Deliciously Damaged (Reckless Bastards MC 3)

“Hold on. I’ll be there in ten minutes and we can talk about this.”

“No, Cooper, I’m—”

He hung up.

“Fuck!” I yelled, releasing all my pent-up anger. My outburst echoed around the garage and some businessmen a few stalls away stared at me in disgust. I clenched my fists and starting pacing. I knew that I could call a cab and go home or even hop on a bus, but a part of me wanted to stick around and wait to confront Cooper face to face.

I also wanted my bike.

However, I wasn’t willing to wait in a parking garage all afternoon. I left and went down the stairs to the street level. I walked down a few blocks to the coffee shop I liked, praying I wouldn’t run into anyone from the office, especially Parker. I’d been lucky to avoid him since our awkward date and his even more awkward premature break up email.

For all I knew, Cooper had him stuffed in a closet somewhere.

It wouldn’t surprise me even a little bit.

I stepped inside the—thankfully vacant—coffee shop and ordered a decaf. Lord knew the last thing I needed was caffeine running around my system. I’d probably self-destruct.

My legs were restless, but I knew that pacing around wasn’t an option so I forced myself to sit at one of the tables. I waited, and right at the ten minute mark, a text came through on my phone.

Where are you?

I texted back the name of the coffee shop.

I glanced around again, realizing how inappropriate the venue was for the showdown that was about to unfold. It was an artsy little coffee shop that played delicate, soothing instrumental music in the background. It was not the kind of place for a verbal brawl. And, somehow, with Cooper, I always got loud.

I was staring out the window, watching for his arrival, when I heard the sounds of a motorcycle revving. I turned in the direction of the sound and my mouth dropped open for the second time that afternoon at the scene unfolding along the curb.

Cooper was standing beside Cherry Bomb with a helmet in his hands. There was a white truck pulled up with a trailer and it was obvious that it had been used to transport my bike to the café—the ramp was still lowered out of the back.

I jumped up and threw my cup of coffee in the trash on my way outside.

“Cooper, what the fuck?” I yelled, again drawing scornful stares of passersby.

“You told me I needed a helmet,” he said with a slight smile as he gestured at the helmet in his hands.

“No, no, no.” I started rubbing my temples, trying to hold off the beginnings of a throbbing headache. “What is Cherry Bomb doing here, with you?”

“That was the appointment I had to go to. I was going to surprise you,” Cooper said, gesturing at the bike.

That’s when I realized that the seat was fixed. Brand new leather was stretched over the bike. I stepped closer and ran my fingers along the smooth surface. It was expensive leather and the work looked impeccable. I glared back at Cooper.

“Marx?”

“Won’t be bothering you again.”

“Do I even want to know?” I asked, wincing at the question.

“Marx was arrested this afternoon. He’s going to jail for a long time.”

“What?” My eyes flew open wider as I stared at Cooper.

He paused, stopping to pay the man with the truck and my heart raced as I waited impatiently for him to finish telling me what he was talking about.

Marx, in jail?

I couldn’t say I felt sorry for him. It was exactly what he deserved, but how?

“Turns out that he had a little bit of a drug problem. I had my PI track him down and caught him selling drugs. Pretty hard core stuff. I figured local law enforcement would want to know about something like that. So, Allie, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”