Page 74 of That Girl is Trouble

21

16 months ago

July

“What is that?”

Kat folds her arms across her chest as she settles back against an old Chevy truck, her eyes glinting at what sits in front of me.

“This, Kitty, is one of the greatest bikes that’s ever graced this garage with its presence,” I say, shooting her a grin over my shoulder. I run a cloth over the gleaming chrome of the exhaust pipe, buffing it clean, and step back. Fucking beautiful.

Kat snorts. “Don’t let Graves hear you talking like that about a sport bike. He’s classic Harleys or death.”

She’s right. That man would consider this blasphemy, me fawning over a machine like this. But even my classic-obsessed VP might appreciate this masterpiece. They make about five of these babies a year, and they cost as much as a fucking house. Pristine black carbon fiber, sleek tires, perfect fucking curves, and a damn powerful engine. The thing is an adrenaline junkie’s wet dream, and I’ve been itching to take her out since I first laid eyes on her.

Only one problem.

She quirks a brow. “Stolen?”

Yeah. Stolen.

And not on purpose. All day, I’ve been trying to figure out how to get rid of the damn thing. That’s what I get for sending a thief out on an errand. A very legit, very legal errand. All I needed was a few parts for a bike, and it was quicker to send someone down to get them than to have them shipped up. Simple. Drive to the city, pick up the parts, drive back.

Now I got a $250,000 machine sitting in my garage and no fucking parts.

Fucking idiot. He couldn’t help it, he said. It was just sitting there.

He didn’t know what he was taking, how hard a bike like this is to move. All he saw was shining paint and a fast ride, and he swiped it the second he had the chance.

And now I have it.

I should take it out. Just once.

“How fast does it go?”

“Real fast. Thing’s barely street legal.”

Kat wets her lips, and my eyes drop to them, but her attention is on the bike. Stepping forward, she skims her fingers over the length of its body, staring at it the same way she stared up at me when she was kneeling at my feet. It’s been almost a week, and I still can’t get that image out of my damn head.

“So why are we still standing around here when we could be riding it?”

“Stolen, Kitty. Gotta have been reported by now. Not like I can switch out the licence plate and pretend it’s mine. Whoever this belongs to is missin’ it. Bad. I mean, look at the fucking thing.”

She smiles. “Come on. We can make it quick. You know you want to.”

“Wanting and doing are two different things.”

“You keep reminding me,” she mutters. “Ten minutes.”

“There’s still daylight. Only place worth riding this thing is the highway. A cop scans this plate, I’ll be getting booked for grand larceny.” Not that I’d let them catch me. Copper tags me on this thing, and I won’t be stopping.

Voice dropping, mischief playing at the edges of her smile, she says, “Only if we get caught.”

I rub my hand over my jaw and regard the machine next to me. Fuck, it’s like the damn thing is calling to me.

Ten minutes.

One ride.

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