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How long were we going to manage to stay in this part of the shop? I forced my gaze to skim across the room, taking in all the details I could absorb.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know much about cars. I could tell none of the three in front of me were mine, but what about that stack of parts in the corner? Had any of them come from my ride? Was there anything suspicious about the racks of tools along the back wall? Did chop shops use equipment a regular mechanic didn’t?
Okay, so I was a little out of my depth. But I did knowmycar better than any of the guys here. That had to count for something.
Logan turned toward the advancing mechanic without any sign of concern. “We’re looking for a 2006 Chevy Malibu,” he said casually. “Green. Have you had one brought in recently?”
A slight edge had crept into his voice, and he folded his arms over his chest, the substantial muscles there flexing. Even I could read the understated threat that he wasn’t going to be happy if the workers lied to him about it.
“You see a Malibu around here?” the mechanic demanded, waving his hand toward the rest of the bay.
“Maybe it’s in bits and pieces now,” Logan suggested, striding onward. The other guys moved deeper into the bay, checking out every inch of the space, so I drifted after them, my heart thumping fast.
The mechanic stomped toward them. “Get the fuck out of here!”
“Or what?” Slade drawled. “You’ll call the police on us? I’m sure youreallywant the cops poking around here.”
I didn’t know if he’d seen something to confirm that statement or was just acting on instinct, but the mechanic stiffened a bit. His face flushed with anger. I braced myself for what he’d do next—and didn’t register the rasp of footsteps behind me before it was too late.
Thick arms swung around me from behind, pinning my elbows to my sides. The smell of stale sweat washed over me as a broad body yanked me against him with a menacing guffaw. His voice came out hoarsely hostile. “Maybe they’ll listen when they know their girl will get hurt if they don’t.”
For the first instant, my body froze up. But then years of self-defense training kicked in. The Krav Maga philosophy that we’d been reminded of nearly every class flashed through my mind: when facing a potential threat, react as quickly as possible and with all the force necessary to get yourself out of the danger.
I jerked my elbows wide, hard enough to force my attacker’s grip to slide up my arms in his surprise. When he tried to tighten his hold, I jerked to the side, clenched my hand into a fist, and slammed it backward one, two, three times into his groin.
The first blow glanced off his thigh, but the second and third landed. The guy groaned and stumbled backward, and I broke from his hold, swinging around to shove him even farther away. My other hand whipped across his face, smacking into his nose just before my heel rammed into his gut.
The last move nearly screwed me over. I didn’t retract my leg quite fast enough, and the big guy managed to snatch my ankle while he clutched his groin with his other hand. He yanked, and I staggered, losing my balance. I tried to catch the back of a nearby car, but my forearm just scraped across the edge of its bumper. Pain seared through my arm.
As I hit the floor ass first, my attacker sprang at me, but I wasn’t cowed. I kicked out again and managed to jab the full force of my foot right between his legs where he was already tender.
“Fuck!” he shouted, crumpling with one hand pressed to his junk again and the other to his nose, which was dribbling blood from my previous blow.
I scrambled backward on the floor, vaguely aware of the Vigil guys rushing over around me. The whole scuffle had taken mere seconds. My gaze dropped to my arm, taking in the thin streak of blood running toward my wrist from the scrape beneath my elbow… and then I noticed a few chunks of dried reddish mud on the floor under the car I’d scratched myself on.
“Wow,” Slade said, sounding startled but also awed. Dexter was just staring at the scene. But Logan came marching past me like a tank bearing down on the guy sprawled by the far wall.
“Put your hands on her again, and you’ll face something ten times worse,” he snarled, his voice vibrating with more anger than I’d ever heard from him before. He’d pulled himself even taller, looming over my attacker with his extensive brawn on full display, what I could see of his expression taut with rage. “You’ll wish you were never fuckingborn.”
The man sputtered and then—in a spurt of bravery or stupidity, I couldn’t tell—started to pull himself to his feet, glowering up at Logan. “You’d better get out of this shop or—”
Logan pushed closer so quickly I winced in anticipation for a strike, but he didn’t lay a hand on the man. He just spoke as if through clenched teeth, menace dripping from his words. “Don’t even think about it. Or maybe do. I’d just love an excuse to see how much I can make you suffer. She’s lying on the floor bleeding, you prick. I think a little payback is in order.”
Part of me wanted to point out that technically I was sitting up, and I wasn’t actually bleeding very much, and also I’d already paid the jerk back with plenty of blows of my own. Part of me stayed frozen, struggling to process what I was seeing. I’d seen Logan pissed off, sure, but never so absolutely enraged. He sounded like he might be capable of almost anything.
It was scary… and it was also, against my will, a little thrilling. He was that furious onmybehalf, because I’d been hurt. He sounded like he was prepared to pummel this guy to oblivion to defend me. How the hell was that even possible?
How the hell could I welcome the sight?
The logical side of my brain overrode the rest. I didn’t want him getting into a fistfight over me with whatever other trouble that might bring. We were here to find my car, not to do battle—and I had reason to believe we were closer than we might have realized.
“Logan,” I said, loud and clear to make sure he heard me. “My car’s been here. The same mud—it’s on the floor where they’ve got this one jacked up now.”
Dexter knelt down beside me—checking my arm as if to confirm the scrape wasn’t that bad before turning his attention to the floor, I noticed with a twinge of gratitude. He rubbed a bit of the dried mud between his fingers. “It’s definitely the same stuff.”
Logan’s shoulders came down a smidge. He shot one last glare at my attacker and spun around to take in the rest of the space. Without another word, he was barging past the cars to a garage-style door at the back of the bay.
“Hey,” the first mechanic protested, but his voice came out so weak even I wasn’t concerned about him now.
