Chapter 14
LARK
“You’re doing that wrong,” a rough voice growls from behind me.
I sigh and lean my head against the tank. I debate ignoring him because I’ve been having a good day so far. Even though I’ve only met him once, I can guarantee the surly man will absolutely fuck up my day.
But I’m much too polite not to respond.
“Azrael,” I say without turning around, acting like I’m still focused on the thermostat. Maybe if I pretend the terrifying man isn’t there, he’ll disappear. “You’re as delightful as ever. What, exactly, am I doing wrong?”
Two days ago, I found a puddle of bright green coolant under my bike. After an hour on the phone with Coop, I realized the problem was a cracked thermostat housing. So, I special ordered the part and got it in this morning. I’ve spent the past hour taking everything apart and starting the install.
It’s been almost two weeks since I helped Colt coach the baseball game and went out to dinner with him after. He wrangled my phone number from me so he can contact me if they need help again.
But he’s been texting me daily. I know I shouldn’t respond, but talking to him is often the highlight of my humdrum, routine days. It makes me wonder if I should try texting Hal and Rook, too, but something holds me back.
Azrael’s exasperated voice interrupts my thoughts. “You need silicone grease for the O-ring. Otherwise, it’s going to leak.”
I just barely resist the urge to slam my head against my bike in frustration. I don’t have any silicone grease. In fact, I only really have the basic tools and supplies here. Whenever I need anything more specialized, I get it from Coop and Charlie.
“Can I use lithium grease instead?” I have that on hand for lubing up metal-on-metal friction points, like my weirdly squeaky clutch lever.
“No.”
Fantastic.
Putting on my big-girl panties, I turn to face Azrael. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him.
There’s no doubt about it. He’s beautiful, in a lethal sort of way. The harsh planes of his face, his liquid gold eyes, and his jet-black hair give him an ethereal air. His black-and-gray tattoos, tanned olive skin, and muscles clearly visible under his suit only add to his deadly beauty vibe.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, Azrael is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met.
Realizing I’ve just been kneeling in front of him and staring up at him wordlessly, my cheeks heat. I scramble to my feet, almost bumping into him in the process.
When I’m standing, I back up until I hit my bike, needing some distance between us. “Well, I don’t have any silicone grease. Guess I’ll just grab some from Charlie and Coop.”
Azrael lets out a bone-chilling growl and clenches his fists at his side so hard his knuckles turn white. He glares down at me. “Who are Charlie and Coop?”
I attempt to back away from the clearly angry and very dangerous man in front of me, forgetting I’m already pressed against my ZX-6R. All I do is almost topple my bike and fall onto my ass. Luckily, Azrael steps into my space and steadies my Ninja for me.
“They’re my best friends,” I croak, hating myself for how I’m shrinking back from him. I’m supposed to be the new, improved Lark who isn’t scared of anyone or anything. But something about Azrael equally terrifies and intrigues me.
He squeezes his eyes tightly and grinds his teeth for a long moment. Then he snaps open his neon-gold eyes and stares me down. “I’ll take you to get it. Get your gear.”
I raise a brow at him and gesture at my Ninja’s parts strewn over the ground. “In case you haven’t noticed, my bike’s currently in pieces. I can’t ride it to an auto parts store, or anywhere, right now.”
He gives me a look like I’m being purposely dense. “You can ride on the back of my bike.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, um, I’m good. I’ll just drive over or get Coop or Charlie to pick me up.”
Azrael takes a menacing step forward and pins me against the bike, his hips flush against my stomach. His large hands land on my waist, and he leans down until we’re practically nose to nose. “Stop arguing with me and do as you’re told.”
I can feel my people pleasing rearing its ugly head. The force of Azrael’s displeasure is an almost visceral thing, and it feels like a losing battle trying to say no to him.
Don’t do it, Lark. Don’t you fucking do it.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Gah! Why? Why am I like this?
I mean, I know why, but I still hate it.
Azrael’s lips tip up into an infuriating smirk. He steps back to let me go get my gear, and I have a strong urge to throat punch him. Not that I will, because I’m, well, me, but I wish I could.
I grind my teeth as I brush past him and march angrily to my apartment. I’m not angry at Azrael as much as I am angry at myself. I’m fucking stronger than this. Or, at least, I want to be, and I hate that I’m not.
Wren would’ve given Azrael a piece of her mind. She would’ve put him in his place with the savagery that came so easily to her. There’s no way she would’ve rolled over and done as he ordered.
We were both raised in the same environment. Why did she turn out fierce, strong, and independent, while I turned out meek, timid, and with a pathological need to avoid upsetting anyone?
If one of us had to end up with Marcus, it should’ve been me. I have no fire he could’ve destroyed, and the world wouldn’t be missing much without me.
But that’s not how it worked out.
So I just have to keep trying to be more like Wren, and maybe one of these days, it’ll take. Maybe one of these days, I’ll make her proud. Maybe one of these days, I’ll actually like who I am instead of hating every part of me.
Today’s apparently not that day, so I throw on my gear and try to breathe through my fury at Azrael for pushing me around. I can already tell that being pissy toward him won’t end well for me, so I pack away as much of my frustration as I can before I stomp back out to him.
I’m not able to completely stuff it down, so I still give him a withering glare as I approach him, making my displeasure known.
The bastard just grins at me in response, seeming to enjoy my defiance. “So, the little bird does have talons after all.”
And there goes all the calm I was trying to hold on to.
“I’m polite, not weak, you Easy Bake Oven,” I growl under my breath.
Azrael barks out a laugh that’s rough, as though he doesn’t do it often. “What does that even mean?”
I give him a sickeningly sweet smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
His eyes narrow on me, his earlier mirth forgotten. “Anyone ever told you you’re infuriating?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, the warm fuzzies from standing up to him a little fading away.
I grew up being told what a frustrating disappointment I am, so that’s nothing new.
For some reason, it hurts a lot more than I expected to hear it from him.
Needing to switch the topic before Azrael realizes how much his offhand comment got to me, I ask, “How long have you been riding?”
Huffing a laugh, he turns to inspect my bike. “Longer than you’ve been alive, little bird. Why?”
My eyes widen at that. He doesn’t look that much older than me, maybe in his early thirties. Shifters age slower than humans, but I still thought he was around my age. I guess he’s quite a bit older than I had assumed.
“I’m just trying to find out how likely it is that you’ll maim or kill both of us on your fancy Italian crotch rocket.” While it’d be hard for a bike crash to kill me, it’s not impossible. I think it’s a reasonable fear to worry about riding behind a dude I barely know.
Looking over his shoulder at me, Azrael rolls his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”
It’s my turn to bark out a laugh at the absurdity of me trusting a very hostile relative stranger. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
Azrael tilts his head to the side, like he’s trying to figure me out. “Why?”
I shrug. “Because I don’t trust anyone, really.”
The only two people I trust are Charlie and Coop. Even their parents, who are more like parents to me than my own, I don’t fully trust.
His brows jump up in surprise. “No one? Not even your family?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “No, certainly not my family.” My family is the reason I have trust issues. I learned early on not to believe pretty words because they often hide the ugliest lies.
“Sounds like you need better family.” His eyes soften a fraction before he shutters his expression. If I weren’t watching him, I would’ve missed it.
“You can’t choose your family.” If I could, I sure as hell would’ve chosen differently. The only one I’d choose to be related to is Wren. My parents and brother can go fuck themselves.
“Not your blood family, no,” he concedes. “Some of us get dealt shitty hands in that regard. But you can choose who you call ‘family’ and find people who aren’t blood but would go to the ends of the earth for you.”
I wonder what Azrael’s story with his family is. I don’t know him that well, but I know him enough to be fairly certain he wouldn’t tell me even if I asked.
“I’m glad you’ve found that,” I whisper, suddenly exhausted from all the feelings he’s been dredging up. I was just trying to fix my bike, not start a therapy session with him. “Can we go now?”
His swirling gold gaze bounces between my eyes a few times before he gives me a sharp nod. Grabbing my helmet, he links our comms together without asking. I huff at his heavy-handedness but don’t say anything as I finish gearing up.
When I’m good to go, I make sure all the plastics and other random ZX-6R parts are firmly in the parking space.
I don’t bother to lock them in my apartment.
The fairings, fastenings, and tank are pretty easy to replace and a weird thing to steal.
I doubt anyone will touch them, but I won’t be heartbroken if they aren’t here when I get back.
Hopefully I won’t be gone long enough to give anyone the opportunity to steal the parts, either.