Chapter 2 Lynx
LYNX
I’ve been standing outside of the Wicked Riders repair shop for over an hour now, waiting for my second chance. A few strands of my long hair whip around my face, and I restrain them behind my ears before smoothing out the wrinkles on my dress.
Frowning, I see the dress, while cute, is definitely in need of a wash and an iron.
Too bad I haven’t had access to either of those things in several days.
Or any other creature comfort, for that matter.
I was lucky enough to be able to grab the clothes I did, as well as a few toiletries and other essentials.
If I don’t find a new source of cash, however, I’m not going to last out in the big bad world for very long. Just like my father always told me.
I ball my hands into fists and shut my eyes against the memory of the night I left home. My breathing grows shallow as pieces of the last conversation with my dad rattle around my mind.
This is happening whether you like it or not. It’s a business decision, nothing more.
Was that all I ever was to my father? The man who raised me on his own after my mother died shortly after giving birth apparently only saw me as a pawn that he could use at the first opportunity.
The hurt, anger, and betrayal had to be put on the back burner, however. I needed all of my energy to escape.
I’ve tried distancing myself from the incident, purely out of necessity.
My fight or flight response kicked in, and I’ve been running on adrenaline ever since.
I knew life wasn’t going to be easy once I stepped out from under my father’s gilded but cruel cage.
But if I don’t get a break soon… Well, I don’t know how much fight I have left in me.
My head is pounding, and my thoughts are tripping all over themselves to take center stage. It’s making me dizzy.
I plop down on a bench about twenty feet away from the entrance to the shop.
As soon as I sit down, the smell of stale cigarettes fills my lungs, and I scrunch up my nose.
This must be a smoker’s bench. When I look to my left, my suspicions are confirmed when I see a garbage can with a giant ashtray attached to it.
I ignore the less-than-pleasant smell and take a deep, cleansing breath, holding it for a count of four and then letting it all out, deflating against the scratchy wood of the bench.
I’m running out of cash, clean clothes, and the will to continue.
At twenty-three, this is not how I thought my life would turn out.
Someone clears their throat, making me jump as all of my thoughts evaporate.
I snap my head up to see the slab of muscle that is Reaper standing in front of me.
He’s just as brutal, untamed, and sexy as he was yesterday.
Dammit. As if it weren’t already hard enough to be desperately seeking a job, the man I need to convince is hands down the biggest, broadest, baddest biker with a chiseled physique and even sharper blue eyes.
His light brown hair is cropped at the sides and a bit longer and messy on top. The road warrior look is completed with a long but well-kept beard. Reaper is every bit the powerful, dominant leader he projects, from the scar running through his right eyebrow to his steel-toed boots.
Like yesterday, the massive man has his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at me with an unreadable expression.
The muscles in his biceps and forearms flex, making his tattoos dance.
My eyes are drawn to the motion, and I’m nearly hypnotized by what I see.
I bet if he hugged me with those strong arms, the world might not feel so dangerous.
“You’re here,” he states. I can’t help but grin at his morning greeting. Something tells me it took him a lot of effort to be this… Nice. If that’s what you can call it.
“So are you,” I respond cheerfully as I stand up from the bench.
“Why?”
“Why are you here? I assume it’s because you work here. And that you’re preparing for my first day of orientation.”
Reaper grunts, rolling his eyes and uncrossing his arms before wiping a hand down his face. He tugs at his beard and then eyes me suspiciously. He doesn’t say anything as he brushes past me and unlocks the front door. I’ll take that as an invitation.
I follow Reaper inside the shop, listing off all of my hireable qualities.
“I noticed the garbage can and ashtray were pretty full outside,” I start.
“Emptying them on a regular basis is one of many ways I can be helpful around here. I can sweep, mop, and scrub just about any surface until it’s shining clean.
I can organize your files, make appointments, and handle the point of sale. ”
Reaper ignores my rambling and heads down a hallway leading into what I assume is his office. I’m hot on his heels, managing to slip inside his office before he closes the door.
“I’m a quick learner,” I inform him, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.
“If you’re looking for a mechanic, I’m your girl.
Just let me shadow your best mechanic for a week, and then I’ll be under the hood in no time.
” I realize my mistake and quickly correct it.
“I mean… I guess bikes don’t really have hoods, right?
” Reaper turns to face me, the intensity of his ice blue gaze sending a shiver throughout my body.
“I’ll figure it out. I’m sure that’s day one, easy stuff. ”
Reaper continues to stare at me, inscrutable as always. Instead of responding to anything I said, he simply shakes his head. “Why are you so adamant about working here? There are plenty of other places in town.”
I look away from him, my eyes darting to the ground as I try to figure out how much to tell him. He doesn’t need my whole sob story, and I’m sure he wouldn’t care anyway. Reaper must get bored of waiting for my answer, giving me his back as he walks toward his desk.
Anxiety claws up my throat, making it hard to breathe. I need this job. I don’t have any other options. So I decide to give him the tiniest piece of information. “I knew this place was owned and operated by a motorcycle club, and I figured it paid cash under the table.”
Reaper pauses, his hand hovering above his office chair.
Dammit. I gave away too much. When Reaper slowly turns around, his eyes land squarely on mine.
He clenches his jaw, and inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring with the force of his breath.
His gaze burns a hole right through me, and I know he has a mountain of questions he wants to ask.
Thankfully, he doesn’t voice any of them.
The giant biker clears his throat and shakes his head, as if breaking himself out of a spell. “You’ll have to find somewhere else to take on whatever trouble you’re bringing with you.”
His words sting like a slap to the face, and I almost break.
I almost give in to the sinking feeling of despair that’s been threatening to swallow me whole since the moment I ran away.
Reaper’s sharp blue gaze softens slightly, but the look of warmth is immediately replaced by one of indifference before I’m even sure I saw anything at all.
I spin around on my heel, quickly making my way out of the office, down the hall, and out through the front door.
The sun hits my face as the first tear falls, and I squeeze my eyes shut to stem the flood of emotion threatening to spill over.
I can’t let anyone see me like this. I have to be strong.
I have to be strong, I repeat to myself.
Reaper hasn’t seen the last of me. He may be stubborn, but so am I. Third time is a charm, right?