Page 11 of Property of Mako
A side door was open, leading into what was obviously the garage.
The place might’ve looked abandoned from the outside, but inside it was pulsing with life and heat. Gritty rock music thumped low. Tools clattered. Grease-slicked bikers worked on machines that gleamed like chrome monsters under blacklight.
And as I stood in the doorway, they watched me.
A few stared too long—curious, wary, and maybe a little… hungry.
Though my heart hammered, I didn’t blink.
When I scanned the garage, I spotted the inked man at the far end, shirtless under a tattoo gun, silver chains glinting under industrial lights. The tattoo artist was inking something across his ribs—a new mark over old scars.
The thought of getting a tattoo in the back of a dirty, dusty motorcycle garage made my nose curl.
Boldly, I threw back my shoulders and walked straight up to him.
“Nice ink,” I said coolly, ignoring the tingle that teased between my legs at the sight of his finely sculpted torso. Pretending his beauty didn’t affect me in the least, I continued, “Shame it can’t hide the blood on your hands.”
The artist paused and glanced my way. The room stilled.
The man with the silver-gray eyes turned his head slowly, gaze narrowing, and nostrils flaring like a wolf scenting a storm wind.
My heart hammered as my resolve faltered.
“You lost, cowgirl?” he drawled as he swept his eyes over me, pausing at my faded T-shirt, and to my dismay, my nipples pebbled, then on my cowboy boots.
A shiver snuck up my spine as if the path his eyes had taken had been accompanied by the touch of his hands.
The voice was the same—deep, raspy, lethal. But this time, there was recognition behind the ice.
“I need answers,” I boldly demanded. “About what I saw. About what’s taking these girls.”
His smoky eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Not my problem.”
“It became your problem when you saved me,” I returned with a defiant lift of my chin.
After glancing at the tattoo artist who paused, he stood, towering over me, pinpoint blood beading up on his ribs. He leaned slightly closer to me, and my breath caught as my pussy literally throbbed. “I didn’t save you. I killed three threats. You were… unfortunate collateral.”
My teeth ground as I clenched my jaw against the disgust at the way my body responded to his nearness. That was followed quickly with more than just a bit of fear that shot down my spine, but I didn’t back down. There was too much at stake, and somehow, I knew this man was a key to finding the answers I so desperately needed.
“My sister’s missing. Lily. Sixteen. Blonde hair, probably wearing a flannel. You might’ve seen her picture—I have flyers all over the city. One down on the corner of this street, as a matter of fact. She looks a hell of a lot like the rest of the girls popping up missing. Now I think they are being groomed in that vampire freak show.”
At the mention of “groomed,” his jaw tensed. Something shifted in his eyes. Pain. Memory. Fury.
“Go home, Lyra.”
Surprised, I blinked. “I never told you my name.”
He didn’t reply. Those cold gray irises simply stared into me like he was reading my mind.
My bravery was fading as I forced myself to take a step closer, my shoulders drooping, softer now.
“Please. They took her. Just like they’ve taken God knows how many. And I know I’m not crazy, because I saw what chased me.” I paused, then whispered, “I saw what you are.”
A beat of silence followed. He looked down at his hands—callused, inked, and with the edges of his nails either grease or bloodstained.
“You don’t want this world,” he finally replied as he studied the ground. “It doesn’t give back what it takes. At least not the way it was. It will only break you. I’m sorry about your sister, but go back to your horses and live your life.”
“Not without my sister. Besides, I’ve already been broken,” I whispered, and my voice cracked.
