19. Kyler
19
KYLER
T he Chevelle's engine purrs under my hands, smooth as silk. I can't believe she trusted me with this beauty. Every curve of chrome gleams in the Texas sun, and the leather wheel feels like butter beneath my palms.
"You're smiling," Indy says, cranking down her window. "I don't think I've ever seen you actually smile that wide before."
"This car does things to a man." My fingers drum against the wheel. "Your dad never let anyone touch it."
"Yeah, well." She kicks her feet up on the dash, combat boots crossed at the ankle. "Things change."
The radio crackles to life as she fiddles with the dial. Some old rock song fills the car, and she starts singing along, her voice carrying over the wind whipping through the window. Her hair dances around her face, and the sunlight catches the silver ring in her nose.
I steal another glance. She's got her arm hanging out the window now, fingers spread wide like she's trying to catch pieces of the sky. There's something wild about her, something untamed that makes my chest ache.
"Eyes on the road, Jones," she teases, catching me looking.
"Yes ma'am." I clear my throat, focusing ahead. "Your dad would kill me, I'm transporting precious cargo."
"Nah." She turns the music up louder. "He'd probably just haunt your ass for eternity."
The laugh escapes before I can stop it. She joins in, and for a moment, everything feels right. Like maybe the world isn't such a dark place after all.
But I know better. Those bastards threatened her today, and the thought of anyone trying to hurt her makes my blood boil. They don't know what they've started. I'd burn every last one of them to the ground before I let them touch her.
The rumble of the muscle car echoes off the houses as we pull up to O'Brien's place. Jacoby gives me a nod before parking at the top of the street, his eyes already scanning for trouble.
I ease the Chevelle into the driveway, my hands still tingling from gripping that pristine leather steering wheel.
"Not bad for a biker boy," Indy says, a hint of teasing in her voice.
"Your old man taught me everything I know about classics." The words catch in my throat as I follow her inside.
She heads straight for her room, pulling out a duffel bag. "So what's the real story here, Kyler? Why are Dos Banditos suddenly making moves on Luci's territory?"
I lean against the doorframe, watching her fold band t-shirts into neat squares. "It's complicated. They think Tres is weak because he's new blood. Brick..." My voice trails off. "Your dad kept them in check for twenty years. Now they're testing boundaries."
"And I'm what? Collateral damage?"
"You're leverage." I run a hand through my hair, loosening the bun. "Dos Banditos know hitting you would hurt the club more than any territory grab."
She pauses, a Led Zeppelin shirt halfway folded. "Because of Dad's reputation?"
"Partly. But also because..." I choose my words carefully. "The club protects its own. And you're family, whether you want to be or not."
"Great." She shoves the shirt in her bag. "So I'm a prisoner at the clubhouse while you boys duke it out?"
"Hey." I cross the room, touching her shoulder. "You won't be treated like a prisoner. We will make sure of that, you'll be treated like the princess we were always told you were."
She looks up at me, those hazel eyes so much like her father's. "He really meant that much to all of you, didn't he?"
"More than you know." I help her zip the bag.
I'm about to break the awkward silence when Indy does it for me.
"How're those wounds healing?" she asks, setting her duffel on the bed.
"Could probably use a professional opinion." I pull my shirt over my head, letting it drop to the floor. The bandages wrap around my torso, a few spots of red seeping through.
Her fingers brush against my skin as she peels back the tape. "These actually look pretty good. You've been taking care of them."
"Had a good teacher." My breath catches as she traces the edge of a fresh scar. Her touch sends electricity through my nerves, making my muscles tense.
"This one's healing nicely." She leans in closer, her breath warm against my chest. "Though you might want to keep an eye on this spot here."
I catch the scent of her shampoo - something sweet and floral. "Maybe you should keep checking on it."
Her eyes flick up to mine, a slight smile playing at her lips. "That a professional request?"
"Could be personal." I reach up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. To hell with playing it safe. I'm tired of watching Tres and Jacoby circle her like sharks. "Never did properly thank you for patching me up."
Her hand rests against my chest, right over my thundering heart. "Kyler..."
"Tell me if I'm reading this wrong." I lean down, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.
The space between us crackles with electricity as I lean in. Her fingers press against my bare chest, and I swear my heart's about to burst through my ribs. Just as our lips are about to meet, my phone blares "Highway to Hell" - Jacoby's ringtone.
"God Damnit." I step back, fumbling for my phone. Indy turns away, busying herself with her bag. "What?"
"Where the hell are you two?" Jacoby's voice cuts through the speaker. "Tres is breathing fire. Says you should've been back twenty minutes ago."
"We're just finishing up." My voice sounds rough, even to my own ears.
"Well, hurry the fuck up. Dos Banditos are circling again."
"Copy that." I end the call, looking at Indy. "We should..."
"Yeah." She grabs her duffel, not meeting my eyes. "Let's go."
The ride back is quiet, tension thick enough to cut. I keep replaying that almost-moment, wondering if I imagined the way she looked at me. The way her fingers felt against my skin.
We pull into the clubhouse lot, and I spot Jacoby lounging against his bike, cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees my shirt's still off under my kutte.
"Checking your battle wounds, Jones?" He smirks, helping Indy with her bag.
"Something like that." I catch Indy's eye, and for a second, I see a flash of something - regret? Relief? Before she turns away, heading inside.
"You're playing with fire, brother," Jacoby mutters as she disappears through the door.
I watch her go, still feeling the ghost of her touch on my chest. "Yeah. I know."