Own the Wind (Chaos, #1)(8)
Written By: Kristen Ashley
Yeah, he’d made his point.
Fuck yeah, a year ago, he’d really fucking made his point.
She got the kids strapped in and Big Petey exited the office, lumbered down the stairs, and Shy watched Pete and Tabby engage in a playful argument he couldn’t hear. Tab lost, and she faked being pissed as she handed over her keys and stomped around the car.
Pete had one child, his daughter, now under dirt. When he came back after her funeral, he was shattered. The man was not young, but after he lost his daughter and returned to the brotherhood, he looked a thousand years old.
Now, Shy saw, he was grinning as he folded his huge beer belly behind the wheel of Tab’s car and adjusted the seat.
Tab did that. Tab brought him back. Tabby put together those pieces and gave Pete something to grin about.
The Tab who looked right through Shy like he didn’t exist.
Petey pulled out and he, Tab, Rider, and Cut took off, where, Shy had no clue. Shy’d heard Cherry and Tack talking about it enough to know that Rider and Cut’s big sister doted on them and spoiled their asses rotten. So he figured ice cream, park, but whatever it was, it was filled with their sister’s love.
He watched the car until he couldn’t see it anymore.
Then he jumped off the picnic table and walked inside.
In the cool dark of the Compound, he stopped in the common room and stood, staring at the Chaos flag mounted on the wall at the back of the room.
Cool and dark while his gut still twisted and his heart burned.
He lifted his bottle and with his arm slicing through the air in a sidearm throw, he sent the bottle sailing across the room to smash in a foamy explosion of beer and brown glass on the wall opposite the door by the Club flag.
“Jesus, brother, what the fuck?” he heard rumbled from the side of the room. He turned and looked to see High sitting on a stool at the bar with Snapper behind it.
Shy didn’t answer. He prowled behind the bar and nabbed a bottle of tequila.
On his way back around the bar, heading to his room, he ordered Snapper, “Clean that shit up.”
Then he disappeared into his room.
Seven months later…
He rolled his truck to a stop behind the electric blue car on the side of the road.
Shy had gotten his first Tabby Callout in eighteen months.
She wasn’t out on the prowl.
She had a flat.
She was standing, jean-clad hips against the side of her car, thermal-covered arms crossed over the poofy vest she was wearing, low-heeled booted feet crossed at the ankles, head turned to him, eyes hidden behind a pair of mirrored, wire-rimmed shades, face vacant.
He’d seen her once since she took off with Petey and her brothers, and that was at the Chaos Christmas blowout at the Compound. He’d shown with a woman on his arm. She’d left fifteen minutes later.
That was it.
Now, as he angled out of his truck and moved toward her, she didn’t twitch. Just watched him.
When he got close, even though he hadn’t spoken a word to her since they saw each other at Fortnum’s over a year ago, she announced sharply, “I know how to change a flat, but I can’t get the lug nuts to move.”
He stopped a half a foot away from her, looked through his shades down his nose at her and growled, “I’m doin’ fuckin’ great, babe. Thanks for askin’. How the fuck are you?”
Her head jerked and her shoulders straightened like a steel rod had been jammed down her spine. “Pardon?” she asked.
“Nothin,” he muttered. “Do me a favor, step away from the car. Don’t need it sliding off the jack while I’m dealin’ with your tire because your ass is leaned into it.”
She pushed away from the car and Shy headed to the flat. She’d pulled out the spare, had the car jacked up and the lug wrench lying on the tarmac. Shy crouched to it and was grabbing the wrench when she spoke.
“Roscoe phoned. He’s ten minutes away. If this is biting into your schedule, he said he’d be able to help out.”
“Take me ten minutes. Then you can disappear again,” he muttered, putting the wrench to the nut and finding she was not wrong. Those bitches were on there tight.
Tabby fell silent. Shy worked.
He switched the tire with her spare, dumped the flat into her trunk, and was slamming it closed when he stated, “Get to the garage. You got time, now would be good. Don’t drive too far on that spare.”
“I may be a girl, but my dad’s a biker and a mechanic. I think I know enough not to ride around on a spare,” she returned. “Though,” she went on when his eyes cut to her, “you’ve given me an idea. All those silly women out there who don’t know better, I could give a helping hand, design some leaflets. Pass them out all around Denver. Explain about spare usage. How dangerous it is. I’ll be sure to put a bunch of butterflies on it and douse it with glitter so I can keep their attention while they’re reading it.”
He felt his eyes narrow as his mouth asked, “What the fuck?”
“Nothin’,” she muttered, then he felt his gut tighten when she asked, “Is a blowjob acceptable payment for a tire change or does the headboard need to rock?”
He hadn’t seen the bitch in months, he hadn’t spoken to her in over a year, what was with the fucking attitude?
He was too goddamned incensed to ask her that, all he could force out was a repeated, “What the fuck?”
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