Page 29 of Throttle

With a gentle touch, he takes my hand and kisses it tenderly. “I didn’t shoot out my own tire. Honestly, it was not enjoyable.”

“They shot your tire. You were shot at?!” I smack him again. “That’s for making me worry and coming close to death. I swear to God, if you died, I would have killed you myself.”

“What?” With his wide eyes and adorable grin, my vision blurs followed by tears as I let out an embarrassing hiccup sob.

“Hey. Tequila. Come here.” When I don’t listen, he lightly tugs at my arm. “Come. Here.” I’m being dragged onto his lap, and he blankets his arms around me. “I’m okay. Promise. Sorry I made you worry. But look…” I do, but there’s so many bandages and gauze. “Just a few cuts and scrapes. Doc said I’m fine otherwise. Well, except for a broken rib.” He lifts his shirt, revealing a wrapping, and I gasp. “But it’s no big deal.”

No big deal? I understand that I've had my fair share of freaking out, so I force myself to not cry once more. He pulls me closer, allowing me to cling to him like a baby. He’s wounded and I’m the one being consoled.

The thought of him being injured terrifies me.

“I was so scared.”

“I know. Hold on,” he demands, guiding me away and delicately brushing my hair behind my ears as he wipes my tears with his thumbs. “It'll take much more than this to bring me down. Understand?”

I acknowledge with a nod, captivated by his piercing eyes that dart between mine.

“Good. Now, let’s get the hell out of here. Shall we?” He glances down at my mouth, and I suck in my bottom lip. I should leave the bed, but his touch is too amazing.

“Tequila—”

“Knock. Knock. Heard you’re ready to go home, handsome.” An older nurse enters, and I leap off his lap.

I catch him staring at me and my heart beats a little faster.

NINE

Throttle

“Fuck me.” Viewing my Harley in such disarray makes me ill.

“Oh, come on, man,” Tank reassures me. "It's not that bad." His positivity can't hide the fact that she looks terrible.

In devastation, I hold my aching rib and stare. I saved for one. My dream motorcycle. She was it. When I walked into the shop, I saw her. It felt as if I were laying eyes on Tequila for the first time. I customized the details of the way I wanted it down to the matte black and stripe of orange to represent my dirt bike.

Fucking assholes.

“The one side is completely bashed in. Paint’s ruined. Handlebars are bent,” I tell him.

With a pause, Tank scratches his beard while deep in thought. “Yeah, okay, so it’s not in the greatest shape. But we’ll chip in to make sure it gets fixed. Don’t worry, brother.”

“Thanks, man.” The appreciation for my brothers is infinite.

I am skilled at fixing motorcycles on my own. Hell, I work here at the shop when I’m not at the races or handling club business.

When the Steel Valley Chains started, Chain opened this place. Those he employed poured their heart and soul into their job. I’ve seen bikes come in at their worst, most non repairable, but they almost always leave here as good as new. When it's mine, it's a worse experience.

“Hey Hush!” Tank cups his mouth, yelling to the back, where the painting station is, and Hush walks out, lifting his mask. “You able to give Throttle’s girl here a nice paint job after we fix her?”

He observes my ride that is in ruins. “It won't be factory perfect, but I can get it close.”

“See? We will handle everything. Don’t sweat it.”

Hush has painted here for years. We had no clue he had such a secret talent hidden. And if he says he can do it, then I trust him.

I nod. “I appreciate it.”

“Go relax and call your girl. Have her take care of those wounds of yours.” Tank’s idea would be his best yet if I hadn’t put Tequila through enough worry. And not to mention…

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