Chapter 12
Twelve
Raven
Thursday afternoon, Kurt calls me. It’s so rare that he does anything other than text that I wonder if it’s a pocket call.
“Hey.” I walk out into the garden as I answer. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“I know. Not calling about that. Where are you?”
“At my parents’ house. Taking some… me time.”
“Huh, okay.” A pause long enough to register the anomaly that is, and I half expect him to comment. Instead, he hits me with something harder. “What do you think of Declan?”
It takes me a second to process the question, and another to draw a breath after my body tightens so hard I forget how to breathe.
“Genesis?” Kurt prods. “Still there?”
“Uh, yeah. Just finding somewhere quiet to talk.” I clear my throat. “Declan, huh? What exactly are you asking?”
“Do you trust him?”
Do I trust him? What a question.
“To do what?” I ask cautiously. I trust him to walk out without caring or a backward glance. Does that count?
“On a job, would you know he had your back?” Kurt presses. “Would you ride with him?”
I hesitate, trying to put my feelings aside. Getting my game head on. It’s harder than it should be.
He supported me on the last job when Kawasaki was trying to get me to come and help him. I was never going to do that, but Declan didn’t know.
He had my back in the bar fight—the second one, anyway. He just watched the first. Then grabbed my arm and asked me if I fucked the way I fought.
Then fucked me, got disappointed, and left. So I guess that question was answered.
“I don’t know, Kurt,” I say at last. “I just don’t know.”
“Fair, I suppose.”
“Are you going to offer him another job?” I ask, before he can hang up.
“Already have.”
Shit. “The one we’re talking about tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he going to be there? Did he say yes?” I hate the way my voice sounds right now. High, tense, desperate.
“He did.”
Double shit. “Then you don’t need me, do you?”
Maybe I’ll stay here. No… I’ve outstayed my welcome. I’ll go back home. Hang out in Lou’s garage.
“Two riders is my minimum, you know that. And you owe me, Genesis.”
“I did the last job as a favor to you,” I remind him.
“And this one too.”
“Then we’ll be settled?” I know the answer before he gives it.
“No. One more. If you want to leave, you can then.”
I didn’t know anybody ever left Kurt’s crew. Save for Hank, shredding his hands, and Kawasaki, getting shredded.
“I’m not in a rush to leave,” I tell him, tone sharp. “I just want the ability to choose.” I take a moment to draw a breath and steady myself. “Want me to come in early on Friday and talk about it? Before Declan gets there?”
“No point. He’s here all the time.”
Is he?
“Doing what?”
“Hanging out with Cole and Dario. They went for a ride, spent a few hours at the range.”
Great. I’m hiding out here, avoiding him, and he’s taking my fucking place, and making my friends his. How does that work?
“Is he sleeping with Cammy too?”
“Not as far as I know,” Kurt replies, the words as flat as ever. I can’t tell if it’s indifference, dry sarcasm, or a blatant lie. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Genesis. Bring your A-game, right?”
“I always do,” I reply, but I’m talking to a dead line. He’s already gone.
Caleb is good for his word, driving me to the airport noon on Friday, and I collect my bike from long-term parking and am back home with a couple hours to kill before the session that evening.
My apartment is the same as I left it: still small, still tidy, still reminding me of the best sex of my life, and then waking up to nothing.
In anger, I strip the bed, throwing everything into a bag and shoving it into the washer-dryer I bought myself after a past payday from Kurt.
Getting by with low rent and small luxuries, my main one being my Ducati Panigale V4S.
It’s a thirty-grand bike, which even after the discount Kurt got for me, still set me back the proceeds of several small jobs.
I can afford it because it’s the only thing I care about, and I service it myself.
Which reminds me: I need to take it into Lou’s, strip it down and clean it out, especially if we have another job coming up.
It’s rare we use stolen machines, and I can’t guarantee it.
Better to have the tools I need in top working order.
But I’m not in top working order. I’m stressed, just by the prospect of having to see Declan again.
First Kawasaki, now him. Two jobs, two men I do not want to ride with.
It’s just a job. Treat it as such. Get in, say the minimum, do the job, get out.
Wise words.
Six o’clock, I take a shower and try real damn hard not to think about anything—with no success whatsoever. Six-thirty, I pull my leathers on, hating that I have to do this at all.
Then I collect my helmet, check my gloves are in it, sit down on my couch, and put the TV on.
Fuck ‘em all if they think I’m going to turn up early and sit there waiting like a nice obedient girl. They can wait for me.
I don’t know what I watch; I can’t take it in, and I don’t care anyway. What I’m really watching is the time, crawling by, figuring out how long I can leave it without risking Kurt’s irritation.
The self-imposed wait isn’t doing my nerves any good, and by twenty before seven, I curse, get myself up, and onto my bike.
It’s a twenty-minute ride, but as I approach the 210, I take the onramp west, not east, kicking myself for not doing this sooner.
I don’t have to think when I’m on my bike, I can just ride and feel free.
Go around the long way. Add twenty minutes to the journey.
Get there later, without having to sit around.
That’s the plan, but it doesn’t work.
The problem is that I don’t have to think when I’m on my bike, and that means I have far too much time to think.
Fucking Declan Hale and his goddamn Fireblade and his goddamn pale blue eyes and his goddamn strong jaw and tight abs and tight… fucking everything. And that smoldering, playful expression that I just want to punch off his far-too-handsome face.
Focus, Raven. One briefing, say nothing, in and out. Go home.
I should be too angry to think straight, but my head doesn’t seem to know that. Thirty-six minutes it takes me to reach Kurt’s unit, and every single second I spend thinking of him.
But that’s not the worst bit. The worst bit is that I know it’s not just my head that’s not obeying me. It’s my body. Because I’m aroused. My panties are soaked, just from the memory of him, and what he did to me.
God, I really hate that guy.
I pull up outside the building, seeing Declan’s Fireblade already there. I park as far away as I can get, cramming my Ducati between the wall and Cole’s R1. Almost scrape my baby as I reverse it in, and if I’d done that, Declan would know wrath like he’d never seen it before.
I hit the entry buzzer and yank the door open when it clicks unlocked, stomping up the first few steps like I… want everyone in the building to know I’m pissed?
But I don’t, do I?
That’s not the right play.
No, I’m going to be cool. Collected. Calm and reserved. Utterly unaffected and unfazed by that motherfucker walking out on me the morning after.
If he hadn’t left, I’d have kicked him out. That’s the position, and I’m sticking to it.
I pause on the steps, pull my gloves off and throw them in my helmet, unzip my jacket, check my braid is hanging nicely, brush any loose strands back with the palm of one hand.
Check if I’ve missed anything. Adjust my gloves inside my helmet.
Only then do I proceed in a slow, moderate pace into Kurt’s rooms.
No one is saying anything. Tasha’s sitting in her armchair with her laptop on the coffee table, two steaming cups beside it. Kurt is next to her, in his Chesterfield. Cole and Dario are on one sofa, drinks in hand. Cammy’s on the beanbag.
Fucking Declan Hale is sitting on the second couch, by himself, and the only seat left available is next to him.
I hate my life.
I throw Kurt my best smile. “So sorry I’m late.”
He regards me with flat eyes that see right through my performance, but it’s not for him, so I don’t care. I embrace Tasha, who rises to greet me with a slightly worried expression, then make a point of giving Cole and Dario a hug too. I haven’t even looked at him. Cammy gets a fist bump.
“Coffee, anyone?” I ask blithely, setting my helmet down on a shelf next to Kurt’s spray cans and delaying even longer the moment I have to sit next to him.
“I’m good, thank you,” Cammy says into the awkward quiet. I wasn’t expecting anyone to say anything; they’ve got drinks already.
Declan stands up. “I could use a refill. I’ll come and give you a hand.”
Shit.
The kitchen is a small space just off the main room, where carpet becomes tiles. I busy myself finding a cup, emptying the drip tray on the machine Kurt had installed, fitting it back again, checking there are beans. Delaying as long as I can.
Declan leans against the counter, slouching with far too much grace.
I’m aware, even though I don’t look at him, and my affected poise is crumbling before his silence and his knowing gaze.
I skip every third breath, my body is tight, my nipples are aching.
Even breathing the same air as him is turning me on again, heat pooling where I don’t want it.
I really hate this guy.
“I brought you breakfast,” he murmurs.
I blink. “What? It’s 7 p.m..”
“Twenty after.”
“Whatever.”
“I meant last Saturday. I brought you breakfast, but you’d left already.”
That doesn’t make any sense.
“Bullshit,” I hiss, conscious of the silence in the main room. “You left at half past five, and I didn’t leave for another two hours. What did you do, break into a restaurant and cook it?”
“I went for a walk,” he replies, way too goddamn calm.
“You went for a…” I trail off, hold a hand up between us, take a long, long breath, and let it out real slow. “Your bike was missing, asshole. Did you go for a walk on—” I cut myself off short and shake my head. “You know what? I don’t even care.”
“I missed you,” he says.