by Gabriel Love
Clutch
A Rock Bottom Novel
Copyright 2018 Gabriel Love
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About This Book:
Caitlin
I can’t believe Carl slapped me. My ex spent over a year isolating me from everyone I cared about. But he went too far this time. I’m leaving. And that scary guy who sold me a motorcycle? I’m going to ask him to protect me. He can’t be worse than what I’m running from.
Or can he?
Axl
They say no one gets out alive, but here I am. An ex biker with a reputation better left in the ashes of the past. I fucked people over, intimidated enemies and cleaned up messes no one else wanted to. I took what I wanted when I wanted it and destroyed anyone who stood in my way. But that’s all in the past.
Or is it?
Clutch is a standalone novel of about thirty thousand words. No cliffhangers, lots of steam, some dirty language and a HEA.
Clutch
Chapter One
Caitlin
“I’m ready. It’s time to go,” I say. My heart is slamming in my chest as he looks up from the detailing he’s working on. The motorcycle in front of him is absolutely breathtaking. I know from previous conversations that he’s restoring it, but that’s about all I know.
“Do you still want me to go with you?” he asks.
His low, gravelly voice sends a shiver down my spine. That, coupled with a very serious, intense demeanor tells me everything I need to know about him. He’s got the voice of man who’s used to being listened to. The voice of a man who never yells, who never betrays emotion, who never says something that doesn’t need to be said.
“Yes.” There’s no question in my mind. Sure, this man is a near stranger. I know him from a handful of visits here. He sold me a motorcycle. My own bike with money I’d squirreled away for an escape route. Now it’s time to put that escape plan into motion and he’s the muscle I’d like by my side to keep me safe until I’m clear of this city.
He rises to his feet, his eyes locked on me. At his full height, he engulfs me. He’s well over six foot of pure muscle and quiet power. A hulking force that I wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of. Maybe that’s why I feel safe with him. Or maybe I’m just sure he can’t be worse than what I’m running from.
Because that’s what I’m doing. I’m running.
“Let me make a few calls,” he growls, staring down at me like he’s giving me time to change my mind.
And I hesitate, if only for a second. What am I doing? I know this only makes it worse. I tried to run before.
I nod, gripping my forearm just below the elbow with my opposite hand as I peek up into his green eyes. His olive skin and dark hair make his eyes stand out startlingly and I realize he’s handsome. Maybe I’d noticed before. Maybe it’s the adrenaline pumping through my veins that’s making me think thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking.
Like what it would feel like to let this quietly overwhelming man kiss me.
My hand flies up to touch my lips. I’d swear they’re tingling like he’s already kissed me. Or maybe it’s anticipation. Or maybe it’s poor circulation and I’m seconds from having a heart attack. I’m not sure. But it’s unsettling.
He pulls out his cell phone and moves toward his office with sure, purposeful steps. Trying not to be rude and overhear his conversation, I wander around, looking at the different bikes. I guess I could say this shop has become a haven of sorts. That’s why it’s hard to say goodbye. Why it hurts to think I’ll never see it again.
The smell of metal and rubber, oil and gasoline fills every breath and I glance over at him. He’s watching me, an intense expression on his angular face. If I saw him in a movie, I’d swear he was the villain. He’s got this dark aura about him I can’t really describe.
An almost frightening evil lurks behind those incredible eyes and the hooded lids over them give him a sensual air, but not nearly so much as those full lips do. He’s got a perpetual five o’clock shadow, but he’s been letting it grow out a little bit. I like it.
I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t like him. He rings every alarm bell I’ve got. But there’s something… unquantifiable… something I feel that makes me trust him. Like he’s the bad guy, sure, but I’ve got nothing to fear from him. Like I’m the maiden to tame this beast. That sounds so stupid. I sound stupid.
He hangs up and stares down at his phone in his hand for a second. Then he glances at me and closes the gap between us so quickly it’s like a snake strike. Like he can move faster than my eyes can even see.
“Are you sure?” He growls, his eyes darting back and forth between mine.
Words catch in my throat. His hand is on my arm. He’s touching me. We agreed no touching. And yet… it doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t hurt. His skin is warm and almost pleasant on mine despite the rough calluses on his palm. I notice his gaze tick to my cheek and I stare at the floor.
“I’m sure,” I whisper. The words feel like sandpaper in my throat but I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.
He hesitates.
I lift my eyes to meet his and say it again, with force. “I’m sure.”
He doesn’t move. His eyes are locked on my face and I see his pupils dilate a fraction of an inch.
“I’m sure,” I say, my voice nearly a yell this time. I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself. Maybe both.
He blinks. Nods. “Then let’s go,” he says. With that, he’s off, his long, swinging stride deceptively easy. But the set of his shoulders is all tension and steel. I chase him toward the rolling garage door and he uncovers his bike before tossing me the keys to mine. I catch them and my heart skips a beat. I’m really doing it.
“Thank you for holding them for me,” I say, staring at the keys in my hand. It’s real. This is really happening.
“Last chance to back out,” he says as if he’s reading my mind and knows I’m wavering.
I shake my head. “I’m sure,” I whisper, taking the helmet and putting it on my head. I’m ready. It’s time to move on.
He rolls open the garage door and the orange glow of the streetlight outside frames his body. If I saw him from the outside, I’d swear I’m seeing a monster in the flesh. But from the inside, he looks like a way out. A bridge on this daring escape route.
I walk my bike out like he’d taught me before kicking it to life. He follows suit and sits, his helmet covering his whole head. His head turns toward me and I see myself reflected in his visor. I don’t look like me. The helmet hides my large eyes, my fear, my ugly truths. I’m anonymous to all but him. And that’s exactly how I want it.
I pull out into the street with him by my side.
And I ride. I ride too fast. I ride to into the unknown. Adrenaline thumps in my blood like a powerful baseline and I grip the handlebars like it can hide the shaking of my hands. And it hides it all too well.
I’m in charge. Finally. I’m in charge. This is my life and I’m taking it back.
Chapter Two
Axl
Two Months Ago
Things have been quiet in the shop. But quiet is good. Quiet means no stupid questions or kids that think they’re thugs showing off because they’ve seen one too many movies.
“Why am I here?”
I don’t bother looking up from the carburetor I’ve been rebuilding as I answer him. “To fucking bother me.”
I can feel my brother’s anger. There’s a twitch in his jaw right now because he’s clenching his teeth. I don’t have to loo
k at him to know that or exactly what’s going through his mind. The years didn’t change him all that much.
“Look, you disappeared for thirteen years. Poof, gone. Then you come back, covered in scars, tattoos, and a shitty attitude and buy a garage and turn it into a bike shop. Then you call me like nothing ever happened.” He doesn’t sound pissed. He doesn’t sound like anything. Maybe deadpan is a family trait. Fuck knows our old man never showed a hint of feeling. Not when our mother died. Not while he drank himself to death. Not on his damn deathbed looking his two teenaged sons in the face and telling them he lived for her.
Fuck that bastard.
“Drinking at work?” Dex actually sounds a little incredulous and I glare at him from over my beer. Lowering the drink slowly, I place it near my tools.
Spreading my hands wide, I give him a stare designed to intimidate. It doesn’t.
“I own a fucking bike shop.” Sober isn’t a requirement. I could rebuild anything drunk off my ass. And it’s not like people expect me to be all slick like a used car salesman. I’m a glorified mechanic and that’s fucking fine with me. If anyone else has a problem with it, they can fuck off.
“What would mom say?” Dex asks and I enjoy a mental image of my fist smashing all his teeth down his throat. Instead, I take another drink.
“Fuck you,” I say. He’s an asshole for bringing her into this.
The door chimes, warning me that someone has come in and Dex looks up. I follow his glance to the woman who’d stepped in. She looks terrified, like she’s sure she’s in the wrong place but she’s here now and would be embarrassed to leave. So she stays, wandering toward a motorcycle that’s way too big for her slight frame.
Dex arches an eyebrow at me as I get up and I flip him the bird. I’ve got a fucking business to run. And that means asking the terrified little sparrow if she needs help. I approach, noticing she seems wounded. Not from anything on the outside. Something in her eyes shines brightly and it puts me on edge. Like that feeling before a fight where everything is tangible tension. I’m all wound up and get tighter every step closer to her I get.
I’m a good three feet from her when she finally looks at me. Really looks at me like she’s acknowledging that I exist. But there’s a warning there too. A silent, obvious demand not to come closer to her.
And I disregard it.
She takes a step back as I halt right in front of her. Her eyes dart around the room, assessing the exits before peeking back up at me. But she’s quick to lower them and settle on staring at a spot on the floor.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
She shakes her head quickly, making her brown hair fly. I notice her hands gripping each other so hard her knuckles go white. I can take a fucking hint. I back the hell off and let her wander. Dex is watching me, but I ignore him and study this new person as she gets back to exploring.
Her face is filled with longing as she strokes the seat of a bike I’d restored before moving on to the next. Wide brown eyes take in everything there is to see and she soaks it all in like a man in a desert might drink every last drop of water handed to him.
She’s tiny and petite, fragile, even. Watching her run her slim hand along a seat heats up my blood as I imagine her stroking me like that. Shaking my head to clear the mental image, I internally curse. She’s not even my type. I like my women with a bit more girth. With meat on their bones and a build that won’t snap in a slight breeze.
Her lips part as both her hands spread along the curved handlebars of a chopper. There’s something in her expression that I identify with. It’s like she sees god in these bikes. Like they’re an answer to something she’s been searching for her whole life. I know that look. I’ve had that look. And fuck if it doesn’t make her hotter somehow.
I head back to the bike I’m working on, as aware of her as I would be of a tiger that had wandered in. Watching her out of the corner of my eyes, I try to figure her out.
“Way to fucking terrify her,” Dex says and I ignore him and take a deep drink of my beer.
“Why are you here?” I ask instead, not even bothering to take my eyes off the woman. She’s still lost in whatever trip she’s on. Maybe she’s high. But somehow, I doubt it. I’ve seen druggies and first timers and every stage in between. She doesn’t have the right feel.
“You fucking called me, asswipe,” Dex growls in frustration.
I did. But I’ve got to fuck with him. That’s a brother’s job. “You’ve got the job,” I say, getting back to work.
“The job?” Dex asks.
“Well, you can hear. That’s a bonus.”
“Fuck you,” he says, throwing his hands up. The woman glances over, startled and he lowers his hands behind his head and clasps them, leaving his elbows spread wider than his shoulders. “Not you,” he says to the woman, who carefully ignores him.
“What would mom say?” I throw his way. Two can play that shit and I know that cursing in front of a woman was something she didn’t like. Once Dex and I became teenagers she had to constantly yell ‘Language!’ at us.
Dex ignores me.
I take another drink, watching her move from bike to bike, a look of pure desire on her face that sends heat shooting right to my cock. Fuck. She looks like she needs a ride and for some reason, I’m imagining her throwing a leg over my hips and riding me. And the thought burns like fire in my blood.
“What job?” Dex asks, stepping right into my line of vision and cutting her out of my field of view.
“Find something to do before I fire you,” I say, shoving him aside as I lock on her again. She glances at me, her eyes wide and her lips parting slightly. The look of a woman trying to be sexy. Or a sexy woman unaware of how incredibly attractive she is.
I’m betting on the second option.
Chapter Three
Caitlin
The bike feels amazing under me. I feel… free.
I catch sight of Axl motioning and we both pull off the road. His bike blocks mine as if he needs to be between me and oncoming traffic. It’s such a protective gesture I’m conflicted. But I don’t have time to say anything.
He pulls off his helmet. “Let’s stop and get something to eat.”
My stomach rumbles, reminding me I missed dinner. And lunch… I can’t remember the last time I ate. And I’m shaking so hard I’m not even sure I could hold a fork. Food sounds good. But not as good as getting hundreds of miles between myself and this place. The more miles the better. But as troubling thoughts begin to dogpile in my brain, things like what the hell do I do now? I hesitate, then nod.
Food is good.
He’s studying me intently. “Follow me,” he says and I nod again. We helmet back up and bring our bikes to life. He pulls out and I follow, hoping to quiet my brain. I can’t go back. I knew that leaving meant leaving for good. I made my peace with that. So why am I feeling so scared now?
Axl turns and I follow, watching him as my brain struggles. I need to look forward, not back. I need to think about what’s ahead, not worry over what’s behind me.
He pulls into a dead parking lot and kills his bike. I follow suit, looking at the nondescript tan building as we take off our helmets. When I finally glance at him, he’s watching me closely. It’s something he does a lot. I’m not really sure how I feel about it. On one hand, it’s a little unsettling. On the other, I bet he doesn’t miss a dang thing. But I’m not sure that’s a good thing. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s a bad thing.
He stretches his back as he starts toward the building and I hurry to keep up with his long stride. Inside, I scan for exits and find the perfect spot to sit near the kitchen where I can watch the door and anyone that might come through it.
As if he had the same idea, he heads directly to the spot and sits so he can see everything. And I stare at the other side of the table. I wanted to be able to watch the door, but he’s putting me with my back to it. So instead of sitting across from him, I sit next to him.
His arm brushes
mine and I shiver at the unexpected contact. Fear bolts through my belly and I can’t breathe. Jerking away, I make a quick escape to the other side of the table. He’s got this watch covered. I’ll get the next one.
I feel him studying me as a waitress brings us water and menus. Without meeting his gaze, I open my menu. The place is a dive, but it’s quiet, which means more to me than anything. And judging by the smells wafting in from the kitchen, they make good food here if you like things deep fried.
My mouth waters as I look around the menu. But I can still feel his eyes on me and I peek over the top of the menu at him. “What are you ordering?” I ask, noticing he hasn’t even picked up his menu.
“Deep fried catfish and onion rings,” he says without hesitation. “They make their own tartar sauce here.”
I nod, closing up the menu and setting it on the table before picking up my water. His hand closes on my wrist before I can bring it to my lips. Glancing at him, I catch the subtle shake of his head and put the glass back down.
I want to tell him I appreciate what he’s doing for me. How he always seems to be watching out for me. Instead, I lace my fingers together and shove my hands between my thighs while staring over my shoulder at the door.
Scanning the room, I see a couple guys lurking in the dark behind the bar, drinks in hand. A tired looking woman sits alone in a booth and a group of burly dudes are drinking and playing pool. They rack the balls and I wince at the loud crack of someone breaking them.
The waitress comes back, her eyes locked on Axl. “What can I get for you?” she asks him as if I’m not even here. But he’s looking at me.
“Same as you,” I mouth without making a sound. But he gives a little nod and tells her the order. I watch her go, glad she’s pretending I don’t exist. That’s all I want right now. For no one to notice I exist. I want to be invisible.
But I keep thinking about the man I’m here with. I wish I could open up. I wish I could tell him everything. Or something. Anything. But I can’t. Because leaving means I’m leaving him behind too. And I can’t afford to get attached. Not even to him. Especially not to him.
