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“How do you even remember all this?” she murmurs, her brows furrowed as she stares down at the controls. “The first time I rode a bicycle as a kid, I mixed up the front and back brakes and went flying over the handlebars.”
“Oh yeah, you fuck up a lot when you’re learning,” I admit. “That’s why you start slow. So that when you fuck up, it’s not enough to kill you. After a while, it just becomes muscle memory. I could probably ride a bike in my sleep.”
Willow nods, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think I could ever get that good. I’d always be… at least a little afraid.”
“Nah. You’re braver than you think,” I tell her. “And all it takes is some practice. Get your body used to the bike, used to what you need to do. Your hands will pick it up. Then you have to get your hips into it.”
I demonstrate, leaning with my hips the way I would if I were directing the bike on the road.
Willow laughs, shaking her head. “What? No, you’re making that up.”
“I’m not!” I promise, laughing with her. “Remember when you were riding with me? I leaned into turns, and that’s all in the hips.”
Her cheeks flush at the memory, which makes me feel a spark of pleasure, and my cock twitches—both from remembering how she clung onto me back then and how she looks now. Her eyes are bright with interest and excitement, and it’s a damn good look on her.
So good that I can’t bring myself to look away.
“You know, you look so sweet and innocent on the outside,” I say, lowering my voice a bit as I step closer to where she’s perched on the bike. “But I still see that wild streak in you. Maybe you want to be a bad girl. Maybe that’s who you are at heart.”
Her eyes flash up to mine, and she stares at me for a long moment. I can’t quite tell what I’m seeing in their depths, and trying to pick it apart draws me in even more. Her lips part as her tongue darts out to wet them, making me want to chase it back into her mouth with my own tongue.
“I… I don’t think I know who I am inside,” she whispers. “I had a dream that—”
“That what, angel?”
She hesitates, then shakes her head, clearly deciding not to tell me. “Nothing. Thank you for the lesson.”
With that, she clambers off the bike and slips out of the garage, disappearing into the main part of our living space. I stare after her, rubbing a hand over my neck.
What the hell was that about?
I’m half tempted to go after her, curiosity burning through me. But unfortunately, I’ve got work to do. Our meeting with the Donovan gang will be happening tonight, and I need to make sure we’re ready for it.
* * *
Malice,Vic, and I meet up before Ethan Donovan and his crew arrive at our warehouse. There’s a feeling of energy buzzing between the three of us, because this negotiation could bring big things. Working with this gang would bring us into their fold and give us regular work.
That’s some job security we could desperately use while everything else is so fucking chaotic.
“This would be a good deal for us if it goes through, but remember, we’re not gonna let them short change us,” Malice says, his tattooed arms folded across his chest. “We do fucking good work, and they’ll pay for it if they want it.”
Vic nods. “Between the three of us, we can offer a quick turnaround. A few cars a week.”
“To start,” I chime in. “If we get a rhythm going and get the rest of this shit figured out, we could probably take on more.”
“Yeah, and by then we’ll be in good with them, so it should work out,” Mal agrees.
“Should we say four?” I ask him. “To start?”
“Yeah. That sounds good. Usual rates.”
“We could throw them a discount to sweeten the deal,” I suggest.
Vic shakes his head. “No. If we start doing discounts right off the bat, then they’ll expect it.”
Someone knocks on the door, interrupting our last minute huddle, and I nod to my brothers before I go to let Ethan and his men in.
Ethan Donovan is a local gang leader. His crew is fairly small, but they’re scrappy and efficient, so they’ve managed to carve out a spot for themselves in this pocket of Detroit and even expand it somewhat. Ethan has blond hair that’s buzzed close to his head, and the short blond strands glint in the light of the streetlamps as I open the door.
