Page 98 of Blood of Vengeance

“Hey, baby. I’m talking to you.”

“You are never allowed to fall into the trap of ‘I’ll fill up after work’ again,” I whispered to myself. I kept my eye on the screen, ready to run at any moment. Ready to swing as well, just in case he decided to make his move. Thankfully, I could still see the guy yelling at me from the corner of my eye and definitely noticed when he started walking my way. That was my cue to GTFO.

I moved as if to put the nozzle away but froze when the sound of motorcycles rolling in caught my attention. Two bikes came roaring onto the lot, both headed right at my car. One far too familiar for me not to recognize.

“Flinch,” I whispered, unable not to. Finding it impossible to hold back the name of the man who had not left my thoughts in weeks.

The man in question swung his leg over his bike, eyes meeting mine for one hot second before he turned an inferno of a glare on the guy who had made the mistake of continuing his approach toward me.

“Yo, baby?—”

“She’s not your baby.” Flinch stepped right in front of him, blocking me from view. “You’ve got three seconds to turn around and head back the way you came before I lose my temper.”

“Don’t want that,” the other biker—still sitting on his bike and looking as if this were some sort of entertaining spectacle—said with a huffed laugh. “Old boy here has a huge temper. Explosive, really. You don’t want to see him lose it.”

The catcaller slowed but did not look convinced. “I was just trying to talk to the female.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Flinch said, a definite growl to his words. A dangerous tone to his voice. “Now, go.”

I wanted to warn the poor human—to tell him how violent Flinch could be. How I had watched him shred a vampire until there was nothing but some sort of bodily fluid in a puddle at my feet. Wanted to tell him the man before him was as ruthless as they came.

I wanted to say all that in warning, but also to brag. My mate wouldn’t allow anyone else to hurt me. And he was there—right in front of me—ready to go to war again.

Why was that so…delightful?

The catcaller froze for a second then made the right decision, turning on his heel and walking away. Muttering under his breath but being smart enough not to say anything too loud. Once he was gone, Flinch turned my way, the look in his eyes one that stole my breath. That sent a spear of ice skirling down my spine. He approached me slowly, cautiously, then reached out and took the gas nozzle from my hand before leaning closer. Invading my space and drowning me in his sage and leather scent.

“Get your ass in the car.”

The brashness of his words—the anger in his voice—shocked me right out of my stupor.

“I…what?”

“I said get your ass in the car.” He paused, the moment filled with enough tension to steal my breath. “Please.”

The added please did not soften his demand.

“I was just filling up with gas.”

“I know, but that’s my job. So, get in the car.”

This time, I followed his demand, stumbling my way to the driver’s side and climbing inside. Flinch closed out my order then inserted his own credit card, putting the nozzle back in to fill up my tank the rest of the way. I watched him move, unable to see his head or even his shoulders but still enthralled by the view. Enraptured by the vision before me. Flinch had come to Detroit. He was there, pumping my gas and making demands. I had no idea how or why, but he had come to me.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Or rather, wasn’t sure what the right way was to feel about that. Because what I felt was utter joy at being in his presence again.

When the tank was full, Flinch returned the nozzle to the pump and gave me two loud thumps on the trunk, not saying a word before he returned to his bike. I started my car, assuming I was free to leave, heartbroken that he hadn’t wanted to have a conversation. But as I left the gas station, the two bikes followed me. In fact, they followed me all the way home, not letting silly things like traffic or red lights dissuade them from riding so close, I worried they might crash into me. I drove slowly, splitting my time between watching the road ahead and watching them in the rearview. Obsessed.

I pulled toward a parking spot on a street I liked about two blocks from my apartment, but Flinch rode up beside me and motioned for me to follow him. I did, one motorcycle leading and one following. He led me to the surface lot next to my apartment building and stopped on the side of the driveway, again motioning me as if to go inside. I rolled down my window and stopped beside him.

“I don’t park here.”

“You’re going to start.”

“Flinch, no. It’s twenty dollars a day.” Which was money I couldn’t spare. Never had been able to, and I had always been okay with that fact. Some things were more important than a convenient parking space. “I’m not paying for something so silly.”

“You’re right—you’re not paying for it because I bought you a monthly pass. Now park that piece of shit and get inside. It’s late, and I’ve got you.”

My temper flared, the warmth of seeing Flinch again replaced by the heat of anger directed at him.

---