7 - Lane #2
The spitter waved him off, as though they were just old friends having fun. But I didn’t like the undercurrent of what was happening. I may not have been part of whatever the fuck was going on right now, but I’d been around enough less than savory people to know what budding danger looked like.
And as the man continued to rattle off, not paying attention to his suggestion, I could tell Dax was quickly losing patience.
His fist curled at his side. I brushed only the tip of my little finger against his, a small imperceptible movement that I hoped would be enough to ground him and bring him back.
And it seemed to work. Dax’s fist unclenched, and he released a small exhale. But he still refused to take his eyes off the two strangers. “Look, both of you, get out of here. We don’t have business with each other.”
The first dude looked almost offended at that, but instead of saying anything else to Dax, his attention was suddenly redirected to me. My body recoiled as his beady eyes made their conspicuous descent from my face down my body. His dry, flaky mouth tugged up in a grin.
“Say, who’s this, Miller? Didn’t know you had a thing for redheads,” he said, taking a step towards us. Throughout the entire conversation, they’d been inching closer until there was nothing but the bike separating us from them.
His buddy let out a low wolf whistle, craning his head to the side as he stared at me. “Not bad at all. Even though it’s difficult to see exactly what we’re working with under all those clothes.”
When Dax shifted his weight, I quickly grabbed his hand. “You guys really don’t know when to fuck off, do you?” I said, refusing to be intimidated or to let this escalate into something ugly. “Just leave.”
“Oh, it seems like she’s got a mouth on her, this one,” said Throat Tattoo. “I’d like to see what else that mouth is good for.”
Before I even processed what was happening, he’d reached out a long arm and tried to grab my ass. It was an awkward angle and a stupid overall idea, logistics aside, because before he’d even made it halfway, Dax stepped in between me and the men.
He shoved Throat Tattoo back with a powerful forearm to the chest. The thug stumbled, looking stunned like he didn’t expect that to happen. I could barely see the two men from around the wall of Dax’s body.
“Get the fuck out of here.” His voice was low, barely more than a growl. “And trust me, that’s the better option. Try and touch her again and I'll make sure not even your boss will be able to identify what’s left behind.”
The main guy glared at Dax, then at me but slowly started backing away, finally having gotten the picture. His friend, whose ego had evidently taken a bit of a knock, looked less inclined to go.
But they did, tails between their legs and still foaming at the mouth.
The spitter clapped a hand to his throat, then pretended to wring it. “I’d keep my neck loose if I was you, Miller. Keep looking over your shoulder.”
Throat Tattoo cackled and the two men disappeared out of the iron yard.
I didn’t like the sound of that. Come to think of it, I hated everything about the encounter we just had. It was clear to me that those men weren’t strangers after all, not to Dax.
I turned to him, putting a hand on his arm. “What was all that about?”
My heart sank as I watched the little crack of vulnerability seal up in real time. His face hardened, his soft smile now tucked away and his jaw set. That beautiful openness I’d barely witnessed was gone, like a mirage in the middle of a desert.
“Back on the bike, Lane. Field trip’s over,” he grunted, handing me back my helmet.
I knew when to file a rebuttal for a later time, so I wordlessly obeyed. The ride back was different. I could feel the tension in Dax’s body, and there was no playing around with any of the stunts he tried to pull before.
We arrived back at the house in what felt like significantly less time than it had taken to get to the iron yard. We climbed the steps in continued silence, something that now felt painful.
Right as Dax reached out to open the door, I slammed my hand against it, keeping it shut. He didn’t let go of the handle but didn’t try to wrest the door open either. Instead he just looked at me, as though he’d expected this.
“What happened?” I asked again, my voice soft this time. Softer than I think I’ve heard myself sound in a long time.
He seemed conflicted. Then, once he settled on his decision, he let go of the handle. “You thought giving you my jacket would ruin my street cred, huh.”
“It was by far the most romantic part of the trip,” I replied, my words now barely more than a whisper. My eyes dropped to his lips then flickered back up to his eyes.
Reckless Lane.
Foolish Lane.
Horny Lane.
I was suddenly past the point of caring. His hands went around my waist, pulling me against his body and it shouldn’t have been possible, but the heat between us seemed to sear my skin. He dropped his forehead until it rested against mine, the tip of his nose teasing my own.
“This will probably also come off as a romantic gesture. You’re better off focusing on this,” he said.
My breath stole from my lungs as he leaned even closer but before we could fully close the distance between our lips, the door was flung open. Dax jumped back as though he really had been burnt and I stumbled a step too, my heart now in my throat.
Bear was standing in the doorway, arms folded. And judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t impressed at all. His eyes slipped from me to Dax, then sharpened.
“Where the hell have you been, Miller?”