Chapter 1 Stranded in the Storm #2
The image of the stranded car refused to leave my head.
Damn it.
Maybe there was a family inside.
Maybe someone needed help.
Maybe somebody had already called for assistance.
None of those possibilities should have mattered.
Yet somehow they did.
Another mile passed.
Then another.
The storm continued raging around me.
I sighed.
"You're getting soft, Kane."
The words disappeared into the wind.
I slowed the bike and pulled onto the shoulder.
For a moment, I sat there with rain running down my jacket.
Then I turned around.
Might as well check.
If they already had help coming, I could leave.
No harm done.
The motorcycle roared as I headed back through the storm.
A few minutes later, the vehicle came into view again.
An old sedan.
Nothing fancy.
One of the hazard lights wasn't even working properly.
The car looked like it had given up on life years ago.
I pulled in behind it and killed the engine.
Silence settled immediately.
Well, as much silence as a thunderstorm allowed.
Rain hammered against the road.
Wind rattled nearby trees.
Lightning split the sky overhead.
I removed my helmet and climbed off the motorcycle.
The cold rain soaked through my clothes almost instantly.
Fantastic.
The driver's side window was fogged.
I approached cautiously.
A pale face appeared inside.
Young.
Male.
Definitely not what I'd expected.
The kid looked terrified.
I knocked lightly on the glass.
He jumped so hard I almost felt bad.
Almost.
The window lowered a few inches.
"What?" he asked.
His voice sounded strained.
Anxiety.
Fear.
Maybe both.
I looked him over quickly.
Slim build.
Soft features.
Dark hair falling across his forehead.
No visible injuries.
Good.
"You okay?"
He blinked.
Apparently that wasn't the question he'd expected.
"My car died."
"I can see that."
The kid looked momentarily offended.
Then embarrassed.
"Right."
His gaze shifted toward my motorcycle.
Then toward me.
I was used to the reaction.
Six-foot-three.
Broad shoulders.
Tattoos covering most of my visible skin.
Dark beard.
Leather jacket.
Most strangers made assumptions before I even spoke.
Sometimes those assumptions worked in my favor.
Sometimes they didn't.
Tonight the kid mostly looked nervous.
Fair enough.
Standing beside a stranded car in the middle of nowhere while talking to a heavily tattooed biker probably wasn't on his evening agenda.
"You call someone?" I asked.
His expression fell.
"My phone died."
"Roadside assistance?"
"No signal."
I glanced around.
Not surprising.
This stretch of highway was notorious for poor reception.
"Family?"
A strange look crossed his face.
Complicated.
I recognized it immediately.
Everyone had one person capable of ruining their mood with a single thought.
Apparently his was family.
"Not exactly."
I nodded.
Didn't ask further.
The storm intensified around us.
Rain poured from the sky in sheets.
The kid hugged his arms around himself.
He wasn't dressed for this weather.
Thin sweater.
Jeans.
No jacket.
No common sense.
"How long you been sitting here?"
"Maybe thirty minutes."
I swore quietly.
Thirty minutes in this storm already felt dangerous.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the road.
The kid flinched.
Interesting.
Not fear exactly.
Something deeper.
Anxiety maybe.
The kind that sat beneath your skin waiting for an excuse to surface.
I knew a little about that.
More than most people realized.
"You got somewhere safe nearby?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Friends?"
"No."
"Hotel?"
"No."
Every answer sounded more miserable than the last.
I rubbed a hand across my beard.
This was exactly why I usually avoided getting involved in other people's problems.
The moment you stopped to help, things became complicated.
And complications never traveled alone.
The kid watched me carefully.
Almost like he expected me to leave.
Maybe he should.
That was probably the smart expectation.
I looked at the storm.
Then the empty road.
Then the pale, exhausted-looking student sitting inside the dying car.
Student.
That was my guess anyway.
He had that look.
Books instead of muscles.
Too many thoughts behind his eyes.
Not enough sleep.
Definitely a student.
The practical part of me knew I should call a tow truck from town and keep moving.
The other part of me remembered what it felt like to be stranded and alone.
I hated that part.
It won arguments far too often.
"What's your name?"
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Elliot."
Of course it was something normal.
For some reason I'd expected something dramatic.
"Elliot."
He hesitated.
"You know yours?"
A laugh almost escaped me.
Almost.
"Jaxon."
The kid blinked.
Apparently that sounded exactly as intimidating as I thought it did.
Wonderful.
For a few moments neither of us spoke.
Rain continued falling around us.
Thunder echoed across the highway.
Finally, I made a decision.
One I'd probably regret.
"My garage is about twenty minutes from here."
His expression immediately became wary.
Smart kid.
"I've got a spare room upstairs."
More caution appeared.
Also smart.
"You can stay there tonight."
The silence stretched.
I could practically see him evaluating every bad horror movie he'd ever watched.
Stranger.
Middle of nowhere.
Large biker.
Isolated building.
Honestly, if he agreed immediately, I'd be concerned.
"You don't have to decide right now," I said.
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Okay."
"We can call a tow truck in the morning."
The storm chose that moment to unleash another violent crack of thunder.
Elliot visibly jumped.
Decision made.
He knew it too.
I could see it on his face.
He looked toward the empty highway.
Then toward the dead phone in his hand.
Then back at me.
"You really have a spare room?"
"Yeah."
"You aren't a serial killer?"
I stared at him.
He stared back.
For one ridiculous second neither of us moved.
Then I laughed.
Actually laughed.
A real one.
The sound surprised both of us.
"No."
"Good."
The relief on his face looked genuine.
A smile tugged briefly at his mouth.
The first one I'd seen.
It made him look younger.
Softer.
Something uncomfortable shifted in my chest.
I ignored it.
"Grab whatever you need."
He nodded quickly.
I helped him lock the vehicle before leading him toward the motorcycle.
His eyes widened.
"I'm riding with you?"
"Unless you plan on walking."
The rain immediately answered that question.
A miserable expression crossed his face.
I handed him my spare helmet from the saddlebag.
He accepted it carefully.
A few minutes later, he climbed onto the back of the bike.
Awkwardly.
Very awkwardly.
Definitely not someone who rode motorcycles often.
"Hold on."
There was a brief pause.
Then I felt tentative hands settle around my waist.
Light.
Careful.
Like he was afraid touching me too firmly might be dangerous.
The sensation caught me off guard.
I hadn't carried a passenger in years.
For a strange moment, I became aware of how small he felt behind me.
How cold his hands were.
How completely he was trusting a stranger.
The thought settled heavily in my chest.
I started the engine.
The motorcycle roared to life beneath us.
Rain continued falling.
Thunder rolled across the sky.
And with the nervous college student clinging to my back, I pointed the bike toward Kane Customs and headed home.
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