by Leslie North
Holy crap. Her steel-toed boots faltered, and she barely remembered how to shut a door.
Chance stood in front of a panel delivery van in only half his charcoal coveralls. Above the sleeves tied together at his waist, he now sported a grease-stained white tank glued to his chest thanks to the scorching weather beyond the opened bay doors. Glistening sweat soaked every visible inch of his tanned skin like baby oil on a cover model. Only Chance was a much hotter, more lethal, more badass model with scars. Sexy scars that silently told a story about what he’d endured to defend this country.
Ovary. Explosion. She licked at the drool crowding the corner of her mouth. Again. For the past five days he tortured her with that body. And that sculpted, scruffy face. And that tousled, overgrown hair.
He marched to the air compressor in his own steel-toed boots and flipped the unit on. Grabbing an impact gun, he pulled the long black tubing from the back wall to the van’s engine.
“Hi, Chance,” a cutesy feminine voice chimed from just outside.
Mandy gritted her teeth at the perfectly made-up, college-aged woman lingering in a pair of skimpy shorts, a barely there tank top, and high wedge sandals.
“Vanessa,” Chance’s baritone rumbled, hitting Mandy deep in places she didn’t want tingling.
Vanessa giggled and swished her blonde hair over her shoulder. “See?” She pointed to the Kia Sorento in the center bay. “I brought my car in for service just like you told me the other night.”
Mandy rolled her eyes. No, really? Did you think he missed the large vehicle?
“Good job,” he responded. Mandy wanted to gag. “You should head in where it’s cool. Mandy will have you all done in no time.” He pulled the trigger on the air gun twice, letting out high-pitched whirs, then leaned over the van’s engine, ending the discussion.
Mandy stomped to the Kia, waiting on an oil change and tune-up. Growing up with just her father and the garage, Mandy had never learned how to be ultra-feminine or girly. Her mother ran off when she was six years old, leaving her without a female role model to teach her the subtle art of makeup, fashion, and flirting with boys. With her father fully in charge, she’d been elbow deep in engines before she’d learned how to add or write, and she’d never felt lacking. Until now.
It’d take an idiot to miss the way women like Vanessa had started loitering in the waiting room with their noses plastered against the observation window ever since Chance’s arrival. Females from all over—married or not—suddenly needed the stupidest shit done on their cars. Like she wasn’t already backed up before the influx.
Raising the silver hood, she glared at the engine probably built in West Point, Georgia, but felt no state pride. The women parading through the shop were put together perfectly and beautiful while Mandy looked like a greasy train wreck most of the time.
The air wrench pierced the garage with its whirring and Mandy slid her eyes to the right. Chance’s forearms corded, rippling the sheen of hair lighter than on his head as he worked on a bolt. Not once when they were together in high school had he made her feel less than or inadequate, but she no longer knew his tastes. Did he prefer feminine Barbie-bots now? Did he date or just have one-night stands? Had he hooked up with anyone since he got back home—
Nope. She cut the vicious thought off before it dropped her into a dark hole of jealousy she had no right to be feeling. Her dream had always been to take over the garage and marry Chance. After he left, her goals remained similar, but a faceless man took his place. Having Chance not only back in her life, but back in the garage, tore at her heart and made her long-ago dream bubble up and whisper furtively. To make it even harder, working side by side for hours and hours, day after day, they had recaptured their old camaraderie. Rousing debates over the best cars ever made, all-time top ten movies, sports predictions for pretty much any team, even dog preferences filled the garage. They joked, hassled, and teased over everything like they hadn’t lost twelve years. It was awesome and alarming. Nostalgia definitely played a huge role in her looking forward to opening the garage every day—and she had to admit, drooling over him, too—but she had to be careful not to mistake it for love.
An unspoken rule had emerged, and they steered clear of anything to do with their breakup, but other than that, all topics were fair game. More than once, Chance referenced how he wasn’t sure if he was staying in Springwell once he and his brothers decided on what to do with the house. On one hand, she prayed he’d pack his things tonight and catch up to Harris and Lee on their road trip across America, then settle down…wherever. That would put him beyond Walter’s notice and drastically reduce the possibility of Chance learning about her being responsible for her father’s debt.
Her heart thumped at the wish for him to go as if to flip her mind off. The organ refused to learn it could not love this man. It didn’t matter how loudly her brain shouted that he’d abandoned her once, and he’d do it again.
Would he?
The insidious words breathed in the back of her mind and she snuck another peek at him. A new intensity surrounded him, making her notice how much he’d changed. He’d matured in ways beyond just physical superiority. Traits like intelligence and dedication still remained, but the anger that used to fill him was gone. More than once over the past five days, she’d found herself hustling to intercede when one of the bullies Chance had stood up to in high school attempted to goad him with old stories about his fighting, only to back off when he quietly and courteously shut the vitriol down.
“Hot summer sale!” an obnoxious commercial for a used car dealership in the next county cut through her endless musings.
“You hear from Harris or Lee yet?” Mandy asked, needing a break from herself. The two McCallister brothers had left three days ago, early Tuesday, for their road trip west to Vegas in the Shelby Mustang.
Chance placed the impact gun on top of the battery and straightened. “A quick call and some texts. They lived it up in Nashville for three nights. Today, they should be in Memphis to see Graceland.” He grabbed a once-purple rag hanging out of his back pocket and wiped his hands. “I’ll be honest. I’m having second thoughts about some of those reproduction parts I installed.” He swiped his forehead against his muscular shoulder but the movement only swished the sweat around. “I don’t think they’re as reliable as the company claims.”
Mandy snorted. “Probably right.” Surreptitiously, she eyed the black tattoo of a bone frog crawling up his upper bicep to the top of his shoulder. The first time she saw it, her jaw had dropped at him having ink, but she’d managed to bite her tongue. Later that evening, she’d looked it up on the Internet, then hugged her pillow all night. It signified a memorial for a fallen SEAL, possibly more than one. She ached to ask him about it, but sensed the question wouldn’t be welcome. “Your brothers are tough and military trained. They’ll work it out if the car breaks down.”
“True.” He shoved the rag back into his pocket, then started cleaning up the tools littering his area.
Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Mandy’s attention, and she snapped her head forward. A wisp of black material—the back of a suit coat—disappeared around a maroon minivan then its owner popped back into focus on its other side. Her stomach plunged, and she dropped the replacement air filter on top of the radiator.
Jerking upright, she cleared her throat. “I’ve, um, gotta…” She jabbed a thumb at the waiting room. “Bathroom.”
Chance nodded distractedly, still winding the black air tubing up.
Mandy hustled into the waiting room and curled her lips over her teeth. Two women, Vanessa and another, tittered in front of the observation window. They’d be witnesses to her hell if Walter stepped inside.
Slapping a key on the register, she yanked cash out of the opened drawer. Damn Walter and his unpredictable appearances. Sometimes he texted, but most times he just showed up. If she could trust leaving cash in the garage overnight she wouldn’t always have to scramble. He did it as a
retaliation for her refusing his asinine request in the beginning to put him on her business account at the bank. Like she’d ever be stupid enough to allow him that level of access to her life.
She counted the stack as fast as she could below the counter and cursed him again. She’d have to give him all of it, but that left her with nothing to provide change to a customer if needed.
Chance moved back into her line of sight and she slammed the drawer closed. Screw it. She had to get Walter out of here before Chance saw him. She only had a few hours left before closing, maybe she’d get lucky and everyone would whip out credit cards.
Swallowing her heart pounding in her throat, she shoved the cash into her coveralls’ pocket and jogged out the main door. Sunlight blinded her, and she squinted, swiveling her head left, then right, looking for—
“Over here.”
Clomping to the side of the garage, she found Walter leaning a suit-clad shoulder against the cement blocks. On the other side of the one-way street, Brinks Hardware occupied a brick and siding building, but had no windows facing their position.
“Here.” Mandy thrust the cash at him, needing him gone.
Walter lazily grasped the stack and made a production out of counting it.
“It’s all there,” she huffed, squaring her body to block anyone passing on the street from seeing them.
“Hmmmmm,” Walter drew out as he tucked the bills inside his suit coat. “No, it’s not.”
Every muscle in Mandy’s body stiffened. “Yes, it is.”
Walter shook his head and grinned.
A shiver rocked down her spine at the lecherous glint in his irises.
“This is only half.” Walter patted the cash.
“No.” Mandy steeled her spine. “It’s the rest of what I owe you from last week.”
“Now, see…” Walter unfurled his position and stepped forward. “That’s where you’re mistaken.” He clamped onto one of her riotous curls and wound it around his finger as if he had the right to touch her. “Last week wasn’t a payment.”
“Yes, it was—”
He took another step forward, forcing her to move back. “No.” He moved again, and she dodged only to ram into the side of the garage with her shoulder blades. “The money you gave me last week was for an extension—it only bought you time. You still owe the full payment.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Mandy started to push forward but stopped when his grin widened and he crowded deeper into her space.
“Oh, by all means,” he leered only inches from her face. “We can seal a new bargain with a kiss. You come willingly to my bed and I’ll help you with your debt.”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she gritted, trying not to vomit at his spearmint breath gagging her.
“I’d advise you rethink your options,” Walter tusked. “How long do you—”
Like an avenging angel appearing from nowhere, Chance grabbed Walter and slammed him against the wall with his forearm across the collector’s throat.
“Chance, no,” Mandy yelped, scrabbling to pull him off. “Leave him alone.”
“What the fuck do you mean?” Chance growled, not taking his eyes off Walter, whose face was turning red. “He was all over you.”
“I’ve got business with Mandy,” Walter choked, pushing against Chance’s chest futilely. “And she wasn’t telling me to move. You need to mind your own if you know what’s good for you.”
Mandy pulled on Chance’s granite bicep. “Let him go.”
He didn’t budge.
Glaring at Chance to hide the level of panic pulsing in her blood, she tugged again. “Please, Chance. Go inside.”
For an eternity, Chance held her gaze hostage. No delicious sparks or flashes of sex raged this time. Instead, he probed and searched for a reason why she’d let a weasel like Walter manhandle her.
She had no ready response to give him especially with Walter watching them with growing speculation. She did not like the calculation burning brighter in the collector’s eyes.
Chance lifted his hands and stormed off, his heavy tread pounding the pavement.
Walter jerked upright and yanked his suit back into place. Malice poured out of him. Whatever he was about to say, Mandy was sure it was nothing she’d want to hear.
“You’ve got your money,” she snapped, scraping her hair back with shaking hands. “Get out of here.” Pivoting, she raced after Chance.
The bell rung, announcing her presence and it took everything she had not to react to Chance closing the now empty cash drawer. The two female customers stopped shuffling, sensing the tension rising in the air.
Chance jerked his expressionless face toward the garage, then wordlessly opened the door for her to enter before him.
Damn. Damn. Damn. The second he closed the door she whirled, but he gripped her elbow and yanked her out of view of all the windows and opened bays. Metal shelving bit into her side as he tucked her between a rack and the corner.
“Who the fuck is he?” Chance snarled, crowding into her space like Walter had, though she had no urge to retch this time. As angry as Chance sounded, she wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t backed her into a corner to scare or intimidate her, but rather to protect her from being seen by anyone coming by. Even in this, he was a protector. “Why is all the cash missing from the register? What’s going on?”
At her continued silence, he leaned closer. “I’ve seen you nail punks like him in the groin.” His breath punctuated the words like little punches, especially since he wasn’t wrong. “This is the second time you’ve let him close while you’re clearly repulsed.”
“I can’t…” Mandy bit her tongue against the war raging inside. Keeping her mouth shut shielded Chance and prevented him from getting sucked into this hell. Logic countered with the argument that by keeping him in the dark, he’d be vulnerable to retaliation—he wouldn’t even see it coming. If Walter made the decision, he wouldn’t stop until he destroyed Chance, either on his own or with an army of thugs. Chance had retired to get away from lowlifes and evil men, he deserved peace.
Chance shifted. “You’re in trouble—”
“I…I can’t talk about it.” Bile shot up her throat at not denying his statement like she should have. “I’m asking you to leave it alone. Please.” Mandy squirmed to escape the tight space. “Can you close that one out and pull the next vehicle in?” She pointed at the van in the last bay, doing her damnedest to stop the trembling overtaking her body. “Your fan club in the waiting room has waited long enough.”
Shutters slammed over Chance’s expression. Executing a pivot a drill sergeant would be proud of, he strode to the van. The sudden calm surrounding him and the lack of sound in his steps rose the hair on her arms and slammed home she could not treat him like the boy she once knew. He had a whole depth to him she didn’t know about. He could probably survive Walter…if he knew what he was up against.
But to what end could she confide in him? If she let him in, trusted him with the burden, he’d want to help, but what could he do? He couldn’t pay off the debt—not that she’d let him try—nor could he fight an entire bookie’s organization. So, which was more selfish: remaining silent or confessing?
Changing the Sorento’s oil, she debated the answer.
7
Chance couldn’t fall asleep that night. His mind stewed over Walter and why he stalked Mandy. Waiting until after Mandy left for the garage the next morning, he went to her house and implored—damn near begged—Pepper to give him answers. And she did. Mandy’s roommate swore him to secrecy and once he agreed, she unloaded. Chance would bet Pepper knew a lot more than Mandy realized. Pepper had felt so helpless, and so sick over the idea of anyone using her to hurt Mandy, that the story had nearly poured out of her. She was desperate for someone to find a way to help.
Setting the air wrench to the side, he ripped the wheel off a heavily modified pickup sitting in the garage’s last bay. Bypassing the machine specifically designed to easily remove the
rubber from the rim, he took his frustration out by hand using specialized long metal bars.
Pepper’s words kept replaying in his head. “Her father became hopelessly addicted to gambling...to the point he was barely home nights in his last years, always finding a game or someplace to bet on sports.”
She explained how George became desperately in debt to a bookie, but couldn’t give him details, only that George had taken out an equity loan against the house that didn’t cover even half of what he owed.
Chance muscled the old, balding tire off as more of the conversation replayed. “The debt transferred to Mandy…she’s been cow-towing to Walter since my robbery…it was ordered by that asshole as a warning to pay or else…and to steer clear of the authorities.” Pepper then stood and placed a hand on his forearm, forcing him to stop pacing like a caged beast. “I didn’t tell you everything so you could make things worse by trying to play the hero. I told you so you would understand that anything you do could jeopardize her safety.” Pepper let go. “Please, be careful. Find a way out of this for her if you can, but don’t do something that blows back on her.”
She was right. He couldn’t go off half-cocked like an avenging superhero. He had to have a plan. A strategy to sever this bookie’s dangerous hold on Mandy.
His eyes slid to the woman invading every piece of him all over again and lost his grip on the new tire. Son of a—
Creamy skin, dotted with freckles greeted his eyes. She had removed the top half of her coveralls and tied the sleeves at her waist, much like he did most of the time to alleviate the godawful heat. Russet-colored curls rioted around her gorgeous head, some wet with sweat while others expanded in the humidity. No makeup covered her amazing face and the heat of the day had flushed her cheeks, giving her a radiant glow.
She rooted inside one of the tall red toolboxes lining the back wall, and he couldn’t stop salivating over the erotic profile. Lush, full breasts strained against a red and black sports bra that did nothing to hide the hard nipples poking against the spandex. The way her body still responded to him didn’t make this job easier either.
