Chapter Five
After a few days of solid work, Angel’s car was nearly complete. Ethan finished attaching the battery to the new engine.
“Hey, boss. It’s ten o’clock. Is it cool if I take off?”
Ethan didn’t look up. “Yeah, you go ahead, Nathan.”
His guys had worked tirelessly all day. The others had left at six, but Nathan stayed on to help him with Angel’s car.
Nathan released his blond hair from its tie. “I’m gonna go home to grab a shower, then head over to Tidal Wave. You up for a beer?”
Ethan stepped out from beneath the hood and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. Releasing a long breath, his head fell back. He stared up at the black piping and hydraulics scattered across the ceiling and decided he could use a cold beer, several cold beers, or, better yet, whiskey. And Tidal Wave was always packed with women in skimpy skirts aching for a good time.
In that instant, amber eyes and slim, soft curves filled his thoughts, but he shook Angel from his mind. He had spent enough time thinking of her over the past few days. What was it about that girl that made her so unforgettable?
“Yeah, I could use a drink,” he said to Nathan, who was looking over Angel’s car.
“This is gonna be a record rebuild,” Nathan said approvingly. “I dig the new seats. I can’t believe she wanted to invest so much back into such a piece of junk.”
Ethan didn’t reply. He wasn’t going to tell Nathan that he had taken it upon himself to fix the car without the owner’s consent. He dropped the hood and smoothed his hand over the new paint job. He chose cherry red paint and white leather seats. He had upgraded her engine to the newest model the frame could handle. Brand new tires boasted performance alloy rims.
Yeah, she was a beauty, like her owner…
And, he did it again.
His mind had once more returned to Angel.
He raked his hand through his hair. Worrying about her was driving him crazy. He had to forget her, at least for a little while.
“I’ll meet you down there,” Ethan said, tossing the wrench he still held on top of the workbench.
“Sounds good, boss.”
Ethan crossed the garage and made his way up the stairs to his office. Once inside, he walked straight to a simple black table by the window. It was a piece from the prohibition. As he slowly opened the lid, a bottle of Johnnie Walker, the Founder’s Blend, and a set of tumblers rose to the surface. He removed the crystal decanter, poured a tumbler full and went back to his desk. Sketches from his newest motorcycle design scattered the desktop. It was for some guy in England claiming to be a lord. He certainly would need to be royalty to pay what Ethan planned to charge him. But it would be a killer bike—he was certain his best yet. Piling the plans together, he uncovered Angel’s paperwork, which he had read a dozen times.
Angel Sullivan.
Works at Bake Off Bakery and Cafe.
Lives in Dorchester.
Catching himself again, he opened one of the desk drawers and dropped her file on top of the other papers and shut her away, out of sight, out of mind. One woman had never dominated his thoughts before—and he would prove there wasn’t actually a first for everything.
He threw back the rest of the whiskey and looked through his design. As he checked over the pages, he spotted a flaw. Pouring himself another drink, he set to work fixing it.
After an hour passed, he looked up and realized the night was no longer young. Still, he had time to get cleaned up. Crossing the room, he slid open a translucent door, which was framed in cedar, and stepped into a bathroom. A spacious multi-jet shower, ideal for removing oil and the scent of exhaust, awaited him. He unzipped his jumpsuit and stepped free. Standing in just his boxer briefs, he looked down. He was hard but not just for any girl.
“Damn it,” he muttered and stepped into the shower. He washed away the sweat and grease of the day. When he was clean and dry, he dressed in jeans, steel-toe work boots, a white T-shirt, and black leather jacket. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it out. Then he made his way back through the garage and into the showroom where he kept some of his personal bikes. His most prized bikes were stored up north, but he had a few choice rides at the garage and a few more in the garage of his city house. He swung his leg over the seat, folded the kickstand up and peeled out, blending perfectly into traffic.
Narrow, winding roads were the telltale signature of Boston. The city had not been planned. It was born out of the dreams of immigrants who came by ship and rode on horseback. The city’s history surrounded him, but also its growth and progress—an expression of contrast—something he imbued in every bike he made and every canvas his brush touched. He then thought of Angel’s vulnerability and fear and her unwavering courage. It was no wonder he was drawn to her—she embodied his preferred aesthetic.
He parked his bike near Tidal Wave but on a side street. Landon Street became rowdy when the bars let out, and if he witnessed someone breathing hard on his bike in his present mood—pent up desire and mental distraction produced a lethal reaction deep inside him—he might do something he would later regret.
Up ahead, Tidal Wave’s sign undulated above the door, the letters shaped like a wave, lighting one at a time, an alluring and languid pulse. A man with broad shoulders and a shaved bald head, which glinted beneath the shifting lights, stood in front of the door, his heavily tattooed arms crossed over his beefy chest. The rest of his tattoos were hidden beneath his leather vest, but unlike his ink, his strength could not be concealed.
Ethan bypassed the line of people waiting to get into the club and walked right up to the bouncer. “Hey, Props.”
Props smiled, revealing two missing front teeth. “Good to see you, Ethan.” He stepped back and unhooked the velvet rope and motioned for Ethan to enter. “The Wave is full of biting fish tonight.”
“Hey, what the fuck, man? We’ve been waiting for two hours,” a tough voice snapped from further back in line.
Ethan froze, then turned on his heel and walked up to the man who had complained. “That’s not my problem. And it’s not his problem,” he said, motioning to Props. “You chose to wait.”
Greasy blond hair fell across one of the guy’s beady eyes that shifted back and forth between the ground and Ethan’s hard, unwavering gaze.
“Yeah…well…fuck you,” the guy spat.
Ethan thrust his arm out, stopping Props who had lunged forward. Then his eyes narrowed on the trouble maker. “Why don’t you get out of line and go home before I help my friend, Props, here, kick your sorry ass.”
The guy’s eyes widened the instant before he jumped the rope and darted down the street, disappearing behind a large group of thirty-something ladies out for a night on the town.
“Hey, Bobby, where ya goin’?” A woman cried after him.
Ethan pressed his lips in a grim line as he undid the barrier rope and motioned for the woman to step through, but he couldn’t resist grabbing her arm as she passed. “He’s an idiot, and you’ve been tricked by some asshole along the line, your father, an old boyfriend, into believing he’s the best you can do.”
Her fearful eyes warmed as they made an appreciative journey down the length of him, but Ethan released her arm and backed away, shaking his head. “I’m not the one. Trust me. You want nothing to do with me. I’m no idiot, but I’m an asshole, and that ain’t gonna change. The difference between me and that guy is that I’m not gonna lie and tell you otherwise.”
Ethan left the woman in line and strode into the club. The large room pulsed with music, muted lights, and sweaty undulating bodies.
He walked up to the bar, his blood boiling hotter than ever.
“Hey, Jacob,” he said to the bartender.
An instant later, Jacob set a shot of whiskey and the bottle in front of him.
“Saw you coming,” Jacob said.
“You seen Nathan?”
The bartender nodded. “Come and gone. You know the ladies can never resist the golden boy of motorcycles.”
Ethan smiled, then grabbed the shot and threw it back. He set the small glass down next to the bottle. “I’ll take another.”
Jacob held out his hand, which Ethan firmly shook. “I know,” Jacob said. “That’s why I’m leaving you the bottle.”
Ethan poured another and raised his glass in thanks. Then he turned and leaned his back against the bar and scanned the crowd. He saw what he wanted straightaway. She had black hair and endless legs. She wore a burgundy corset top, which whittled her waist and pushed up her creamy white breasts. He filled his shot glass, downed half, then walked right over to her and wrapped his arm around her waist. Her eyes widened in surprise, but then a sensual smile spread across her face. He gave her his glass, and she threw it back. Amber liquor dripped down her chin. He bent his head and licked the thin rivulet, drawing a low moan from her lips. Her arms came around him then, and she pressed her hips against his arousal, which was still as hard as ever.
“Hey, you want to go someplace and show me what you got in there?” she whispered in his ear.
∞∞∞
Angel left Bake Off by the back door just as a cool September breeze tunneled through the tall buildings, lifting her hair off her shoulders and soothing away some of her weariness. She breathed deep the fresh air. It was after one in the morning, and she was ready to go back home and ease into a warm, lilac and vanilla bubble bath. Briskly striding toward the small back parking lot, she suddenly stopped in her tracks.
“Damn it,” she muttered as the reality of her transportation woes came crashing down on her. The harried pace of work had allowed her to blissfully forget that she was car-less. Slumping her shoulders, she sighed and considered her options.
The subway would soon be closed and was too terrifying to even contemplate. She still had no cab fare. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and crossed to the front of Bake Off. She gave Matty a wave through the window and headed down the narrow street, which was lined with tall brick buildings. The second and third stories were expensive apartments and condos, but the first floors were reserved for businesses, fresh grocers, numerous bakeries and cafes that competed with Bake Off, and a multitude of Italian eateries. Most of the restaurants had stopped serving food for the night, but the scents of rich marinara sauce, aromatic breads, and seafood made her stomach growl.
A fifteen-minute walk later, the buzz of Landon Street reached her ears before she even stepped onto the cobblestone pedestrian way. She turned the corner and took it all in. People trickled into the streets from bars and clubs, some shuffling home, alone and defeated, others still energized for after-parties. Bands of college girls her age, girls who had families at home to pay for tuition and nag them about checking in, moved in safe groups—like the particles of an atom, connected to make an unbreakable whole. They laughed in unison as they all squeezed into the same cab. Angel imagined they were heading back to their dorm or shared apartment where they would carry on enjoying the security of each other’s company.
Angel could not help but envy girls like that. They seemed light, like an easy summer breeze or the soft spray of tropical waves. She wore life heavier, her brain anything but light. Hell, had she been more like those girls, she probably would never have seen her stepfather for what he was. She, too, would be using her daddy’s credit card to charge her latest pair of designer shoes and to buy her friends top-shelf cocktails.
She turned away from what might have been and renewed her focus on the road ahead. People who weren’t aware of their surroundings were the easiest targets for muggers. Up ahead a series of notorious frat bars were letting out. She hunkered over a little, kept her eyes down, and sped up. But then she froze. A brawl had broken out on the next block. Heart racing, she turned off down the nearest alley to bypass the mess.
She dug her hands deep in her jeans pocket and barreled down the narrow, dark street as fast as she could without running, passing dumpsters and openings to smaller alleyways. Ahead, her path narrowed and grew darker still. A chill shot up her spine. “This was a bad idea,” she whispered and turned around to go back the way she’d come, but she spotted shifting silhouettes. Sucking in a sharp breath, she stopped in her tracks. Three guys stumbled toward her.
“Where you goin’, honey?”
“Why you walkin’ so fast?”
“We just wanna talk to you.”
Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the sound of their taunts. A strangled whimper fled her lips as she turned back around and sprinted farther down the alley.