11 Chapter 11

Several hours later, Riley was one of the last to leave the gaming bar. She was a night owl and loved gaming. It was rare that she got to hang out with her friends though, so when a chance like this came up, she liked to make the most of it. She waved at Lula and Roadkill as they got into a cab. Riley slid in behind the wheel of her Spitfire, having only drunk orange juice all night. She turned the key in the ignition, but nothing happened.

"Impossible," she grumbled with a frown. She kept all of her vehicles in excellent condition, but especially this one since it had belonged to her dad and it was the first car he ever gave her. There was no chance the engine wouldn't fire. She turned the key again. And again, nothing happened.

She pulled the hood release with a sigh and climbed out of the car. She was forced to use the flashlight on her phone since she hadn't parked close enough to a streetlight to be able to properly see what was going on under her hood. Frowning, she checked the battery connections, starter and distributor. But where the hell was the starter coil?

"What the fuck...?" she mumbled just as an arm snaked out around her waist, lifting her off the ground.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand slammed over her mouth, cutting off the sound. She felt herself being bent over her car and dry humped from behind. She screamed into the hand smashed against her lips and wriggled wildly.

Terror thrummed through her veins. She kicked out at the man holding her, but her Sketchers did next to nothing against the strong hold. Finally, the guy quit humping her after one last thrust, lifted her away from the car and dropped her. Riley spun around and drew her fist back in a punch when she saw who had been holding her.

"Shank!" she gasped, her face screwed up in disgust.

He grinned down at her, his crooked teeth gleaming in the dim streetlights. He was wearing baggy ripped blue jeans and a grey T-shirt that moulded to his hard, lean muscles. His head was shaved and tattoos showed on every visible part of his body, including a grinning skull plastered across his face. Most of his tats were emblazoned with gang images. He reached out to grab her again and she threw up a hand to push him away.

This was exactly why she hesitated to call on Shank. He was crazy as fuck. Everything he did was extreme, including sabotaging her car so he could sneak up on her and scare her. Then he would touch her at every opportunity. She was so going home to burn her clothes and shower after this. Which was really too bad because she was wearing her favourite pair of flower-embroidered skinny jeans.

"What the fuck did you do to my poor baby, you sick bastard?" she demanded angrily, shoving him back and stepping out of his reach.

"Oh shit, Reaper baby," he groaned when her fingers bit into the muscles of his chest. He stepped up to her car, bent over and reached into the engine. "I love it when you play rough with me. Gives me memories for the cold nights, you know?"

"You make me sick," she snarled.

"Yeah, keep talking, pretty little angel. You know I like it like that. Just gonna picture those lips wrapped around my..."

"Keep it up motherfucker and I'll cut it off."

He grinned at her, his eyes roving over her curves. She shivered and wondered if calling on Shank was just plain stupid. How did she imagine she could control this man? He was as psychotic as they came. The only reason he was still alive is he was just too mean to die. In fact, she was pretty certain he had that phrase tattooed somewhere on his body.

He dropped her hood and patted the roadster affectionately. "Good as new, angel. Now tell me what made the Reaper come calling on her favourite bro?"

Riley sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across her forehead. The damage was already done. She'd called on Shank and brought his focus back on her. For better or worse she was back in his spotlight until gang life called him back. She may as well make use of his crazy ass self.

"I'm having a problem with a guy," she mumbled.

"Yeah?" he said hopefully, cracking his knuckles. "Just point me in his direction and I'll take care of it, sweetheart. He won't be a problem for much longer. You and me? We meant to be, darling. I always knew you'd come around eventually."

He grabbed her around the waist and tried to bend her backward over the car. Riley punched him in the shoulder and wiggled out from under him. "Not a chance, Shank!"

He looked like he was going to reach for her again. She held a hand up. "No touching, dude!" she snarled. "I am not now, nor have I ever been, interested. Fuck, man. How can I be any clearer? I called you because you have a certain reputation for low down psycho shit and surviving things other people don't usually."

He dropped his hands and looked thoughtful. "Yeah, those are valid points. Though it does hurt my feelings a little that you aren't willing to consider me for more. I'd make a great husband. We both agree, I'm very durable."

Riley put her face in her hands and started laughing at the absurd thought of marriage to this man. She snapped out of it when she felt his fingers curve around her shoulders. She jumped back and threw his arms off her. "I said no touching!"

"Okay, okay!" He backed up a few steps. "So, who's the guy?"

She chewed on her lip for a few seconds and then said, "Soloman Hart."

His jaw dropped as shock registered on his pock-marked, tattooed face. A bark of laughter left his lips. "How the fuck did you get mixed up with that guy? Jesus fuck, Reaper. You want me to kill Soloman Hart? I know I'm into some insane stuff, but that's some next level shit."

"I don't want you to kill him. Well... not really. Too dangerous, for both of us," she said, glancing around the empty parking lot as though expecting Soloman's sinister frame to be standing in the shadows watching over her.

Oddly, she was more afraid of him finding her alone with another man than finding her plotting his downfall. Soloman could take care of himself. She was starting to think she was the one that couldn't take care of herself and she just hadn't known it until he came along and started breaking into her life.

"Just mess with him a little, take his attention away from me until I can think of a way to get out from under his thumb."

"Baby, it's gonna take a bomb to divert attention away from you," Shank said, laughing. "Because you da bomb. Get it?"

She rolled her eyes and walked around to the driver's side of her car. "I don't care what you do. Fuck with his business interests or whatever. Just be careful. Dude is one dangerous motherfucker."

He placed a hand over his heart. "You worried about me, angel?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but smiled. "Just don't get caught."

He nodded, his eyes dropping to her chest. "You gonna owe me for this one."

She shivered and crossed her arms. She would never in a million years give Shank what he really wanted from her. Not ever happening. "Don't worry, I can pay you."

He nodded and stalked toward his own car, a '69 Dodge Charger. How she missed that beauty in the shadows she did not know. His car was what had originally drawn them together. She'd boosted it when she was twenty-three. He'd hunted it down at her shop before she got a chance to flip it. In return for her life, she'd had to boost three more cars and give him the profits. She'd gotten to know the weird psycho and his crew in the process. He fell a little in love with her, but she was able to keep him at arm's length. Thank goodness he lived in a different county. He was one scary son-of-a-bitch when he wanted to be.