Page 9 of Property of Azrael

“Look again.”

When I do, I realize the abandoned car isn’t so abandoned after all. A dark-haired woman steps around the front end and nearly falls face-first onto the road. In frustration, she then kicks the driver’s side fender.

“Orion. Van. Let’s go see if we can help.”

HALLIE

I stareat the engine of my car, hoping and praying that Wanda will just roar back to life, because let’s be honest, I know absolutely nothing about engines. I can change my tires and check my fluids, but that’s about it for my automotive skills.

I’d called AAA as soon as I realized that nothing I could do would fix it. The operator was kind, but her news didn’t make my day any better. There’s currently a five-hour wait in this area for a tow truck. Something about a major accident and bad weather. The weather, based on the dark skies barreling their way toward me, only adds another layer of fun to this disastrous trip.

Giving up that a miracle will happen, I walk over to my door, only to trip in a small pothole on the roadway. “Shit!” I barely catch myself before I add face planting into the asphalt onto my list of shitty things that have happened to me today. Frustration and anger courses through my body, and before I can stop myself, I kick Wanda’s fender. “I should have never come on this fucking trip!”

Pain instantly takes over. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I roar. I fall backward, planting my ass against the now dented fender as I reach for my foot. I barely notice the roar of a couple of engines pulling up. Engines that belong to three men on motorcycles. I blink once, twice, trying to figure out if they’re a figment of my imagination. Maybe it wasn’t my foot that hit the fender. Maybe I did face plant after all, because the men on those motorcycles look like they were ripped from the pages of one of my books.

This has to be a dream.

“Everything okay?” the man in the front asks from his bike after he kills the engine. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone kick a fender like that before.”

“You must not know many people who have old cars,” I fire back, feeling uneasy. Kidnappings start off a lot like this. I’m a woman with a disabled car in the middle of nowhere.

The one in front dismounts. When he removes his helmet, it takes everything I have to not gape at him. His dark hair is sticking up, but it’s his face that draws me in. His eyes are a deep blue, like the darkest part of the ocean at night. Almost black. His aquiline nose complements his prominent, angular cheekbones, and he’s sporting a five-o’clock shadow. The black cut tightly wrapped across his torso. Shit. I scan the rest of his vest, looking for the tale-tell signs of his associated or his rank. There in bold letters over his left breast pocket lies the word president.

Shit. This is an MC. I’d read enough in my research to know what to look for. As if his rank isn’t enough for a cause for concern, the diamond patch above it sends a shiver down my spine. One-percenters. This is not good. Not good at all.

As soon as he walks toward me, I throw up my hand.

“You can stay right there.”

He stops in his tracks and raises his hands. “It’s okay.”

“That’s just what a roadside kidnapper would say, you know?”

The man chuckles. Peering over his shoulder to his friends, he turns back to me and says, “We’d like to help you, if that’s all right. My friend Van is a mechanic.” He tips his head toward the man standing to his left.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I lie, wringing my hands in front of me. The man notices, so I jerk them apart. I’m showing how nervous I am. Can I be any more obvious? I might as well have “Kidnap Me!” written across my forehead.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you that,” I mutter.

“I’m Azrael.”

“Because, of course, that’s your name.”

He tries to act offended, but I see the smirk on his lips. “What’s wrong with my name?”

“Nothing,” I say, rolling my eyes. Seriously? This has to be a dream, because men like him don’t exist in the real world. “Look, Azrael, I’m fine here. AAA will be here soon.”

He takes a cautious step forward, hands still in the air. The sight causes me to giggle.

“I wish I could just drive away with that assurance, miss, but I can’t leave you here with that storm bearing down on you.” He points behind me, and when I turn to look, I see how much darker the sky has become. Lightning flitters overhead like a net, followed by a heavy roll of thunder.

My stomach drops. I hate storms when I’m inside my home. The last thing I want is to be out in the open like this. And being in the middle of tornado alley doesn’t bode well, either.

Should I let this biker and his friends at least take a look? Maybe it’s something simple enough that they can patch it and I can be on my way. Far, far away from them.

“Storm warning was just issued, Az,” one of the guys warns, flashing his phone screen for Azrael to see.

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