“For Christ’s sakes…”
Mercy stepped out into the sunlight, blue bandana securing his long hair. He tipped his head back, took a long pull off a water bottle, and walked toward them wiping his mouth with one massive forearm.
“Tiny Dancer,” he said to Tango, gaze serious. “The QB’s moving in on your girl in there.”
Tango shook his head. “Jasmine doesn’t belong to me. She can do what she wants.”
Mercy glanced over at Aidan. “Did he get left out in the sun too long?”
“Shit knows.” Aidan tugged his cut into place, took a deep breath. “Alright, going in,” he said under his breath.
“What?” Mercy asked.
“Nothing.”
The familiar smells of grease and oil welcomed him into the cool, shadowy interior of the shop. This was home for him, these benches and bike lifts and tool chests. This was where he excelled – the only place where his skill was never questioned. His own life was ripping loose at the seams, but he could put a bike together, damn it.
Jasmine sat on one of the ancient wooden benches, watching Carter work on a blocky cruiser, smiling widely. It was starting to be cool, even in the afternoon, and she wore a clingy long-sleeve top that flashed lots of her impressive cleavage, a denim skirt, knee-high boots. She was a sexy woman, and he’d always thought so. An obvious, unquestionable sexuality, one that contrasted with that subtle loveliness of Sam’s. Right now, looking at Jazz, she stirred nothing inside him. Absolutely nothing. Whereas he hadn’t wanted to step away from Sam back at Hamilton House.
Focus.
He cleared his throat, and both their heads snapped his direction.
Jasmine sucked in a breath, eyes widening in an automatic fearful reaction.
By contrast, Carter’s face locked down hard, jaw clenching.
“Hey,” Aidan said.
“Hey,” Jasmine echoed, hands knitting together in her lap. A show of nerves. He made hernervous.
Carter stood, curling his hand tight around the wrench he held. “What do you want?”
Aidan frowned, drew himself more upright. “I want you to quit giving me attitude, and go wait outside so I can have a word with Jazz.”
Carter didn’t move. “Like I’m gonna leave you alone with her?”
“Who was your sponsor, Carter?” Aidan asked. “Who brought you into this club? Who got you patched? Was it Jazz? Or was it me?”
A harsh moment, as reality crashed over the boy, and he recalled his debts, his brotherhood. Carter ducked his head and left the bay, swearing under his breath.
“Don’t be mad at him,” Jasmine said softly, when he was gone. “He’s a sweet boy.”
He snorted. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but nobody willing to double team you is asweet boy.”
“They are,” she insisted. She lifted her chin, and her eyes were full of an unusual fear. “I used to think you were too.”
He sighed and propped a hip against the bike lift. “You hate me now?”
She shook her head, glanced away. “No. But I…” Another headshake. “That hasn’t…not since…” Her voice got even softer, just a whisper. “Mercy once, a long time ago, put his hands…” She reached for her throat. “It was my fault. I brought – I brought your sister up, and I didn’t think…she was in high school…but he…” She offered a wobbly smile. “That’s the only time I’ve ever been afraid when I was with a man. Until last night.”
“Jazz.” He scrubbed at his bristly jaw. “I’m sorry, doll. Honest to God. I never meant to get rough like that. I was drunk, and I’d just gotten some bad news. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
She stood and closed the distance between them. Her hands shook a little, but settled on his chest. Her eyes were sad, thoughtful, as she leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. “No more than what I deserve,” she whispered as she pulled back, and walked out of the garage.
Unhappy and numb, Aidan followed a moment later. Jazz was gone, but his three brothers remained.
“So what is this?” Mercy asked. “A meeting of the I-fucked-Jasmine club?”
