Page 35 of Tormented

Which is why it’s a no-brainer that I try to hide behind the machine when I spot Sawyer come through the door—I’ve got to be a hell of a hot mess.

“How’s it comin’ along?” he asks Fingers.

“Almost ready for you.” The old man runs his palm over the now smooth join. “Just needs paint, and then you’re all set.”

“What about the rest? All fixed too?”

“Yeah. Abbey’s been givin’ me a hand.” I close my eyes, hoping Sawyer takes that as past tense, not present. “How’s it lookin’, darlin’?” Fingers asks, throwing me under the bus.

“Almost done,” I call back, giving the last of the nuts a tighten before checking them all over in turn.

Thud, thud, thud.

I cringe with every fall of his boots on the concrete. Leather creaks above me, and I daren’t look up.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“It’s no secret I help Fingers out,” I mumble.

“No, it ain’t.”

I peek out from under my brow and catch his smirk as he leans over the bike to look down at me.

“But I always assumed you just sorted bolts, or wiped off the wrenches, you know?”

“No. I don’t know.” It’s one of my biggest pet hates, asshole men who assume that girls couldn’t possibly be as technically minded as males.

He straightens up, arms folded, and watches as I collect my tools and walk them back to the shadow board.

“Did you want something?” I ask, aware he’s just standing there, doing nothing but eyeing my every move.

Fingers glances up from what he’s doing, checking everything’s okay like he has hundreds of times before over the years.

“Can we talk?” Sawyer asks quietly, leaning in close enough for me to catch a whiff of his heady scent.

I breathe deep, and then answer. “No.”

He pulls back, a frown bringing his brows together. “Why not?”

“Because we don’t ‘talk,’ Sawyer. You mock me, I get angry, and then you wander off feeling better about yourself.” His gaze drops to the floor. “I just . . . I can’t be bothered with it right now.” Not when my anxiety’s already peaking at the thought of having to share a classroom with a group of complete strangers if I agree to Fingers’ plan.

“I’m not goin’ to pick on you,” Sawyer says, lifting his chin. “I swear.”

“I’ve heard that before,” I whisper, internally cursing my body for having subconsciously leant closer to his.

Fingers sets his tools down, wiping his hands off on his overalls as Sawyer looks around at him.

“Can we go somewhere private?” The quiet resonance of his words stirs an unfamiliar emotion deep in my gut.

“I’d feel more comfortable staying here.” His eyes harden as he rakes his top teeth over his bottom lip. “I don’t have secrets from Fingers,” I explain. Only things I haven’t told him yet.

Sawyer grumbles, a primal growl that originates deep in his wide chest. “Forget it.” He scowls at the two of us like a child scorned, and then storms out of the garage.

“What was that about?” Fingers asks, coming to stand beside me.

“Fucked if I’d know.”

But I don’t trust a single thing about it.