Chapter 58 Kane
KANE
{Days later}
“Ta-da!” I placed the carburetor on the oil-stained shop towel draped over our impromptu workbench. Despite being solid wood, the low coffee table creaked under the new weight. This part, pulled from the guts of my newest project car, was about to become Lucy's first real lesson.
She stood across from me, her brow furrowed, and her silver-white hair pulled up in a messy bun with wisps escaping to frame her face. Damn, she looked like every car guy’s wet dream right now. She just needed a pair of coveralls—nothing worn underneath—and a wrench in one hand.
“I like the color,” she finally said, bending over and picking up the diagram I’d printed earlier. She frowned deeper, staring at the schematics. “This,” she pushed a finger into the paper, “does not look like that.” She lifted the same finger, shoving it towards the Brawler.
“It’s not this exact model, but close enough.” I dropped to my knees beside the table, excited to bring Lucy into my world. She knelt opposite of me, looking studious.
Over the next twenty minutes, I walked her through basic features. When I’d opened the mangled race car’s hood and seen the fuchsia and chrome carb, I’d instantly known this was where I’d start with Lucy’s ‘How to be a Mechanic 101’ crash course.
"Okay, so this is the... float bowl?" Lucy asked, pointing to completely the wrong part on the diagram. She’d moved closer to me a few minutes ago. Now, our shoulders brushed, and that slight touch made it hard to focus.
I bit back a grin. "Close. That's the throttle valve. It controls the amount of air entering the carb."
Lucy sighed dramatically, pushing the paper away.
"Throttle valve, venturi tube, float chamber, choke.
.. these names might as well be drug names.
That second one sounds like something an anesthesiologist would intubate a person with during surgery.
" She made a face, then pitched her voice low, trying to sound masculine.
It did not work. “You might feel some soreness in your throat. We had to use the venturi tube when your oxygen levels plummeted.”
I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. Her frustration was adorable, her pout making my Alpha instincts stir protectively.
“Don’t laugh at me.” She scowled.
“Technically, I only smiled.”
“Same thing,” she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, clearly annoyed.
"Anyways, I'm pretty sure you're exaggerating," I teased, picking up a small component. "I feel like idle system’s a far cry from Penicillinmoxycodone."
Lucy's laughter burst through her irritation.
"That's definitely not a real drug," she said between giggles.
I shrugged, still smiling and enjoying every second of her joy. "Close enough."
The other guys had taken off for the Cirque earlier, leaving us alone in the compound.
The first performance was edging closer.
We’d been talking about whether to take Lucy to the first show.
The odds of a second tent collapse were astronomical, but having Lucy anywhere near a Big Top was fucking terrifying.
Besides, it wasn’t just splintering king poles and snapped riggings.
Now that she’d been hurt there, the amphitheater seemed to hold danger everywhere we looked.
Fire. Knives. Machinery. People. Too many damn people.
We kept having to check ourselves. Lucy had spent a lifetime protected and sequestered away from the world. If we weren’t careful, our protection would just be a new type of prison.
Lucy's scent shifted subtly as her laughter faded. “What’s on your mind?”
I blinked, our gazed colliding. I hadn’t realized I’d zoned out. But that happened easily these days, especially where Lucy’s safety was concerned.
“Thinking about the Cirque,” I said truthfully, though I probably should have pivoted away from my thoughts.
Her face lit up, the way it always did when Cirque du Sang came up. “I can’t wait to go back.”
“I know,” I breathed out. “But right now, you’ve got a carburetor to fix.” The change of subject worked only because Lucy let it.
She sighed and pulled the diagram closer again, studying it with renewed focus. "Okay, start at the beginning. I swear I'll pay attention this time." She cocked a half smile, nudging her elbow into me, then added, “Probably.”
Damn, she was impossibly cute when she tried to be serious about something.
Another strand of hair escaped the bun as she stared down at the paper.
It settled right between her eyebrows. I had to physically restrain myself from reaching up to brush it away.
Instead, I focused on the carburetor, pointing out components with a grease-stained finger.
"So, the carb’s main function is to regulate the air and fuel mixture," I explained, tracing over the manifold vacuum. "Too much air and too little fuel makes your engine run lean. Too little air and too much fuel, engine’s gonna flood."
Lucy nodded, her bright green eyes tracking my movements. Was she understanding?
She scrunched up her mouth, looking thoughtful, then spoke. “Gotcha. We don’t want too much air or too little air. Or too much fuel or too little fuel. It’s got to be just right. A carburetor is the Goldilocks part.”
I cocked my head, confused. “Goldilocks?”
She gave me a confident nod. “Goldilocks broke into the bear’s house. She tried their porridge, sat in their chairs, even slept in their beds. Everything had to be just right, or she didn’t like it.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “That works, if Goldilocks passes out when the porridge is too hot.”
“One bite and she’s dead to the world,” Lucy agreed.
I shook my head, chuckling. “Now, fuel enters the float chamber, and a buoy apparatus inside controls its level. From there, the mixture needle controls fuel going into the discharge nozzle. Air comes in through here—” I tilted the carb, pointing underneath— “and the venturi tube creates a low-pressure area in a second chamber above the air intake. The discharge nozzle I mentioned forces the fuel to that. The last thing that happens is the throttle valve controlling the precise output of air and gas.”
Lucy sighed, standing up and stretching. She walked over to the mantle where she’d left her bottle of water, taking a quick sip before turning around. “You lost me, Kane.”
“At what part?” I rocked back on my heels, ready to rewind and start over.
Again, she tried, and failed, to make her voice sound deeper. I found out seconds later that she was trying to imitate me. “Now, fuel enters the float chamber, and a buoy apparatus inside controls its level,” she repeated.
“Perfect recall,” I grinned, “I'm gonna make a mechanic of you yet.”
"How about I just be the cute assistant that confuses wrenches with screwdrivers?" she suggested playfully.
Need shot down to my dick, making it jump in anticipation.
The idea of Lucy with grease under her nails, her skin glistening with sweat as she handed me tools, was enough to get me going.
I made a mental note to order her a sexy pair of overalls.
Also, maybe a set of steel toed boots for the next time we visited Otto’s.
I couldn't stop myself. I crawled on my knees over to where she stood, wrapping my arms around her legs and tugging her gently toward me.
She grabbed my shoulders to steady herself, her pupils dilating as our eyes met.
Her body heat radiated through the thin fabric of her jeans, and I fought the urge to press my face against her thighs.
Instead, I skimmed my hands down the backs of her thighs, her knees, her calves, eventually wrapping my fingers around her ankles.
She looked down, I looked up, and electricity passed through the air between us.
The DemonX compound fell away, leaving just her mesmerizing forest eyes. Her scent changed, growing sweeter, headier. It was amazing how her emotions shifted the notes of her Omega perfume. My Alpha cologne responded in kind, growing thicker and spicier, weaving itself into the sugared air.
"At the very least," I said, my voice rough with desire I couldn’t mask, "I'll make sure you recognize which tool's the right one for screwing."
The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to snatch them back.
Too much, too soon? But then Lucy bit her lower lip, pink flooding into her alabaster cheeks.
Waves of hot, insatiable need rolled off her body, unmistakable to my Alpha senses.
I tensed, knowing I had to be careful. One wrong move now, and I’d take what hadn’t been explicitly offered.
I'd smelled her arousal before, of course. Living with five Alphas meant she was constantly surrounded by pheromones that would affect any Omega. But this was different. Her body came alive for me in this moment. Only for me.
The carburetor sat forgotten on the table, the lesson abandoned. All that mattered was Lucy's steady pulse beneath my fingers where they circled her ankles, and the way her breath caught when my thumbs traced small circles on her skin.
I cleared my throat first. I broke the spell before it broke me.
“Carb’s not gonna fix itself,” I breathed out, the words wanting to stick in my throat, so I didn’t speak them aloud.
“You sure?” she asked pointedly.
“Yes, unfortunately.”
It took all my willpower to let go of Lucy.
Maybe it was my imagination, but the look on her face seemed to say that she’d be okay with me holding on forever.
Hours later, the carburetor lay in scattered pieces, no closer to being rebuilt than when we'd started. In fact, it was further away from functional than ever.
Lucy was slumped against the coffee table, one arm bent so her hand could cradle her head.
She was staring at the disassembled carburetor.
The tank top she wore had slipped down one shoulder, exposing the delicate ridge of her collarbone.
But it was a smudge of grease on her porcelain cheek that nearly knocked me sideways. I couldn’t rip my gaze away from it.
I'd imagined this exact moment a hundred times. Lucy, at home among the tools and parts that were so integral to my life. Not sick, not fragile. More importantly, not scared of me and my brothers. Now, it was happening, and the reality of it hit me harder than any stunt crash ever had.
Almost without thinking, I reached over, my calloused thumb swiping down the dark mark on her cheek. Lucy stiffened for a heartbeat, then softened. She sat up and leaned into my touch, eyes widening as she watched me.
"I still don't know which tool's the one for screwing," she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
My eyes widened as her words registered. Brave little Omega, tempting me when I was trying so hard to resist my Alpha urges. The guys were still at the Cirque. We had the compound to ourselves. This was dangerous.
"Long," I teased, letting my voice drop lower, watching her pupils dilate in response.
"Got a handle. Comes in a variety of head shapes.
" My thumb traveled from her cheek, trailing down her chin and neck, skating across her exposed clavicle before I forced myself to pull away.
My fingers tingled with heat from touching her.
"Sounds easy enough to recognize," she breathed out.
Once again, our unique scents clouded the air, weaving together. The combination was potent and triggering. It made me want to claim, to mark, to possess.
But she wasn't just mine. When we crossed that line—that beautiful fucking line—we’d do so as a pack.
Still, I wondered how mad my brothers would be if I leaned over right now and kissed Lucy.
Would they smell me on her when they returned?
Would they understand that I couldn't help myself? Had any of them given in to these feelings yet, or would I be the first? Fallon had come out of her room the other morning, swearing he’d only slept next to her and not under the covers.
I found that hard to believe. How could anyone sleep next to this gorgeous woman and not want to possess her mind, body, and soul?
Before I could resolve my internal battle, Lucy saved me the trouble. She rose up on her knees, wrapped her slender arms around my neck, and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. The touch of her lips against my skin scorched, as if she’d left a permanent brand.
When she pulled away, her green eyes sparkled with mischief.
"You kissed me," I said stupidly, my brain short-circuiting like bad wiring in a beat-up car.
"I did," she nodded slowly, a small smile playing at her lips. "I don't need a diagram for that."
I stared at her, my heart beating sluggishly, like the world had switched to slow motion. The Alpha in me howled, tortured by want and need.
"Let them be mad," I breathed out, surprising myself.
Lucy looked confused, her brow furrowing slightly. "What do you—"
She didn't have time to finish her question.
I pulled her tightly to me, one hand curling around the back of her neck, the other flattened against her lower back.
I pressed my lips to hers, gentle yet firm.
I didn't take things too far. I let my mouth linger for several heartbeats, savoring the way we fit together.
When I pulled back, her eyes were wide, her breath coming in short gasps that matched my own.
"There's nothing about you that needs fixing, Lucy," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I hope you know that."
I said it so abruptly, so out of context with our carburetor lesson, that Lucy looked almost stricken. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. For a moment, I worried my words had hurt her.
But then she reached up, her cool fingers cupping my face.
"Ditto," she whispered. The single word seemed to echo around us.
I knew the guys might be pissed I kissed her, but I hadn’t broken our deal to let Lucy make the first move.
My cheek still tingled where her lips had pressed.
And I had zero regrets.