Page 13 of Shame

He holds my gaze, blinking almost comically.

“It’s paid for?” I ask again, this time more slowly because I don’t understand what’s going on.

Who the hell is Shark, and why did he pay to fix my car?

The mechanic narrows his eyes, staring at me for a moment before shoving away from the counter. He goes to a lock box by the glass door, opens it, and pulls out a key. He hands it to me as if I may bite him and says, “El carroestá pagado.”

I take the key, he puts his hands in prayer form, bows, then turns and heads back into the garage.

The car is paid for…

My car is paid for? It’s fixed, and I don’t owe any money for it.

It hits me then—who Shark is. My brain finally chills out enough to put the pieces together.

Why would he do that? Never mind the fact I just learned his name, and it’sShark. Do I want to know why that’s his name? Probably not. I’ve heard some of these bikers’ names and how they got them. They aren’t nice.

But he paid for my car, and that’s very nice. Too nice. What am I supposed to do about that?

Not wanting to talk to that mechanic again since I made a complete fool of myself, I reach over the counter to grab the notepad and a pen.

I jot down my number and add,Please give this to Shark. Thanks, Corolla Lady.

He’s likely changed his mind about wanting my number after the stuff with my dad, but I guess we’ll find out about that soon enough.

Chapter Five

Kaison

I open the tailgate of my truck and hop up, careful where I step as I move to the other end. Once I make my way there, I use my feet and my hands to push and shove and kick all the guns out of my truck and onto the ground. It ain’t quiet.

“Whoa, whoa! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sheriff stands off to the side, covering his face with his arms as if that would protect him from a blast from any of these pieces. This man’s got the brain of a jellyfish. Meaning he ain’t got one.

“Don’t worry, I emptied them all,” I say with a roll of my eyes, going back to getting these things off my truck. “Took care of the ammo myself.”

As in, I’m keeping it. I also sorted through the guns and took a few nice ones to add to my collection. Consider it tax.

“What the hell is all this? You can’t just leave this here,” Sheriff Dummer—I meanDunner—gestures to the mess I just made in front of the station.

“Actually, I can. These are all illegal weapons.” I hop down, pressing my hand to my chest. “I do not have the authority to handle these things. What if they were used in a murder?”

“And where did you get them?” he grits out, face already turning red. Every time I see the guy, he looks on the verge of having a hard attack. He pops blood pressure pills like tic-tacs.

“Found them.”

“Where?”

“I don’t have to tell you that,” I say. “All you need to know is I’m a concerned citizen who found these piled up somewhere they shouldn’t have been.”

“Concerned citizen, huh?” he says, putting his hands on hiships.

The front door of the station bursts open, and out comes the deputy, fixing his belt.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt you two?” I point between them. Now that’s an age gap if I’ve ever seen one. Dunner has got to be pushing seventy, and not in a good way, while Deputy Shaw just had his 32ndbirthday. Little baby, he is.

Sheriff Dunner looks toward the deputy, scoffs, and glares at me.

“I’m real tired of your attitude, Kaison,” Sheriff Dunner barks at me, not caring that he looks like an asshole.

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