Breaking Down (High Ridge #1)

Chapter 1

Meg

Looking down at my contact list, I weigh my options.

I could call…mid train of thought I am interrupted by a noise.

Jerking my head up in the direction of the commotion I see two shadows duking it out.

I stand frozen. Where did they come from?

My eyes scan around, looking for something—anything.

The little voice in my head is urging me to jump in my truck and hide, but a bigger voice is yelling that I should help. Thanks a lot conscience.

“I go my whole life without getting beat up…,” I mutter.

Grabbing the umbrella that is on the floor of my truck, I slowly start to approach the two very large, very built males that are pounding each other into bloody pulps.

It is hard to tell which one is the victim, maybe neither one is.

I’ve come this far though, I think. By the time I get as close as I dare, one of them has the upper hand and is choking the other one.

Before I can lose my nerve, I run up and whack the guy upside the head with the wooden handle of my umbrella.

The move startles him and he falls to the side throwing his hands up to protect his head. “What the hell! Who the fuck are you?”

I start to back up slowly still holding the umbrella in front of me.

Yeah, right—you really think that is going to help you?

My brain taunts, as the large angry man is getting to his feet and approaching me.

I quickly look at the ground towards the other man, hoping that he will start to stir.

“I, I---“, I start to stutter, panic clawing at my vocal cords. He is closing in on me and I realize how stupid I am. I’m skittering backwards-- also realizing my horrible choice in footwear.

I just had to be wearing wedges tonight.

“Please, I was just….”, I trail off. What WAS I thinking? I must have a death wish.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, the door in the alleyway flies open. The shadow of a HUGE man is standing there. He must be at least 6 and a half feet tall. Broad shoulders block the light from the doorway, and it is hard to see his face.

“Get the hell out of here”, his gravelly voice thunders out in the alleyway.

The man that was probably going to send me to an early grave, stops and turns around to face the newcomer.

Now would be the perfect time for me to make an escape.

There is just one problem. My feet seem to be superglued to the cement.

Yep. I totally don’t want to make it to see my next Birthday.

Broken out of my internal ramblings, the two men are now facing off.

They seem to know each other. “I kicked you BOTH out for a fucking reason—now get gone,” spoke the mountain of a man.

He was now out of the doorway and the light was falling across his face.

Holy Hell! He looked like he had stepped off the pages of some magazine.

Dark hair, light eyes, the perfect amount of scruff on his angular jaw.

At least if I was going to die, I got to look at something pretty first.

“I’m going to tell you one more time, Wes, go! And take your damn brother with you!”

Brother? I almost died because of a scuffle between brothers? I would hate to think what family reunions were like at their house. I watched as the man named Wes followed orders. He dragged his brother to the end of the alley and into the parking lot behind the buildings.

Sagging in relief, I turn to thank the giant. “What the hell were you doing,” he grits out through a clenched jaw.

“I’m sorry, I was just trying to-,” I attempt to get out, but I’m interrupted. “Trying to get yourself killed,” he angrily cuts in.

“I was trying to help,” I finally manage to get out. The stress of the moment making me sag. The feeling of relief is quickly morphing into irritation.

He sighs and runs his hand through his dark hair. Hair that I have already dubbed ‘sex hair’. “Do you make running into dark alleys at 12:30 in the morning a habit? Of all the stupid-”

“No,” I say shortly, cutting him off this time.

“As of 10 minutes ago, I have lived a relatively drama free life.”

He is still glaring at me, so I turn to walk off toward my vehicle.

Forget thanking him. Big Jerk. Only once I get to my vehicle, I realize the initial reason for me being here.

I get in and turn the key. Still nothing.

UGH! I pull out my phone and realize that it is now down to 10% battery.

I knew I should have sprung for the extra roadside assistance package through my insurance company.

Leaning my head against the steering wheel, I sigh. Now what?

I don’t want to go back and ask him for help. I don’t know him, but I can imagine the reaction I would get. He hadn’t called me stupid yet, but I’m certain it was on the tip of his tongue. Tap, tap, tap. I jump and my eyes fly to the window.

It’s him standing there with the only expression I have seen him wear—a glare. I roll my window down. “Yes?”

“Problems?” he asks. I hate to admit it, but I should probably just suck it up. This night can’t get much worse, right? Sighing, I forge ahead.

“It sputtered and died—it is usually super reliable—I never have trouble…,” I trail off. He looks completely unimpressed by my ramble.

“Pop the hood,” he grits out. His eyes hard, his hands clenched by his side.

My eyes travel his form. He definitely takes care of himself.

He has muscles on top of muscles. I quickly avert my eyes, looking down at my body.

Not exactly model material there. Obviously, he is a man of few words, at least when they are directed at me.

I tuck my chin length, dark brown hair behind my ear and reach down to the lever.

He has already made his way to the front of the truck.

His arms are crossed, and he is waiting impatiently.

Once he hears the click, he reaches forward and pushes up the hood.

I tap my un-manicured fingers against the tan steering wheel. I hope he knows what he is doing.

I get out of the truck, climbing down. My five-foot-four-inch height makes it a bit of a jump. Tentatively, almost afraid to poke the bear, I speak. “Can you tell what is wrong with it?”

His head turns in my direction and he huffs. “Looks like someone has been messing around under this hood.”

I blink, not quite understanding what he means. I open my mouth to speak but he is already cutting me off.

“They didn’t know what the hell they were doing, you were lucky—but someone has been under this hood, and they wanted this to happen.”

I swallow and look around, as if I’m being watched.

“How can you tell?” My mind is racing with the possibilities of who would want to do that.

I mean by everyone’s standards I’m pretty boring.

Perpetually single, check. Full time job, check.

Same two friends since I was 12, check. Kind of chubby, check.

I notice that he is giving me a look—it isn’t a glare so I can’t decipher it.

“I own the mechanic shop,” he states looking in the direction of the alley. OH!

My cheeks get hot, embarrassed that I overlooked that detail.

“Gotcha,” I say. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

I am usually inept in the company of an attractive male, but this is ridiculous.

He quirks an eyebrow and looks at me. I can’t tell if he is amused, or if he finds me annoying.

His admission isn’t exactly an offer to fix it.

He rubs his hand through his dark hair again and sighs. “It shouldn’t be hard to fix, but I need to order a part. I can have it done tomorrow or the next day.”

I blink in surprise and then in dread. I’m mentally calculating how much money I have left until payday, so I miss what he says. He is looking at me quizzically. Shrugging, I ask, “What was that?” He already thinks I am a moron; I should just confirm it for him.

“Do. You. Need. A. Ride. Home,” he asks slowly, his perfect mouth enunciated clearly. He is staring at me, smirking. Isn’t this where the audience is screaming at the damsel in distress to say no? Oh, what the hell—I seem to be taking all the risks tonight. Slowly, I say, “yes”.

He grunts as he shuts the hood and says, “You can leave it parked here for the night.” He stalks off towards the alley again, not waiting for me to follow.

I open the door of my truck and lunge across the seat to grab my belongings, praying that nothing happens to my only mode of transportation overnight.

I slam the door of my truck shut and hustle around the front, hoping that I haven’t been left behind.

At this point, my options are pretty limited.

My phone battery is in the red, flashing 8% at me.

“Here goes nothing,” I mumble. I find him leaning up against the alley with his arms crossed. I barely catch up and he is already turning and on the way towards the door. His long strides chew up the pavement. I’m practically jogging to keep pace and trying not to sound winded.

He pulls open the door and I follow him inside.

I’m trying not to trip over my own feet.

He stops suddenly and I plow into him from behind.

“Sorry, sorry,” spills out of my lips as my arms flail.

He turns around and steadies me. I can’t seem to get my cheeks to revert back to their natural color.

His hands linger on my upper arms and I look down at my feet.

Backing away, I shake my head. “You don’t talk much do you,” I ask.

He grunts, a response that seems as natural as breathing to him. “I don’t feel the need to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter.” He states, pointedly. As if I have been the chatterbox? I clench my teeth, trying to curb the need to respond to his obvious insult.

Following him through his shop, I notice that it is tidy and clean.

Not the usual auto shop. I’m taking it all in and following him at the same time.

I’m dying to ask his name, but don’t want to fill the silence with ‘unnecessary chatter’.

Rolling my eyes, I continue forward. The shop is spacious and can easily hold 3 or 4 vehicles at a time.

I watch him shut lights off as we go and grab his keys.

He turns and waits for me to exit out the door by the parking lot.

While he is setting the alarm, I head to what I assume is his vehicle.

It is an older Ford pick- up truck. The two-tone blue and cream paint job is respectably faded, indicating it is original.

If I had to guess, I would say it was an early 70s model.

I hear his footsteps come up behind me and turn.

“Nice truck,” I say—hoping that I didn’t add to his quotient of superfluous conversation with my compliment. I start to rub my temple. Feeling the start of a tell-tale migraine coming on. Of course, why not add that to the night. “Thanks,” he mutters giving me a curious look.

“It’s unlocked, you can get in,” he says.

He opens his door and slides in behind the steering wheel.

Putting the key in the ignition, the truck starts smoothly.

I hustle to get in and plop down on the passenger side, pulling the heavy door shut.

My hand immediately goes to my head and presses.

The pressure starting in the back of my skull.

I’m closing my eyes and I hear him clear his throat.

“Did you hit your head in the alley,” he asks, neutrally.

I glance at him sideways and shake my head to answer no.

I am in for a big one, and I don’t have my prescription on me.

I have 15 minutes before I will need to lay down.

I’m mentally calculating how far my cottage is from here.

Too far. Why didn’t I bring my other purse?

I’m not normally such a mess. He clears his throat again. I crack open my eye and look at him.

“Where am I taking you,” he asks gruffly. Right, we don’t even know each other’s names. How would he know my address?

“About 25 minutes away, off of 64 East,” I murmur. I rattle my address off and keep my eyes closed.

“You live that far out of town,” he sounds exasperated. Suddenly, I feel like I am a huge imposition.

“I’m sorry, if it is too far--,” I start to respond and am interrupted.

“I didn’t say that,” he sighs. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Putting the truck in drive he pulls forward towards the main drag.

I close my eyes and rest the side of my head against the cool window.

Trying to decide if I should let him know that in about 10 minutes, I will start to lose the vision in at least one of my eyes and that every noise that was made in the truck sounded like it was 20 times louder than it actually was.

Oh—and there was about a 40% chance I may need him to pull over, so I don’t toss my cookies all over the interior of his truck.

I’m sure he would really like me then. I would roll my eyes at myself— if they weren’t killing me.