Chapter 31 Ransom
RANSOM
A couple days later, I’m in the garage, working on my bike. It’s the one thing that usually chills me out when there’s too much going on, so I take the time to focus on it.
Our meeting with Ethan is happening this evening, and we still haven’t gotten any new info on the identity of the guy who was asking around about Nikolai.
There’s a lot going on, and a lot that feels unsettled.
But somehow, the biggest thing on my mind is the waifish, beautiful girl with scars on her body and eyes like a fucking doe.
She’s been sleeping in my bed for the past three nights, and every night it gets harder for me to control my reaction to her.
We wake up pressed together, and her small body against mine is addictive.
Almost like she’s drawn by my thoughts, Willow comes walking into the garage.
“Oh.” She wrinkles her forehead as she sees the tools in my hands. “I didn’t know you were busy. I’ll just—”
She turns to leave, but before she can, I reach out and grab her wrist, tugging her toward me.
“No, don’t go,” I tell her with a smile. “What did you need?”
She chews on her lip for a second—something I’ve realized she does when she’s thinking—then sighs. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
I give her a look because that’s clearly not the full truth.
“I just… feel a little untethered, I guess,” she admits. “I can’t go to school, so there’s nothing for me to work toward. There’s nothing to do. I’m used to having something to focus on.”
A pang of guilt stabs me. I like Willow. That was never part of the plan, but it’s pretty much undeniable by this point. School is obviously important to her, and because of everything that’s going on, she can’t go. She hasn’t kicked up a fuss about it, but it’s still got to be hard.
“Maybe we can find some way for you to keep studying,” I tell her. “Figure something out.”
She shoots me a grateful look, and the sweet expression on her face draws me to her. I slide my hand up her arm, and she shivers just a little.
Fuck, I like that. Too much.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I don’t want to give up the progress I’ve already made because of…” She waves a hand. “All of this.”
“Yeah, I get that. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe Vic will have some ideas.”
Willow gives me a look, probably skeptical that Victor will want to help, but maybe he’ll understand what she’s going through. He’s also a person who likes to have some kind of goal or task to complete.
I chuckle. “Trust me, angel. He’s the best one at solving problems like this. But no matter what, I’ll do my best, okay?”
“Okay.” Her expression clears a little, and a soft smile curves her lips. “Thanks.”
Our gazes catch and hold, but a buzzing noise breaks into the moment, and she pulls her phone out of her pocket. One glance at the screen has her expression going tight, and instead of answering the call, she presses a button to decline it.
“What’s up?” I ask, leaning toward her and peering at her screen.
“It’s my mom.” She grimaces. “She’s been calling again lately, trying to get back into my life, I guess. It’s the same old song and dance where she fucks up and then promises to do better so I’ll open up again.”
Her eyes are sad as she shoves her phone back into her pocket.
I can tell that the shit with her mom is only bringing down her mood on top of everything else. For some reason, that makes me want to cheer her up. She radiates a sort of energy when she’s happy, as if she’s a tiny sun emitting rays of warm light. Selfishly, I want more of that.
“If you’re looking for new stuff to learn, I could show you how to build a car,” I offer. “Or strip one in under an hour.”
She laughs. “Really?”
“Sure. Here, come look at this.”
I walk around to the other side of the bike as I speak. Willow follows, and I show her what I’ve been working on. This Ducati is my pride and joy, and it feels good to share that with her. She looks at it with interest, an expression like yearning on her face.
“I could teach you how to ride if you want,” I say, shooting her a sidelong glance.
“Oh. Um, I don’t know about that…”
There’s nervousness on her face, but interest gleams in her luminous brown eyes.
“You liked it the last time you were on one, right?” I ask. “Now just imagine how good it would feel to be in control. All that power and speed changing on a dime under your fingertips. Believe me, there’s nothing else in the world quite like it. Well, except maybe really good sex.”
Her cheeks instantly flush a bright red, and I bite back a chuckle. Fuck, it’s way too much fun making her react. But my words seem to spark something in her, because she steps closer.
“Okay. Show me.”
I have her climb onto the bike, showing her where to put her hands.
“Like I said, it’s all about control. The bike has the power, but you tell it how much it can use at a time. You can hit the gas here.” I point out the right spot. “Or slow it down here.”
She mimics my motions, putting her hands where I tell her.
“How do you even remember all this?” she murmurs, her brows furrowed as she stares down at the controls. “The first time I rode a bicycle as a kid, I mixed up the front and back brakes and went flying over the handlebars.”
“Oh yeah, you fuck up a lot when you’re learning,” I admit. “That’s why you start slow. So that when you fuck up, it’s not enough to kill you. After a while, it just becomes muscle memory. I could probably ride a bike in my sleep.”
Willow nods, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think I could ever get that good. I’d always be… at least a little afraid.”
“Nah. You’re braver than you think,” I tell her. “And all it takes is some practice. Get your body used to the bike, used to what you need to do. Your hands will pick it up. Then you have to get your hips into it.”
I demonstrate, leaning with my hips the way I would if I were directing the bike on the road.
Willow laughs, shaking her head. “What? No, you’re making that up.”
“I’m not!” I promise, laughing with her. “Remember when you were riding with me? I leaned into turns, and that’s all in the hips.”
Her cheeks flush at the memory, which makes me feel a spark of pleasure, and my cock twitches—both from remembering how she clung onto me back then and how she looks now. Her eyes are bright with interest and excitement, and it’s a damn good look on her.
So good that I can’t bring myself to look away.
“You know, you look so sweet and innocent on the outside,” I say, lowering my voice a bit as I step closer to where she’s perched on the bike. “But I still see that wild streak in you. Maybe you want to be a bad girl. Maybe that’s who you are at heart.”
Her eyes flash up to mine, and she stares at me for a long moment. I can’t quite tell what I’m seeing in their depths, and trying to pick it apart draws me in even more. Her lips part as her tongue darts out to wet them, making me want to chase it back into her mouth with my own tongue.
“I… I don’t think I know who I am inside,” she whispers. “I had a dream that—”
“That what, angel?”
She hesitates, then shakes her head, clearly deciding not to tell me. “Nothing. Thank you for the lesson.”
With that, she clambers off the bike and slips out of the garage, disappearing into the main part of our living space. I stare after her, rubbing a hand over my neck.
What the hell was that about?
I’m half tempted to go after her, curiosity burning through me. But unfortunately, I’ve got work to do. Our meeting with the Donovan gang will be happening tonight, and I need to make sure we’re ready for it.
Malice, Vic, and I meet up before Ethan Donovan and his crew arrive at our warehouse. There’s a feeling of energy buzzing between the three of us, because this negotiation could bring big things. Working with this gang would bring us into their fold and give us regular work.
That’s some job security we could desperately use while everything else is so fucking chaotic.
“This would be a good deal for us if it goes through, but remember, we’re not gonna let them short change us,” Malice says, his tattooed arms folded across his chest. “We do fucking good work, and they’ll pay for it if they want it.”
Vic nods. “Between the three of us, we can offer a quick turnaround. A few cars a week.”
“To start,” I chime in. “If we get a rhythm going and get the rest of this shit figured out, we could probably take on more.”
“Yeah, and by then we’ll be in good with them, so it should work out,” Mal agrees.
“Should we say four?” I ask him. “To start?”
“Yeah. That sounds good. Usual rates.”
“We could throw them a discount to sweeten the deal,” I suggest.
Vic shakes his head. “No. If we start doing discounts right off the bat, then they’ll expect it.”
Someone knocks on the door, interrupting our last minute huddle, and I nod to my brothers before I go to let Ethan and his men in.
Ethan Donovan is a local gang leader. His crew is fairly small, but they’re scrappy and efficient, so they’ve managed to carve out a spot for themselves in this pocket of Detroit and even expand it somewhat.
Ethan has blond hair that’s buzzed close to his head, and the short blond strands glint in the light of the streetlamps as I open the door.
“Right on time,” I say. “Come on in.”
As I greet him, I do a quick count of how many men he’s brought with him.
Four. Standard stuff, since he’d have to be stupid to come onto our turf alone.
We’ll be outnumbered if something breaks bad, but it is our turf, so that gives us a bit of an advantage.
And nothing should go wrong. This is just a simple negotiation, and as far as I know, we’re all interested in making sure this deal happens.
Like Mal said, they’d be lucky to have us working for them.
I lead them into the living room, and they all settle in.
“Thanks for meeting with us,” I say, falling into my usual role as the one who does most of the talking in situations like these. “We’ve been interested in cutting a deal with you for a while.”
“We’ve been interested too,” Ethan answers. “Just had to make sure you were serious about working with us.”
Malice snorts. “We’re serious about everything we do.”
There’s half a threat in there somewhere, because it’s Malice, and I just grin, smoothing that over a little bit to keep things comfortable and low stress.
“Our track record speaks for itself,” I say. “We work quickly, but it’s never sloppy.”
Ethan nods. He’s the brains here. The other four guys with him are just here for muscle. To make it clear he’s got back-up, in case we decide to try something. And also for the intimidation factor of it all.
“I’ve heard,” he says. “How much do you think you can handle?”
“Four a week,” I say smoothly. “Probably more in time, once we get a rhythm going.”
His eyebrows go up, an impressed look flitting across his face. “Reliably?”
“Yeah, reliably,” Malice replies. “We don’t do cut rate shit.”
As our negotiations continue, Ethan glances toward the stairs, his eyebrows rising as he catches sight of Willow coming down them. Keeping her head down and her gaze averted, she quickly pads down the steps and toward the kitchen.
“That a friend of yours?” Ethan asks, craning his neck a little to check her out as she disappears into the kitchen.
“She’s no one,” Malice replies sharply. “She’s just some chick I brought home. Don’t worry about her.”
A couple of Ethan’s men share a look, but none of them say anything more about Willow.
They don’t ask any more questions, and it seems like they’re going to let Malice’s answer stand.
Good. Negotiations can be tense, but if we’re cool with Ethan bringing four of his guys, none of whom have been vetted by us, he’d damn well better be okay with us having Willow here.
“So,” Ethan says, leaning back on the couch where he’s sitting. “Four a week. How much are you looking to make for that?”
He wants us to name a number first, but I deflect that, putting the ball back in his court. “We know the going rates around here,” I tell him. “For the parts and what other shops are charging. But they don’t work as fast as we do.”
“So short changing us is a stupid idea,” Malice adds.
Ethan and Malice face off for a second, and then Ethan nods. “You’re right. Two grand per.”
“Bullshit,” Malice grunts. “Didn’t you hear what Ransom said? We know how much parts are worth. You’re getting two grand just for the wheels alone. More if they’ve got rims. Add in everything else, and that’s just a fucking insult.”
When Ethan laughs, I breathe a little sigh of relief. Maybe he was just testing to see if we actually know what we’re talking about.
“Four grand,” he says. “If you can salvage everything.”
The three of us look at each other and Vic nods, his one contribution to the meeting. It’s a good price, and he’s the one who’s done all the math on it.
“Deal,” I say, holding out my hand for Ethan to shake.
He does, and Malice gets up and comes back with a bottle of whiskey and several glasses for us to seal the deal.
He pours, and we drink, toasting to the new partnership.
It’s a good thing too. We need the work and the money—plus, working with a gang that’s getting its name out there will give us a leg up in the underworld of Detroit. It’s a win-win, and I’m pretty pleased with the fact that it went through.
Malice, Vic, and I chat with Ethan for a few minutes as the meeting winds down, hammering out a few specifics and asking some questions about their preferred method of chopping. I’m about to respond to something Ethan said when movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention.
Willow has re-emerged from the kitchen, but instead of slipping back upstairs like she probably planned to, she’s gotten cornered at the bottom of the steps by one of Ethan’s men.
He’s boxing her in against the railing that runs up the steps, and as he leans down to murmur something in her ear, one of his hands lands on her waist, sliding down over her hip and then groping her ass.
Vic and I tense immediately, but it’s Malice who reacts first, swift and deadly as always.
He’s across the room in a second, and he grabs the guy, ripping him away from Willow and slamming him violently onto the floor.
It doesn’t matter that this guy is bigger than him, Malice is pissed off as fuck, and that gives him extra momentum.
He flips from zero to one hundred in an instant, brutal and fast, fury burning in his dark eyes.
The man hits the cement floor with a dull thud, and Ethan and the rest of his men react instantly, drawing their weapons and pointing them at Malice.
Fuck.
I yank my gun out of the waistband of my pants, and beside me, Vic does the same.