Chapter 38 Cole
THIRTY-EIGHT
COLE
Every further moment with Sophie does strange things to me.
I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I don’t know who this guy is who falls asleep with her in his arms, feeling peace.
At the same time, though, I don’t allow myself to think about it.
I don’t care what happens outside this bubble we’re in.
Nor do I think about the fact that we’ll have to leave it at some point.
I don’t give a shit about anything else.
And even though I know all of this seems far too easy, I ignore that in order to feel—at least for the moment—something that comes damn close to happiness.
"How did you get the motorcycle up here?"
I follow Sophie’s curious gaze, which is directed at the Kawasaki standing in the corner of the room.
"With the freight elevator. See that wall over there?" I point at a part of the wall that consists only of white-painted plywood panels, and Sophie nods.
"Behind it is a freight elevator. The floor used to be much bigger, but I don’t need that much space, so I divided it."
Sophie gets up and walks over to my bike. "Why don’t you ride it?"
I follow her and stop next to her while she looks at the 200-hp beast.
"It has engine trouble." I shrug.
Sophie gently runs her fingers over the gray-and-black bodywork, then turns her head toward me. "Can’t you fix it?"
Sighing, I let my gaze slide over the machine. "I could."
"Then why don’t you?"
I grimace. "After the accident, I just… didn’t care."
She glances at the motorcycle before coming over to me and wrapping her arms around my waist. As I return the hug, the heaviness that had threatened to settle on my heart instantly disappears.
"Did you like riding it?" Sophie mumbles against my chest.
I give a short laugh, not missing how broken it sounds. "Fuck, yeah."
"How fast does it go?"
I don’t hide the smirk as it spreads over my lips. "Pretty damn fast. Close to 200 miles per hour."
Astonished, Sophie looks back at the bike. "How does that feel?"
How do you describe the feeling of racing across the asphalt at full speed on a Kawasaki Ninja?
"Like flying," I reply softly, hugging her a little tighter.
We remain silent for a while, each lost in our own thoughts, until Sophie slightly pulls away from me. Lowering my eyes, I look at her as she gives me a smile that almost knocks me over.
"You should fix it," she says firmly. "If it’s like flying, you should fix the motorcycle and put it back where it belongs. On the road."
Her eyes literally sparkle at her words, and I answer without even thinking about it for a split second. "You know what? I will."
She lets out a squeal of laughter as I lift her. "Really?"
"Yes," I say before I kiss her briefly but fiercely. "Right now. We’ll get the parts, and I’ll get the baby back in shape."
"Can I ride it then, too?"
I chuckle as I head for the stairs with her. "Get that idea out of your head. Fast. There are way too many reasons against it."
"Like what?" she asks, challenging me after I put her down.
"It weighs almost 500 pounds and is way too fast. You’d be a real danger to everyone on the road."
Sophie shoots me an angry glance, but I ignore it.
"Besides, you’re too small. Your feet wouldn’t even touch the ground."
I don’t let her pout get to me. Instead, I keep talking as I pick up Buster’s leash and my keys. "It’s too dangerous. I just found you, and I don’t want to lose you right away, little darling."
At my words, Sophie freezes and looks at me with wide eyes. "You don’t want to lose me?" she asks, barely audible, as if it were the only thing I said.
I walk over to her and cup her face with my hands. "No. Absolutely not." Then I kiss her as if she’s everything I need even though I have no idea how it came to this.
I don’t care that it’s all rushed and Sophie has turned my life upside down in a matter of days.
I don’t care that she’s been reported missing and that shit could hit the fan pretty fast. And I don’t care that I’m actually way too caught up in my own anger and don’t want to let anyone in, because fuck…
Sophie gets to me. She gets so goddamn close that I want to let go of the pain and the sadness.
With her, I see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, which until now had seemed only dark and endless.
I know she’s far too pure for a man like me. But still, I want to be allowed to keep her because with her, I finally feel alive again instead of just surviving.
Seven hours, three repair shops, two walks with Buster, and a visit to the supermarket later, I finally pull off the interstate to get back home. I’ve gotten all the parts I need to make the Kawasaki roadworthy again, and I’m eager to start.
Sophie sits beside me, lost in her thoughts and drinking an iced tea. "How long will it take you to fix it?"
"I don’t know. A few days?" I turn on the headlights because it’s starting to get dark.
"Can I help you with that?"
"If you want to. But it’s going to be quite a mess."
"Can I ride along when you’re done?"
I throw a glance at her, which she returns with a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. "Yes. But you’ll be wearing a helmet."
She nods with satisfaction and looks ahead again before I turn into the abandoned industrial area. As the headlights illuminate my warehouse, all my muscles tense up. Cursing, I step on the brakes and switch off the lights.
"What’s wrong?" Sophie wants to know with worry in her voice and sits up straight.
Instead of answering her, everything in me wants to smash the dashboard of my truck to pieces. "Goddamn… Fuck."
A black Escalade with tasteless gold rims is parked right in front of my door.
But even without the tasteless rims, I’d know exactly whose car that is.
There are only utilitarian pickups and SUVs or old rust buckets in this area, so there’s no question who wanted to pay me a visit and has obviously let himself in since the steel door is wide open. Steve.
I make a U-turn, drive around one of the vacant buildings, and park behind it to unfasten my seat belt and turn to Sophie, who is looking at me with her eyes widened in horror.
"You stay right here. If you even think about getting out…" Panic wants to overtake me at the thought of her and Steve running into each other again, but I wrestle it down. "Just stay in the truck."
She gazes in the direction of my place for a moment before looking at me again. "Who is that?"
I ignore her question and bring my hand to her cheek. "Did you hear what I said, Sophie?"
She flinches as my thumb strokes her delicate skin far too harshly, anger and worry rising in me.
"You stay in the truck."
Finally, she nods. I want to breathe a sigh of relief, but instead bend to her and kiss her briefly.
"Lock the doors as soon as I’m out," I instruct her after I pull away.
She nods again, the fear in her eyes not making it easier for me to leave her alone. Nevertheless, I get out and throw the door shut. Sophie does as told, reaching over and pushing the little button on the key that locks the doors. I nod to her one last time and then turn away.
When I reach the warehouse, I immediately see that the door has been forced open. I briefly wonder why he didn’t just smash one of the windows, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter.
Quietly, I walk up the stairs to the upper floor, cursing under my breath as I reach the landing.
Everything is destroyed. The sound system is just a sad pile of junk.
My flat-screen TV has a hole the size of a soup plate.
The dining table has been knocked over, and my clothes were ripped out of the lockers.
They didn’t even leave the bedding intact.
And the Kawasaki, which I was eager to repair until a few minutes ago, was knocked off its stand.
The mirrors: kicked off. The tires: slashed. The tank: dented.
I turn away and go to Sophie’s room. Her things have also been thrown out of the closet and dresser, and the small TV has simply been thrown on the floor.
It’s obvious what Steve is after. He knows damn well that I wouldn’t have given him a single fucking dime of the money he thinks I owe him. That’s probably why he waited for me to leave so he could go looking for it himself.
Since he didn’t find it up here, he must be in the basement because the first floor was empty. But the lower level with its many pipes and dark corners is actually worth a try.
I don’t know if I should be relieved that he won’t find anything there either.
Only a complete moron would keep large amounts of cash in his own house when he runs in the circles I do.
The nearly five hundred grand I’ve put aside over the years is spread over three places, so it’s safe.
But that means Steve is probably extremely pissed off by now.
I’m about to reach for the gun that should be tucked in my waistband, but my fingers grasp at nothing because all the euphoria has made me careless.
Since I’m pretty sure I won’t find any of my weapons in the locker where I keep them, I don’t bother checking.
Instead, I head back downstairs, where I finally hear them.
At least two voices reach my ears from the basement—and they don’t sound very pleased.
Anyone with common sense would probably make a run for it.
He’d get the hell out of here and just wait for Steve and his henchmen to disappear again.
But I’m not a coward, and this is my fucking house.
So I’ll be damned if I’m going to just turn tail.
This motherfucker needs to learn to stay the fuck away from me, so I’m going downstairs to make sure he gets that.