Page 3 of Her Savior Biker
And for some insane reason, that doesn’t scare me. It should, but it doesn’t.
“We’re not looking for trouble,” I say.
“Good. Neither am I.” He studies me for a long moment, those pale eyes picking apart secrets I didn’t know I was keeping. “But you found it anyway, didn’t you?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. Because he’s right, and we both know it.
He sighs, the sound heavy with something that might be regret. “How long since you ate?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Food. When did you last eat something that wasn’t from a vending machine?”
My stomach chooses that moment to clench painfully, reminding me that the sleeve of crackers I split with Aiden this afternoon was our last meal. “We’re fine.”
“Like hell you are.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing up those dark waves. “Look, lady—”
“Shannon.” The name slips out before I can stop it. “My name’s Shannon.”
Something shifts in his expression. Softens, maybe. “Shannon. I’m Reyes.” He pauses, then adds, “Most people call me Savior.”
“Savior?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice.
His mouth quirks up at one corner. “Road name. Don’t read too much into it.”
But I already am. Because standing here in this cold, abandoned place with my son sleeping behind me, this dangerous stranger is the first person in four days who’s asked if we’ve eaten. The first person who’s looked at Aiden’s cast and seen what it really is.
The first person who makes me feel like maybe we’re not completely alone.
“There’s a diner about ten miles up the road,” he says. “All-night place. They make a decent burger.”
“I can’t—” I start, then stop. Can’t afford it. Can’t trust him. Can’t risk it. Too many can’ts for one sentence.
“My treat,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “Kid needs to eat.”
“Why?” The question comes out sharper than I intended. “Why would you help us?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he’s not going to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough around the edges again.
“Because someone should have helped me once. And didn’t.”
The honesty in those words hits me like a sucker punch. This isn’t charity or pity. It’s something deeper. Something that recognizes the broken pieces in me because he’s got matching scars.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “But just food.”
His smile is slow and dangerous and does absolutely nothing to convince me this is a good idea. “Just food.”
He turns and starts walking toward the gap in the fence, expecting me to follow. And God help me, I do. I wake Aiden gently, lift him into my arms, and follow this stranger called Savior into the darkness.
“Just food,” I repeat, more to myself than to him.
“Just food,” he agrees, but there’s something in his voice that makes me think we’re both lying.
The walk to his bike feels like a mile, though it’s probably only a few hundred yards. Aiden stays sleepy and pliant in my arms, his head heavy against my shoulder. The cast makes him awkward to carry, but I manage. I’ve gotten good at managing impossible things.
“Where’s your car?” Savior asks, scanning the empty road.
“About a mile back.” The admission tastes like failure. “Overheated and just… stopped. When I lifted the hood, steam shot out and hissed like an angry snake. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about engines…” I ask biting my lip. He rides a bike, so he’s got to know something.
