24. Kaycia
Chapter 24
Kaycia
T he familiar rumble of Shane’s motorcycle outside makes the tension in my chest loosen, even if my anxiety over what he might do to the man outside, or what the man might do to him, skyrockets. I felt weak and silly when he said he was coming to get me, but I won’t deny I was relieved, too. I hope my worry is unwarranted and the guy leaves so we can laugh about me being paranoid and just go home. But after what happened at the market and Shane’s warnings, I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that the stranger is hanging around while I’m here alone.
I grab my backpack from where I had tossed it against the wall. At least I was able to focus enough so my paintings are laid out for the tech to hang and my new website is just a couple of clicks away from being active. I reach the front of the building in time to see Shane drive his bike up to the sidewalk in front of where the man leans against the shop next door. My eyes widen at the ferocity in Shane’s expression. He’s overtaken by a wildness that’s more animal than human as he reaches down to detach one of the footrests of his bike. In a fluid motion, he sharply snaps his elbow and the detached piece extends into a telescoping baton.
I should be frightened of him like this, the violence promised by his grip on the metal, the flex of muscles in his arms, as he prowls toward the man with his lips curled back in a snarl.
But I’m not.
I feel safe knowing he’s here for me. Because I needed him to be.
I can’t hear the man speak until I push open the front door, pressing against the plate glass that travels the entire length of the gallery front while the automatic lock clicks shut behind me.
“—your little bitch,” the man is saying. My anger flares knowing he’s talking about me .
“I told your friend to stay away. And he sends you ? I hope they’re paying you well.” Shane barely sounds like himself, his voice gravelly with rage.
The stranger starts to reach behind him, and I begin to shout to warn Shane that he might have a weapon, but Shane is quicker. With an inhuman growl, he swings the baton with more speed than I would think possible. The crack when it meets the man’s hip makes my stomach churn, and his grunt of pain makes me involuntarily recoil, pressing against the glass as if I could melt back into the safety of the gallery’s white walls.
“Good to know they were right, though,” the stranger grunts through the pain. “That you’ll protect her even when you should stand down to avoid attention. Haven’t changed a bit have you, McKinley?” A groan escapes the man who protects his injured side with a forearm. “You gonna die over a piece of ass like your buddy did?”
Shane brings the baton across his arm with another vicious swing, the crunch of bone and the man’s wail of pain as he sinks to the sidewalk tells me it’s broken. Shane’s breaths come fast as he stands over the man.
He snaps his attention to me suddenly, as though he forgot I was there. His wild eyes meet mine as he grits through his teeth, “Put on the helmet and get on the bike, Kaycia.”
I stand frozen, watching while he pulls a hidden pistol from the man’s waistband. It startles me to see him tuck it into his own in one smooth motion. Luckily, the neighboring store owner has only just noticed the commotion, opening the door with a worried expression. But she missed the fight. And the gun.
“Do I need to call the police?” she asks me.
“No,” I answer quickly, my voice shaking. “This man was waiting outside the building for me. I’m okay though. My boyfriend made it before he could do anything.”
“I think I should still call someone,” she says, looking over at Shane and the broken man rolling around holding his arm. He’s inching away from the gallery, dragging himself along the dirty concrete, but still hasn’t gotten to his feet.
“He won’t be touching anyone else,” Shane says, suddenly at my side, making the shop owner step back. “Kaycia, please . Get on the bike.”
I still hesitate, trembling at the thought of riding on the motorcycle and the violence Shane just dealt to the stranger. But despite my better judgment, I don’t argue. I don’t want to walk home alone with the risk of someone else following me, and we can’t leave Shane’s bike here. Following him to the motorcycle, Shane hands me a helmet, then gets on, motioning me to get on the seat behind him.
“Where’s your helmet?” I ask when he starts the bike. It roars to life, vibrating and rumbling like a creature woken from hibernation.
“Don’t worry about me. We need to go home and pack, our trip is starting earlier than expected,” he shouts over the rumble of the engine.
“ What ?”
Turning to face me over his shoulder, Shane’s eyes are desperate and pained, searching my face like a man lost at sea seeking a rescue that might pass him by. “Kaycia, please trust me. If you want to come back early, I understand, but I need you to come with me tonight. To explain everything. Raquel and Jamila are coming, too. We’ll keep you safe.”
“I know you will,” I reply, my head spinning. “I trust you.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I lean against him, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt and the pounding of his heart, almost as rapid as my own. He guides us back off the sidewalk with sure footed steps on either side of the bike. Patting my hands once to reassure me, he pulls into traffic and heads toward our apartment. Passing the next block, a black sport bike zooms from an alley and pulls up alongside us. The rider has a long, dark braid and wears all black. A raccoon sticker waves from the back of their helmet. Shane makes a thumbs up motion and the other driver responds with a salute, riding with us another few blocks until they turn off on another side street and disappear into the late afternoon traffic.