeth out. My hand shakes.
“Not interested. Please leave me alone.”
“Come on, don't be like that." He steps closer. "You can struggle a little. I like a girl with some fight in her. But we both know you want it.”
He takes another step toward me, and then he’s just — gone; a heavy hand grabs his shoulder and yanks him back violently, like he’s weightless, and hurls him to the ground.
That big, mean biker, Breaker, stands between us. His blue-gray eyes cut through the dark like steel. “She said no.”
The drunk scrambles backward, muttering about crazy bikers, then trips and lands hard on his ass. Breaker gives me a look that says “you’re welcome” in a way that feels like nails running down my spine.
“Great,” I snap at him, voice shaking. I don’t know why I’m suddenly able to unleash on him — something about looking at him makes my heart thump in ways that it hasn’t before.
It’s like there’s fire in my blood, and I have no idea what to do with it except talk like I’m seven feet tall and have biceps as big as boulders.
“You gonna handle all my problems from now on?”
Breaker looks at me, calm as a storm about to break. “Didn’t like how he was looking at you. You’re welcome.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for help.”
“Looked like you needed it. Unless you’d rather I help this guy up so you can deal with him?"
“Is this some pathetic way to show how dominant you are? Are you going to hit on me next? And before you ask, the answer is no. Not to you, not to anyone. I don’t get involved with bikers. Or with anyone I work with.”
“Good. I don’t do relationships. And I sure as shit ain’t asking you.”
“Perfect,” I shoot back. “Then we agree: you’re un-dateable and I’m uninterested. Get the hell away from me.”
We stand there, heat and irritation tangling between us, the air charged and dangerous.
His eyes flick over me, slow and assessing.
My body reacts before my brain can stop it — heart pounding, breath catching; I have to get away from Breaker before this heat inside me makes me do something that I can never take back.
Because just as much as he intimidates me — and, heck, straight-up scares me — he does something else to me with those gray-blue eyes that makes my heart pound in a way that has nothing to do with anger.
I can’t give in to those feelings. Especially with a man like him.
Heck, with everything going on in my life, I can’t catch feelings for anyone, period. Who knows when I’ll need to take off. Having feelings for someone means I might as well tie an anchor around my neck and jump into the nearest body of water.
I have to do something.
Behind him, the drunk climbs to his feet. Something in me snaps — I'm not done, and I'm not some damsel who needs rescuing.
“Oh, no, you don't.”
I march after him and somehow muster the courage to stick an accusing finger in his face. It shakes, my hand shakes, my heart’s in my throat, but somehow I yell, “Don't you ever talk to a woman like that again, you creep.”
The suddenness of my shouting startles him, and he trips, his knee twisting awkwardly as he falls to the ground.
“You bitch,” he hollers.
As soon as those words hit my ears, my vision goes red, my heartbeat thuds in my chest like a war drum, and I ball my hands into fists.
“What’d you call me?”
The drunk's eyes go wide, and he scrambles backward on his ass, one hand raised in front of him like he's warding off a demon. "Nothing! I didn't say nothing!"
"That's what I thought." I stand over him, fist still clenched, chest heaving, feeling powerful in a way that scares me. In my heart, I hope this drunk will get the hint and leave me alone, because I know that if it comes down to it, I won’t be able to do anything with these fists I’ve made.
"Now get the hell out of here and leave me the hell alone. "
He doesn't need to be told twice. The drunk hauls himself up, limping badly, and hobbles toward the road without looking back. I watch him go, my breath coming in ragged gasps, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from my veins and leaving me shaky and cold.
"Not bad."
Breaker's voice is low, quiet, and dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with violence.
I turn to face him. "I told you I didn't need your help. I can take care of myself.”
“I wasn't going to just stand there and watch."
"Why not? You made it pretty clear earlier that you don't give a damn about me."
Something flickers across his face, gone too fast to identify. "I don't."
"Then why are you still here?"
The question hangs between us, heavy and charged. Rain drips from the eaves, pattering against the gravel. Somewhere in the distance, a motorcycle engine rumbles to life and fades into the night.
Breaker doesn't answer. He just looks at me, and I feel that look all the way down to my bones.
It's like he's seeing through me, past the bravado and the sharp words, down to the scared, broken thing underneath; the thing I've been trying so hard to hide; the thing that’s the real me after learning some real hard lessons.
I hate it.
I hate that he can do that with just a look.
“Go home, Riley." His voice is rough. Strained. Like the words are being dragged out of him against his will. "And take my advice: while you’re working here, don’t let anyone get close to you."
"Including you?"
"Especially me."
He turns and walks toward the bar, boots crunching on gravel, broad shoulders swallowed by the darkness between the streetlight and the bar. I watch him go, my heart doing something complicated in my chest that I refuse to examine too closely.
When he's gone, I finally let myself breathe. My hands are still shaking, but not from fear.
Not anymore.