Page 60 of Property of Thrasher
Right then, I handed her another mug, took my own leaned my hip into the counter beside her knee, and let myself have this moment of us.
She bumped her knee into my thigh. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, and then because I’m built wrong for lying to the right person, I added, “Everything.”
She nodded like that made sense. Maybe it did.
When she finally left, hours later, I didn’t watch her go from the window like a fool. I just stood in my doorway and waited for the sound of Tiny’s truck to fade and the quiet to come back and sit. When it did, it wasn’t empty. It was full of promise of what this could become. I let it be.
On my way to the clubhouse, I thought about the way Tiny had said it: I wanna marry Lyric. Men say a lot of words before they say the ones that count. He’d picked the ones that counted and said them straight.
I hoped he’d like the ring Melody picked. I hoped Lyric’s hand would. I hoped the men back at their old home lit their own paper on fire and choked on the smoke. And if they didn’t—well. We’d be the fucking match.
I rolled into the lot and killed the engine. Heat rose off the asphalt. Someone inside was laughing too loud. I smiled to myself, shit was good.
Too good, I should have known better.
17
THRASHER
The morning had been perfect. Clear blue skies, the sun not yet bearing down with that Carolina summer heat, engines rumbling like a thunder chorus as we lined up for the poker run. It was a charity gig, proceeds going to a kids’ burn center. Something worth showing up for.
Since this was for charity, we didn’t line up like we usually did. I fell in behind Tiny, who had Lyric perched on the back of his Harley, her hair whipping like a banner in the wind. Melody rode with me, her arms snug around my waist, head tilted slightly against my cut as though the rhythm of the bike soothed her. Couldn’t lie—it did something to me, knowing she settled in behind me so well.
We’d put in about thirty miles already, weaving through backroads, taking in the smell of pine and asphalt heating under our tires. The kind of ride that made a man feel alive.
At the front of the pack, Tiny threw up a hand, pointing two fingers before taking the left lane, signaling he was slowing for the next light. I followed, instinctively matching his movements. The intersection ahead changed to green before we came to a complete stop. We had right of way, clean as day.
One second, everything was normal. The next, a roar of an engine cut across the air, too fast, too reckless, too damn wrong. A pickup barreled from the right side, blasting through the red light like it never existed.
Time slowed.
I saw Tiny and Lyric in front of me, his head snapping toward the danger, his arm instinctively coming up as though he could shield her with nothing but his body. Her scream tore through the air, high and sharp, before the impact silenced it.
The truck plowed straight into them, steel on steel, flesh and bone caught in the middle. Tiny’s bike lifted, crumpled, and spun out like a toy in a kid’s tantrum. Lyric flew—no, fuck—she thrown like a rag doll. Her body twisting before it hit the asphalt with a sickening thud. Tiny’s body followed, skidding across pavement, cut and mangled by the unforgiving road beneath us.
“FUCK!” I roared, heart in my throat. I yanked the handlebars, jerking the bike hard left, instinct telling me if I didn’t, me and Melody were next to barrel into the truck. My Harley shook and the back tire got swirly under the sudden maneuver, tires squealing, and I knew I didn’t have control.
“Hold on!” I barked back at Melody, though there wasn’t time. I laid the bike down, steel screaming as it ground against asphalt. The force ripped us sideways, slamming my leg, my shoulder, the side of my skull against the pavement. Pain shot fire through my nerves, but adrenaline kept me moving. Melody hit the ground beside me, rolling once before she came to a stop, her helmet skidding sparks across the concrete.
Everything was chaos.
Engines braking hard behind us, brothers yelling, the screech of rubber, the wail of someone’s horn in the distance.
I scrambled up, body aching, helmet hanging loose by its strap. Melody was next to me, groaning, trying to push herself onto her hands. My gut twisted at the sight of blood smeared along her arm.
“You good, baby?” I rasped, voice hoarse. My hands were already on her, checking her over, running along her limbs like I could will her whole.
She nodded, dazed, tears clinging to her lashes. “I-I think so.”
Relief damn near buckled me, but it was short-lived. My head snapped up.
Tiny. Lyric.
I stumbled forward, ripping my helmet off and tossing it aside. Tiny lay crumpled on his side, his bike a mangled wreck a few feet away. He wasn’t moving. His chest heaved shallow, ragged breaths, blood seeping from a cut above his temple.
Lyric… fuck. She was worse. Her small frame twisted wrong, one leg bent at an angle nobody should be in. Her skin looked pale even against the blacktop, lips tinged with blue. She gasped like a fish out of water, hand weakly pawing at her stomach where blood soaked through her shirt.
