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Is someone painting in the bay?
Why didn’t they tell me? I have the motorcycle in there!
I hurry down the stairs, praying they covered the bike I was working on yesterday, before doing whatever the fuck they’re doing.
Opening the door, I round the empty station and into the bay and my feet skid to a stop. Oh. My. God. I stare with fierce bewilderment.
The motorcycle is uncovered and the perfect art I spent all day on is distorted with a poorly drawn skull with white spray paint.
Covering my mouth, I take a step closer, my toes touching the cold concrete of the bay.
Who the fuck did this? Why would they do this?
I had everything locked, so it had to be someone with a key. Running a hand through my hair, I exhale a heavy breath, my blood boiling as I stare at the ugly paint before me. Messing with someone else’s art is like fucking with another man’s woman. It’s personal. Maybe Bugs did it because I rejected his advances? He wouldn’t have a key though, would he?
Did Thane do this trying to get back at me for my dad and brother? His coming onto me just an act?
Rushing out of the bay and into the empty station, I unlock the front door and march into the rain, cold wet pellets pound against my flesh, my feet soaked and sore as I stomp across the hard street to the shop. Jerking the door open, I hurry inside with rainwater dripping down my arms and fingertips, creating a pool around my bare feet. Thane and another guy standing behind the counter, heads snap in my direction.
“Who the fuck messed with my bike?” My voice wavers like a hostile crack of the earth’s soil during an earthquake. Wet hair hangs in my face, rain clinging to my lashes as I glare at Thane from across the room. His brows narrow, his jaw clenching as he moves around the counter.
Pointing toward my place, I lower my gaze.
“Someone came into my place last night and trashed my work! It had to be someone with a key. Was it you? Huh? Were you trying to get back at me for what my brother did?” I yell, accusing him of the attack. The three customers in the building look at me like I’m mentally ill, and just as I’m about to tell them to fuck off, Thane grabs me by the arm and pushes me outside and back out into the rain.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he snaps, getting in my face. His blue eyes clouding with a darkness more ominous than the clouds above. Jerking out of his grip, I shove him for thinking he has the right touching me.
“Someone trashed my work, it’s ruined!”
“It wasn’t me!” he shouts, both of us looking at each other in the rain. The wind shifts causing my nipples to pierce my ripped-up Nirvana shirt. I feel it, the chemistry pulling me toward him, and I hate it. I fucking loathe it more than anything in the world.
Screw this shit. I turn around and head back across the road, my feet stomping into puddles as he follows me, his blondish hair drenched in seconds. Inside the station, we both make our way to the garage, water dripping off our bodies and leaving a trail in our wake.
“See!” I point at the bike. The smell of spray paint strong and my work destroyed.
He sighs, his hand cupping his chin as he looks it over. He’s the only one with a key, he had to have done it, but the way he’s looking at it with such surprise in his eyes it has me second guessing myself.
“Does someone else have a key?”
He shakes his head. “No, none of the brothers can get in here without me unlocking it,” he mutters, dropping his hand from his chin. Crossing my arms, I try to control my temper but I’m beyond pissed. It’s going to take me all of today and half the night to fix this.
“Fix it,” Thane demands dryly. “The client is coming to get it today, so I’d get on it.”
“Excuse me?” I scoff with surprise.
He turns, those piercing blue eyes hitting me in the chest like a fucking arrow. Wet hair in his eyes, shirt clinging to his hard chest, he steps toward me but I don’t falter, I stand my ground.
“There’s no way I can get all of this—”
He grabs me by the face with one hand, making me shut up. He looks down at me with hooded eyes, the grip on my jaw pushing me to step backward until my back hits the wall behind me.
“You want to work here? Then fix it, D,” he nearly whispers, our eyes locked on one another. His thumb rubs circles just under my face, the simple touch seizing me from nailing him in the nuts with my knee. He’s hard and then he’s soft, I hate it but am drawn to it like a girl with daddy issues. Why am I so fucked up?
