Page 117 of What Burns Between
Tyke chuckles, straightening to his full height and making me feel every inch the petulant child I am. “Because you haven’t met Ronan. And if the rumors are true, then he’s watchin’ you. I ain’t takin’ risks on your first outing since we claimed you as ours.”
Can’t say I like it, but I get it. He wants to protect me, and when I’m riding on the back of his bike, exposed to the world around us, then this is the best he can do to staunch the potential damage.
Doesn’t make me feel any safer, though. Sure as shit doesn’t settle the heart rate, either.
“Will I have to wear it at the rally?”
He shakes his head, inky hair ruffling as he does. “Fucker wouldn’t dare show his face there.”
“None of you are wearing them,” I point out as he straddles his beast and rights the heavy machine.
“None of us have the power to put a known drug importer behind bars with our words alone.” He lifts an eyebrow.
“Really?” It seems unrealistic, considering they’re all into the same shady underground business as each other.
“Really.” He pats the seat behind him. “As much as we all know what Terry does, narcing on him only incriminates ourselves in the process. You,”— he says, wrapping a meaty hand around my leg and jerking me closer to his back—“are the only person I’m aware of who’s watched him commit murder and then managed to walk away alive.”
“Such a prestigious accolade,” I sass, wrapping my arms around his middle. “What about his henchmen? Connor? They’ve all witnessed the same shit, and they’re still breathing.”
“Yeah, but they ain’t much alive. Are they?”
“Guess not.” I nestle my head against his back, and he purrs beneath my ear. A low rumble deep in his chest that I feel right through to my core.Not now, Rae.
“You ready, baby girl?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He ignites the engine beneath us, rumbling our ride to life and coasting into the yard. Minion leads, Hammer on our tail, as we leave the gates of the Red River Reaper’s compound. My first taste of fresh air not tainted with the earthy aroma of leather or the tang of exhaust fumes in a week. I fucking revel in the present, savoring the forest tones as we whip past the turning redwoods, the musky damp dirt fading when we reach the fringes of town. The ride is over far too soon, my arms reluctant to let Tyke go, the urge to beg for more, another ten minutes, seated on the tip of my tongue.
Our trio pulls up out front of a boutique store tucked around a corner on one of the less populated streets bordering the towncenter. It’s early enough that the majority of the mom-and-pop stores in this part are closed, their security shutters pulled down, or gates locked across frosted glass doors. Cars pass by, few and far between, their drivers hunched over the wheel or cradling a steaming cup of coffee in one hand as they find their way to work.
It’s a veritable ghost town, and I get the sudden realization why Tyke didn’t feel right having me unprotected.
I find my gaze drawn to every shaded window, each darkened corner, searching for a man I know only by name and not by face. Searching for my fate.
“Come on, baby girl.” Tyke offers me his hand, head jerking toward the store.
I glance at Hammer, leaning casually against the shop window with an unlit cigarette between his lips while he watches me jitter like a goddamn June bug. Minion stands, feet wide, at the curb, shrewd gaze watching the narrow street. I feel safer knowing they’re there but also scared for them. For me. For that very real chance that someone could get hurt today.
Shit.Can I do two days on the road? Can my nervous system take the hit?
Tyke brackets me between his big body and the locked door of the shop, tugging a key from his pocket. He releases the two barrel locks, arms on either side of me to then pull the concertina-style security door to the side and press down on the door lever behind.
I’m drawn into a memory the moment the air inside the darkened store hits my nose. Seven years old all over again and walking into a saddlery with my mother to enquire about boots for the riding lessons I was gifted one Christmas. We walked back out that day with disappointment in my heart and a scowl on her face after she heard the price. Needless to say, I never sat on a horse more than the two times the voucher allowed.
I get the feeling I won’t be so disappointed today. The giant bulbs overhead flicker to life, encased in vintage-styled brass shades, positioned so they highlight the four main displays of leather goods. Jackets, saddlebags, shoes, and accessories. The store has it all, including a display of textile jackets and pants across the far left wall. But it’s the stripped motorbike showcased in the center of the store that steals my breath. No engine, no exhaust. Just a frame, handlebars, and tires, with a thin seat pan bolted in place. It’s been turned into a beautiful art piece, with aged wooden crates positioned around it for the shop to display items for sale.
“Pretty, ain’t it?” Tyke stands behind me, hand casually resting on my waist.
“It looks amazing.” The metal looks almost industrial contrasted against the polished timber floorboards.
“It was my great uncle’s bike.” He drops the information as though it’s nothing and saunters over to a rack with leather jackets in various shades of brown, black, and even cream or blush pink. “You don’t strike me as a girly girl,” he chuckles, pushing the pink jacket aside. “Or vintage classic.” The brown shades are shunted the opposite way, leaving only the blacks and greys in the middle. “Single or double-breasted?” He hoists a jacket into the air, surveying it and glancing over to me as though imagining it on me.
“Who’s shop is this?” I look around some more, noting the long counter against the back wall, knives, cigarette lighters, and various other small wares on display in the glass front.
“It’s Reaper property.” He sets the jacket on an old wooden chair and then pulls out another beautiful dark gray number. “Murmur’s old lady will be in soon to open up. Wanted to get here before anyone else so you wouldn’t feel outta place.”
My throat thickens at his thoughtfulness. I could take it as an insult, easily. Almost too easily. But I choose to take it as the compliment it is.