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“Benchmade. Nice choice,” I nodded as I pulled upward on the handlebars.
“Thanks for noticing. Not much sense in carrying some cheap fucker from Wal-Mart. Anything worth doing is worth doing right,” she said as he bent over and reached for the handlebars.
“I agree,” I responded.
A Benchmade folding combat style knife would cost a civilian roughly three hundred dollars. When a similar but certainly less effective copy could be purchased for one tenth the cost, the few who chose to carry such a blade generally did so for a reason. A gorgeous Harley riding, tattooed, combat knife carrying woman covered in miscellaneous colors of paint and grease. If Karter was doing nothing else, she was capturing my interest.
I needed to know more.
As soon as the rear tire of the bike entered the bed of the truck, she grinned as if she wondered all along whether or not I could have actually lifted it.
“So you’re more than just big and sexy. You’re actually useful, Jak. You hold it steady, and I’ll strap it down,” she said as she straightened the handlebars.
She thinks I’m sexy.
Well, Karter, the feeling is mutual.
“Fair enough,” I chuckled.
Maybe retirement wouldn’t be so bad after all.
