Page 189 of Repairing the Wreckage

I curl one arm back, keeping her behind me.

“You realize this is Lost Kings MC territory, right?” There’s a fifty-fifty chance that’s enough to scare him away.

He twitches and glances over his shoulder. My stomach drops with every jerky movement he makes while he’s holding that gun. “So what? No it’s not. They don’t run this far west.”

“Yeah, they do,” I say with exaggerated patience. “And my club’s under their protection.” We haven’t quite formed the club, yet, but Greasy doesn’t need to know that. Anything to get him and his gun away from Molly and me.

“That ain’t got nothing to do with me. Or our business.”

Fighting the urge to take Molly’s hand and run outside, I keep slowly backing us farther into the garage. Lots of tools that could be used as weapons are only a few feet away. If only I hadn’t put everything back as soon as we finished.

“Do you have me confused with someone else?” I ask.

“Don’t think so.” He takes a few steps closer.

Are we being pranked? This lowlife has his hair slicked back with so much gel—or grease—and twitches so often, he’s a living, breathing caricature of every strung-out junkie who ever robbed a liquor store on a cop drama.

Those jerky movements are a problem. One wrong twitch and he could accidentally blow a hole through Molly or me. Slow as possible, I hold my arms out in front of me, to show him I have no weapons and ease my body fully in front of Molly’s. She curls her hands into the back of my shirt, her warmth and fear soaking into my skin.

“Where’s she goin’?” he shouts. “Hey, stay put, bitch.”

I grind my teeth. “She’s got nothing to do with this.” Neither do I, but that’s beside the point. “And the way you’re waving that gun around’s making me nervous.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. You want to play human bullet vest for your little sweetie?” He licks his slimy lips and leans sideways, trying to look at Molly. “I get it. She’s a pretty one.”

Black dread expands in my stomach. But I keep my face blank. He’ll have to put every single one of those bullets in me to get to Molly.

“Just take it easy and tell me what you want,” I say, keeping my voice calm and even.

“Fine,” he spits. “She can stay back there. But I want to see her hands.”

Molly rests both of her hands at my waist, then flashes her palms at him.

“Good.” Greasy paces backward and rubs the barrel of the gun across his forehead. If he does that again, I might have time to take him to the ground before he gets off a shot.

No. My gaze pings around the garage. It’s too tight in here. A bullet could ricochet and hit Molly. I can’t risk that.

He’s so careless, maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll accidentally shoot himself.

“Look,” I say, a hell of a lot calmer than I feel. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll see if I can help you.”

Get him talking. Divert his attention. Grab that fucking gun. If I was the only one here, that’s what I would’ve done by now.

“You’re Griffin, right?” He runs his beady eyes up and down me. “Christ, she wasn’t kiddin’. You’re a big dude.” He lets out an unhinged cackle and waves the gun at me.

“She? Who?” As soon as I ask, my blood runs cold.

Tanya Royal. Who the fuck else but my junkie mother would bring this craziness into my life?

I’m shocked it’s taken this long for one of her dealers to show up looking for money. Maybe her lowlife friends don’t watch reality TV. I haven’t spent a lot of time worrying about it but in the back of my mind, I’ve been waiting for the day when she—or someone she owes—shows up looking for money.

I guess that day is today.

“Your mother skipped town.” He tsks at me like a cartoon gangster. “She owes some people money.”

Of course she does.

“She says she’s clean now,” he adds.

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