Page 22 of Steel Vengeance

“You coming?”

He hesitated a moment, then climbed on behind her.

The little 50cc Honda sank under his weight but fired up without a problem. He rested his hands on her waist, feeling the dip of her curves, the way her hips flared out beneath his fingers.

Lord help him.

They chugged the four blocks to her place, and every single meter was torture. Every bump sent her sliding back against him, her ass pressing into his thighs. He prayed to God he wouldn’t pop a hard-on.

Her hair whipped in the wind, brushing softly across his face. He could have leaned back, given her some space, but he didn’t.

It had been so damn long since he’d held a woman that he’d forgotten what it felt like. Just for a moment, the anger and grief he carried with him everywhere faded, replaced by the feel of her body against his.

Desire crept in, and by the time they reached her apartment, he was uncomfortably hard. He hadn’t thought that part of him still worked.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said quickly, hopping off the back of the scooter before she even killed the ignition. Hopefully, she hadn’t noticed.

She took off her helmet and smiled, shaking her hair loose. Now that he knew how soft it was, he had this urge to bury his hands in it. What the hell was wrong with him? One ride on a moped, and this woman had him all twisted up. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. It wasn’t right.

But his body didn’t seem to agree.

“I didn’t think we were gonna make it at one point,” she said, grinning. “You’re not exactly a light passenger.”

He snorted. “These machines are built to last.”

She wheeled the scooter into an open-fronted butcher shop. “The owner lets me park it here,” she explained.

Stitch did a quick scan of the street. The butcher was busy with a customer, slicing meat. Shoppers, mostly men, moved up and down the street with purpose. A truck was parked further up, outside what looked like a hardware store.

No one was watching them. Just two locals on a bike in a busy part of town. Satisfied, he followed her inside.

Her apartment was on the second floor. The wooden staircase groaned as they climbed, passing several closed doors. The only light came from the windows on each landing, the glass long gone.

“Come on in.” She pushed the door open.

He stepped inside and went straight to the window, checking the street again. Still clear.

“Are you always this paranoid?” she asked, tossing her bag on the bed.

“Occupational hazard,” he grunted.

She smiled, and for a split second, everything felt okay. Like the world wasn’t a mess. But it was.

“I guess so. Maybe I’m not paranoid enough yet, but I’m still learning this whole undercover gig. Want some tea?”

He nodded. Tea would be perfect.

While she headed into the kitchen, he sat down at the table and looked around. This was the first time he’d seen the place in daylight. It was spacious, but empty. The bed was just a mattress on a low wooden frame. There was a small table, a couple of chairs, and a wardrobe. No pictures, no decorations. Just the essentials.

“Did Jeremy find this place?” he called. “Or did you?”

“Jeremy,” she replied over the sound of boiling water.

Definitely needed to keep an eye on that.

She came back with two cups of tea and sat across from him. The feel of her body against his was fading, and as it did, the anger resurfaced. His muscles tensed as he thought about Omari and the others.

Rasul Ghani.