Page 15 of Bullet

Luckily, she hadn't made it far. I pulled up next to the sidewalk. She glanced at me, then did a double take. “What the fuck do you want?”

She didn't stop walking. I followed, irritated by her bullheadedness. “You want a ride or not?”

She flipped me the bird, walking faster. “Fuck you, Ford!”

I couldn't help but laugh. She was feisty. Stubborn as all hell, but feisty. “Get on the fucking bike, kitten. It's over a hundred degrees out, and you have at least five miles to go.”

Dixyn finally stopped, tapping her foot with a huff. After a few seconds, she got on the bike behind me. “I fucking hate you,” she grumbled as she wrapped her arms around me to hold on.

I smirked. That wasn't the first time a woman had said that to me.

When we got back to the bar, Dixyn hopped off the bike before I'd even stopped. I chuckled as she stormed over to a cherry red 1978 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am.

That can't be her car.

When she opened the passenger door and threw her shit in before slamming it, my dick throbbed. A car like that gave me a hard-on. The fact that Dixyn drove it made her even hotter.

“That's your car?”

She stopped, looking at me incredulously. “What the fuck does it look like?”

I killed the bike and got off. I walked over, slowly appraising the beautiful piece of machinery with a whistle. Dixyn got in the driver's side and tried to start the car, but the engine wouldn't turn over.

“Oh my God, this is not happening!” she yelled as she tried to start the car again. The engine roared to life, but smoke almost immediately started billowing from under the hood before the car died.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Dixyn cursed, pounding the steering wheel with each word. “Don't do this to me. You're all I have left of him.”

I didn't have to be a genius to know what she was talking about. The Firebird was Blackhawk's.

She got out of the car and threw her long hair up in a bun before popping the hood.

“Here, let me help you,” I offered, approaching her.

“Don't bother. I can handle it,” she spat as she went to the trunk and opened it. She came back with a dirty rag and a bottle of coolant. She shot me a glare. “You can go now. I don't want to burden you anymore.”

“Look, kitten, I—”

She cut me off, seething, “Don't call me kitten.”

“Fine. Dixyn,” I corrected, putting emphasis on her name. “I'm a mechanic. Why don't you let me take a look?”

“I know what I'm doing.” She bent over the engine, using the rag to unscrew the radiator cap. “This isn't the first time she's overheated on me. I just have to—”

She yelped in pain before cursing, pulling her hand back and cradling it with the other. “Fuck!” she hissed in pain. “Can this fucking day get any worse?”

Then she started to cry. Crying women always made me uncomfortable, and I hated it.

I placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “Look, I'll call one of my guys to come tow the car back to the shop, and I'll take a look at it. I'll get her all fixed up, and she'll be good as new.”

Dixyn looked up at me with tear-stained cheeks. Her makeup from last night was smudged around her eyes, and she looked like hell, but she was still the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on. “I can't lose that car. She's all I have left of him.”

Her bottom lip trembled, and I couldn't stop myself from running my thumb over it. A vulnerable beauty was my kryptonite. “I'll fix her, kitten. I promise.”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Okay.”

I called Kojack to send one of the prospects with the tow truck to pick up Dixyn's car. We followed it back to the shop on my bike, and when we entered, all eyes were on us.

I knew the guys were probably wondering what the hell I was doing with Apache's daughter, and I was not in the mood. “What the fuck y'all looking at? Get back to work!”

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