by Debra Kayn
"Something wrong?" he asked.
She jolted and stepped through the door. "Thanks again for the coffee...and the tire."
"No problem." He locked the door and strode to his bike.
Removing his skullcap out of his back pocket, he pulled the tight material over his head to his eyebrows, started the bike, and looked over to the front of the duplex.
Gia had already gone inside, shut up tight in her part of the building with the only coffee mug he owned that had no chips. He pulled away from the curb and headed to work. Once he got the damn tire on her piece of shit car, he'd have his quiet existence back.
Chapter Four
A white truck with Leery's Tire Supply written on the side door stopped in front of the duplex. Gia peeked out the window, holding the pistol in her hand. Her last mini bag of Doritos gone, she blamed the shakes that riddled her body on hunger. Unused to living on junk food from a convenience store for two days, she needed something solid to eat.
A man with long hair tied at the back of his neck wearing the same type of black leather vest Swiss wore both times Gia had seen him stepped to the back of his truck and lifted a tire out. Gia sagged forward and set the pistol down on the windowsill. It was the man Swiss had called that morning asking about a tire for her car.
The thunder of a motorcycle vibrated the window. Gia looked past the man and spotted Swiss. Her pulse thrummed with the rumble boosting her energy. There was no mistaking the big, black bike and the large man heading toward the duplex. Her excitement at seeing Swiss wasn't over how incredibly sexy he was or the way he promised to fix her car and refused to take no for an answer. Around him, she had a lot more protection than she had by herself.
She felt safer.
That's why she'd rented the duplex. That's why she'd come to Montana. He provided a protection he wasn't even aware of, and if she thought long and hard about what she was doing, she'd hate herself for the risk she added to his life.
She picked up the pistol and put the weapon in the waistband of her jeans, pulling the hem of her shirt down to cover the bulk. The urge to go out there and be with Swiss after spending a paranoid day shut up in the duplex without a television or radio to distract her from her troubles set her to pacing.
The fewer people who knew where she stayed and could recognize her if anyone asked, the better. Nervous energy, hunger, and fear kept her inside all day. She stopped at the door. The polite thing for her to do would be to oversee Swiss putting on the tire, then thank him, and also thank his friend.
Swiss knew nothing about her, and she only knew a little about Swiss's background from Bianca at the woman's shelter in Seattle.
Apparently, he'd served in the Army—which was a good enough recommendation in her mind. Since arriving, he had never asked anything in return for the tire, the coffee, or for her pulling a gun on him. If all men were like him, she wouldn't be in the mess she was currently in, and she'd probably be married.
She stared up at the ceiling. It figured that she'd meet a perfect man at the absolute worse time and be a complete mess. Who knew what he thought of her.
She hadn't planned on getting a leak in her tire as she rolled into town on the first night. At least she'd made it to the duplex before the air went completely out. She counted herself lucky to have made it to her destination. She could go without a car while in Haugan. Though knowing she had a workable vehicle now in case she needed to get away meant everything to her.
She needed to thank Swiss again and acknowledge what he had done for her without any reason or motivation. Patting the pistol and making sure her shirt covered the handle, she inhaled deeply and opened her door. Swiss had disappeared behind her car, and the other man stood at the rear of the vehicle and glanced her way.
"Thank you for the tire," she said to the man.
"No thanks required. I'm only delivering the tire." The man reached out his hand. "Name's Rod."
She shook his hand and looked down at Swiss working on putting the new tire on to keep from giving Rod her name. Swiss glanced up at her, dipped his chin, and went back to working. Her heart fluttered.
He looked huge, scary, and standoffish, but he'd shown her how willing he was to help her. Thanks to knowing who and what she was headed toward when she set her car toward Montana, she'd made the right decision. Deep down, she finally had the sense that she'd found a safe spot for a while.
Swiss lowered the jack, and then went over each nut again with the crowbar. "That should do you."
"Thank you so much," she said, holding out her hand, sounding like one of those birds at the pet store that mimics the same phrase over and over until you wished you had a spray bottle of water to shut it up.
Swiss gazed at her fingers and frowned. "Better not. I've got road dust on me."
"Oh." She lowered her hand, embarrassment warming her cheeks.
She should offer him something in return for all the work and money he'd spent. Paying for the actual tire was out of the picture. She only had enough money to survive. A new tire, new shoes, and even splurging on groceries would mean she'd need to go back to her condominium in Washington sooner than she'd planned. Right back to where men looked for her and would kill her if they found her.
"You're probably tired after working all day and having to come home and change the tire." She glanced over at Rod who watched her carefully and then turned toward Swiss. "Thank you again."
"No problem," said Swiss.
She walked backward a few steps, turned, and hurried into her new home for the next six months. Alone inside the duplex, she stared at the bare walls and braced herself for nausea to hit her from the rancid smell in the room.
She'd left what she thought was a good job. A job that provided her a condominium with a swimming pool, tennis court, and a walking path through the woods. A gated community she claimed as home. Enough money to live comfortably, and like any single thirty-two-year-old, she never thought of saving any cash for emergencies.
She had owned a car. Her pride and joy. She groaned. The perfect car she had to trade for the older car outside to make the trip to Montana. The old man who she traded with looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, but willingly took the upgrade instead of cash. She only had money to buy enough food to keep from starving to death.
She shuddered. Starving to death would be her least concern. If she died in the disgusting duplex, the coroner would have a hard time telling the exact reason for her demise. Almost everything could kill her. Mold infestation. Biohazard fibers from the rotting shag carpet. High toxic levels of flaking lead paint.
In the end, her death wouldn't matter anyway. If she weren't in Montana, she'd be dead in Seattle, likely from a bullet.
An engine turned over outside. She stayed away from the front window and yet close enough to peer outside. Rod drove off, and Swiss carried the jack back to his side of the duplex. Curious about the man she'd heard little about and yet was sent to trust, she wanted to find out more about him.
Swiss wasn't at all what she'd expected to find on her arrival to Montana. He was younger looking than she'd imagined a forty-five-year-old man to look, but that could have something to do with his body. Men his age usually leaned toward the skinny side or the dad bod. Swiss definitely worked out, and probably not with weights but lifting grown men above his head and slamming them to the ground. Yeah, he could be a wrestler.
He also had an attitude. She gathered her hair at the back of her head and rotated her head side to side, stretching her neck. Swiss weren't smug or rude. Quite the opposite.
He came across quiet and strong, weighing each word that came out of his mouth. A mouth with full lips. She let her hair fall down her back and rubbed her arms. Men usually had thin lips. Swiss's lips always remained relaxed, never pressed together. She liked his goatee. Not enough whiskers to call it a beard, but more than a five o'clock shadow. He kept it trimmed around his mouth.
She sighed, and a shiver ran up her spine. Mouth. Lips. Body.
What was she doing?
Delusional from lack of sleep and stress, she verged on turning him into a saint or a knight in shining armor. He was a biker. She needed to remember that.
She spied Swiss's coffee cup on the empty counter that he'd let her borrow that morning. Afraid if she left his mug by his door, someone would steal it, she'd held on to it until he was home.
He was home now.
Walking across the room, she picked up the mug and before she could change her mind, she walked out the door, locking the handle behind her. She'd only stay long enough to return what she'd borrowed, breathe the fresh clean scent of his part of the duplex, and tell him thank you again, and then she'd leave him alone for the evening.
She walked with determined steps. Unless Swiss asked her to stay and visit longer. Her ass would appreciate an hour on his couch. Living without furniture was harder than she'd imagined.
Chapter Five
Swiss turned the shower off and grabbed the towel before stepping out. His knuckles stung and he fisted his hand, stretching the skin. Brogard, one of the two brothers suing Watson's Repo and Towing, had shown up before closing and forced Swiss to use his fist to show the man the way out. Lucky for Brogard, he only had to nurse a split lip tonight. One more appearance and he'd find himself locked up for a few nights in the county jail for breaking the restraining order.
He toweled off and walked naked into the bedroom.
A knock came at the front door. He grabbed a pair of clean Levi's off the dresser and slipped his legs into the jeans bare-assed, preferring nothing constricting on him. Running his hands through his hair, rubbing the wetness away, he walked into the other room to another knock.
"Give it a rest, Mel," he muttered, prepared to do nothing else but advise the prospect on how to install a new chain on his motorcycle. It was his week to spend time with the kid before the vote went to the Ronacks members on whether to patch him in.
He opened the door to someone who looked a hell of a lot better than Mel. His next door neighbor held his coffee cup in her hand.
"I wanted to give you back your mug." Gia thrust her arm toward his chest.
He took the cup. She remained outside his door in front of him. He waited to find out what else she wanted. She had a look about her he couldn't pin down. Half anxious, she leaned her weight from one foot to the other. Whatever else was bothering her, she kept well hidden behind a brave front.
"I also wanted to thank you again for the tire." She waved her hand over her shoulder in the direction of her car. "C-could you tell me the direction to the nearest store."
"It's Bitterroot General. It'll pop up on your GPS," he said.
She looked away, and he caught a frown before her hair covered his view. He hooked his hands under his armpits.
"I don't have a phone and my car...it's old, so I don't have a GPS, either." She turned back around toward him. "Is the store on Main Street?"
He nodded. "Two blocks on your left. You can't miss it."
Her shoulders sagged, and she smiled. "Thank you."
"Let's cut all the thanks you're throwing my way. They're not needed." He unfolded his arms and watched her gaze lower to his chest and her head tilt to the side.
He glanced down. She studied his tat that covered the front of him and went over both his shoulders. He tensed his muscles making his pecs jump, and Gia snapped her gaze up to his face.
"It's beautiful." She pointed at him. "Your tattoos, I mean."
He cocked his eyebrow.
The base of her neck constricted with her heavy swallow. "When did you get them?"
"A long time ago." He reached up to swipe away a drip of water off the back of his neck and remembered he held the mug and lowered his arm. "Was that all you wanted—?"
A roar of a motorcycle cut his question in half. He looked out to the street and shook his head.
"Damn, kid," he mumbled.
Mel rode up to the side of Gia's car, swerved toward the curb and cut the engine. Swiss stepped away from Gia, lifted his hand, and made a circle with his index finger.
Mel took off his helmet and said, "Huh?"
"Move the bike and back it in." Swiss widened his stance. "Always back to the curb."
"But nobody is—"
"I'm not going to ask again," said Swiss.
The kid needed to learn every rule, every reason, every order that came from a member of Ronacks must be followed, not questioned. If he failed and fucked up, he'd never get his patch.
As it was, Battery delayed Mel's vote an extra year because the kid hadn't been ready. One of the lucky ones, Mel got a second chance.
Mel glanced at Gia behind Swiss, plopped his helmet back on his head, and pulled a U-turn in the middle of the street and straddle walked the bike to the curb until the back tire touched the concrete.
Under no circumstances should a biker park the front tire against the curb and make it impossible for a fast exit. Taking an extra thirty seconds to roll your motorcycle backward in a dangerous situation or during an emergency could cost someone a life.
Mel swaggered toward him and held his skinny arms out to his sides. "Parked it like you said, Swiss."
Swiss cleared his throat and motioned his chin toward Gia. Mel raised his brows and looked back at his motorcycle, then directed his attention toward Swiss in concentration.
The kid's lack of education when it came to women was going to cost him a patch. Swiss looked Mel in the eyes. "There's a woman present. Introduce yourself."
"Oh, yeah." Mel stepped forward and held out his hand. "Name's Mel, ma'am."
Swiss growled and turned to Gia. "He's young. He's stupid. But, he's harmless. At least right now."
"What'd I do?" Mel glanced between Swiss and Gia.
"Does she look old enough to be your momma?" Swiss shook his head. "Stop the ma'am shit unless a woman is old enough to see you naked without rolling her eyes or you plan to give up your dream of patching in with the MC and want to sign your life over to the military service."
Mel's face reddened. Swiss lifted his chin in Gia's direction. "Her name is Gia."
"Hi, Gia. I'm Mel." Mel held out his hand. "I guess, I said that already."
Gia accepted the offered shake. "Nice to meet you."
Swiss clamped his hand down on Mel's shoulder, turned him, and pointed him back in the direction of the motorcycle. "First thing you need to do is get the back wheel off."
"Without a jack?" asked Mel.
"You won't have a jack on the road. Use the tools under your seat, look around where you're parked, and figure it out. One of these days, you'll be on the road, alone, and stuck. You don't ever want to be stuck." Swiss stepped back. "I'm going to finish getting dressed and then I'll be out to talk you through the change."
Mel walked off, scratching his head through his shaggy hair. Swiss turned to go back into the duplex and stopped at the look Gia gave him. From the curious lift of her brows, she wanted to ask him something.
He stepped closer. "Go ahead and ask."
"Who...?" She shook her head. "Is he your son?"
"Mel?"
She nodded. He chuckled at her sincerity. The noise took him by surprise and made him exhale to contain his amusement. Hell, he hadn't laughed in a long time.
"No. The kid is a prospect for Ronacks Motorcycle Club. He spends a week with each member before coming up for vote. What he learns now will last him a lifetime if he remembers and I aim to make him recall every single thing," said Swiss, stepping toward his door.
She followed him. "A vote for what?"
He walked inside and left the door open. Somehow, he knew she'd follow, and he continued. "For becoming a full member."
"That's a lifelong commitment?" She stood inside his door.
He set the mug down on the counter and walked out of the room, grabbed a shirt, socks, vest, and his boots, and then returned to the living room.
"Yeah. Once you wear the patch, it's for life." He slipped on his shirt and pu
t on his vest.
She rubbed her lips together in thought while staring at his chest. He moved over to the couch, hitched up the leg of his jeans, and put his sock on. The only part of Gia that moved were her eyes. She followed him with her gaze. He put on his boots and stood.
Gia looked up at him. "I'm sorry I asked if Mel was your son. It was rude of me."
"No problem," he muttered, grabbing his skullcap off the end of the couch and stepped toward the door.
"So..." She stepped in front of him. "Do you have children? A wife?"
He studied her. "Why are you asking?"
She shrugged. "I don't want to make any assumptions like I did with Mel."
Swiss ran his tongue over his teeth. "No wife. I have a daughter."
"Oh." Her brows lifted, and she looked around the room. "Does she live with you?"
"No." He pulled his skullcap down. "She's grown and lives somewhere else. If she's happy, that's all that matters."
"That's...big of you." She shook her head. "I mean, that you put her happiness first."
He talked to no one about his life, and she'd already got more out of him than he was comfortable with.
He stepped around her and headed out to help Mel with his motorcycle. Squatting down beside the hand-me-down Harley, he glanced over at the duplex and found Gia standing in the grassy area in between his place and hers — watching him but deep in thought. Her gaze void of connecting with his.
Not one to talk about his past in the Army, his first marriage, his daughter, or how at one time he believed love played a hand in life, he picked up the wrench and helped Mel disconnect the drum brake before they could get the rear tire off.
He'd liked his life well enough without a nosy neighbor hanging around.
His hands worked automatically, knowing the tension, the caliber, the mechanics of the brake cylinder by heart and kept his eyes on Gia, who hadn't moved. A single woman moving to Montana without a job lined up, living in a rundown duplex without a second thought of talking to a biker or pulling a pistol on him in the middle of the night failed to add up to him.
