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“I’m Cross,” he told her, his tone laced with charm. “What’s your name, Beautiful?”
Chapter Two
Dana Harris sensed she was no longer alone in her father’s garage. The familiar thump of the sliding door roused her from work, alerting her to an unwelcome presence. She quickly set aside the wrench she had been using and headed toward the source of the sound.
As she made her way to the garage door, her phone chimed with a call from Mr. Graham, one of their long-standing regular customers. Dana answered, doing her best to maintain a composed voice. Deep down, though, she felt a chill of fear creeping through her.
Her father and most of their customers were always vocal and made their presence known. But this intruder, whoever it was, remained unsettlingly silent.
After ending the call, Dana hurried to her father’s desk and retrieved the gun he kept stashed in the drawer. Her fingers tightened around the cold, reassuring grip of the weapon. For a moment, she considered her options. Calling the cops or her father crossed her mind, but in her heart, she knew that both parties would be equally useless. Her father was in a meeting with Smoke, the president of the Crimson Crows. The Crows happened to be both their best and worst customers. The local police force, on the other hand, was corrupt and inefficient, leaving her with little faith in their assistance.
Ultimately, Dana decided she needed to confront this situation on her own. She knew her way around a gun, thanks to her father’s careful instruction, even though she had never fired one at another person.
Dana inched her way closer to the garage, her gun held at the ready, bracing herself for whatever lay on the other side. When she finally reached the entrance, her eyes widened in surprise as they fell upon an injured man, somewhere in his early forties. He was wedged between a blue Cadillac and a Harley, and he didn’t look so good.
Dana couldn’t shake the earlier sound of motorcycle engines she’d heard, and she hoped against hope that it had nothing to do with the injured intruder now occupying her garage. A petty thief would have been a simpler issue to deal with compared to this unknown biker.
Despite his evident injuries, the man pushed himself to his feet and flashed her a smile that sent her heart racing, despite the circumstances. With his short dark-brown hair and deep-blue eyes that seemed to see right through Dana, he was undeniably handsome, in a rugged kind of way. He stood a head taller than Dana, his body covered in muscles and tattoos. He was exactly the kind of man her mother would warn her against if she were alive.
He had the audacity to inquire about her name.
“I asked you a question,” he stated firmly when Dana remained silent.
His authoritative tone sent a shiver down her spine. Inwardly, she realized, she never had such a reaction to any man. It seemed all the men she dated so far were disappointments. Boys who pretended to know what they were doing. What would it be like to be with a man like Cross?
Reluctantly, Dana found herself offering a response. “Dana. Dana Harris,” she muttered, briefly forgetting the gravity of the situation.
He responded with a smirk, and Dana mentally berated herself. This was no time for polite introductions, and her lapse in judgment was unacceptable. She shook her head, snapping herself back to reality. Dana tightened her grip on the gun and aimed it at the man with trembling fingers.
“Now, get out of my father’s garage. I want no trouble here,” she commanded, relieved her voice sounded steady.
Cross maintained a calm and unruffled expression, as if he’d encountered countless situations where a gun was pointed at him. And, in truth, he probably had.
Dana reminded herself that she held the advantage here, and yet she felt like she was caught in a trap.
“Tell me, Dana,” Cross drawled, his voice surprisingly composed. “Have you ever shot a man with that gun?”
She swallowed hard. “No,” she admitted, her fingers tensing on the grip of the weapon. “But you’ll be the first.”
He arched an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in his gaze. “You’re not the kind of woman who would shoot an injured man, are you?”
Her irritation flared as her patience waned.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she retorted, her voice tinged with frustration.
“You’re right,” he said softly. “But believe me when I say you’ll regret this. Give me that gun.”
Arguing with this man felt pointless, and Dana knew it. He was right, and it gnawed at her conscience. Her old man might be a miserable excuse for a human being, but her mother had raised her to be a better person. She couldn’t go through with this, and Cross seemed to recognize that as well. The standoff had reached an impasse, and Dana knew it couldn’t continue indefinitely.
She decided to switch tactics, hoping to uncover more about the dangerous biker before her.
“What do the Crows want with you?” she asked, gesturing toward the patch on his jacket. “You’re not from around these parts.”
Cross met her gaze steadily. “I was betrayed,” he explained. “Believe me when I say this is the last place I want to be. I’m not a threat, Dana. It’s your call—either help me or shoot me. If you choose to help, I’ll be eternally grateful to you and won’t contact you again. I promise.”
Dana couldn’t help but feel a flicker of doubt as she gazed at the injured man before her. His words held a sincerity that gave her pause.
She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and made her choice. Dana lowered the gun but kept it within reach, unwilling to trust this man with a weapon, no matter how sincere he appeared to be. She was prepared for him to go back on his word, but Cross only regarded her with a mix of amusement and gratitude in his eyes.
