Bane (Sinners of Saint 4)

“Everything good?” I asked. She snapped her head up and scowled, like my talking to her broke approximately seven hundred social rules. She didn’t answer, bringing her small hand to the tire and feeling for the valve stem frantically. She knew what she was looking for, and that surprised me. Not that it mattered. To change a tire, Jesse needed someone to grab her spare one, and not to be a sexist pig, but that shit weighed a ton. She was tiny. It was simple physics.

Such a lucky coincidence that I was there, right?

“Your tire is flat,” I stated the fucking obvious, taking a tentative step toward her. She nearly jumped out of her skin treading backward. The look in her eyes was of pure horror. It was my educated guess that the beard, tats, and my six-two frame didn’t help matters much.

“Don’t,” she barked, her voice shaking.

“Don’t what?”

“Touch me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I said. And man, was that the truth. She could have paid me 5,999,999 dollars and I still wouldn’t give her a peck on the cheek. I stepped back, raising my palms in surrender.

“Let’s try again. Can I help you change that tire? I have a jack in my truck.” I jerked my thumb behind my shoulder. “You can stand a good five feet from me. I promise not to touch you. Hell, I promise not to look at you, either. I hate orange.” I cocked my head to her shirt. Another truth. The color reminded me of that fucker, Hale, and his auburn hair.

She stared at me long and hard, like my real intentions were going to seep from my eyes on my next blink. I gawked right back, using every ounce of my self-control not to turn around and walk away. I got it, she had her reasons, but she was goddamn strange. I didn’t do difficult, or different, or weird. I kept things simple on that front. Don’t get me wrong—she was beautiful, but she looked like a dazzling tragedy, specially designed to fuck you up.

“My insurance covers it,” she stumbled over her own words. Like she wasn’t used to talking to strangers. I popped my cinnamon gum loudly.

“They’re also going to take an hour. I can get you going in fifteen minutes, and spare you the paperwork and headache.”

“I’m fine with paperwork and headaches. Leave.”

“Fair enough. Call your insurance company.” I folded my arms over my chest.

She could search for their number online, but it would probably take her twenty minutes. There was close to zero reception in that part of downtown Todos Santos. It was located in a valley so low, we were practically neighbors with hell. She tried searching for the number, squinting at her cell phone, huffing at the scrutiny she was under. Then she stumped her foot.

“What’s in it for you?” Jesse tilted her chin toward me, giving up on her spotty internet. Talk about complete opposite from her stepfather. While they were both anxious, he was passive and weak. She was a spitfire, ready to claw your eyes out if you got anywhere near her.

“A cup of coffee. Black. None of that soy shit,” I said, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows and turning my back to her to grab the toolbox from my truck. I swaggered back to find her rooted to the ground, her expression caked with distrust. I dumped the toolbox on the sidewalk and popped her trunk open, feeling her eyes on my face like the barrel of a gun.

She didn’t want to talk to me.

But she didn’t want to spend the afternoon baking under the SoCal sun and waiting for the tow company to arrive even more.

“Feel free to get me that coffee any minute now.” I didn’t even spare her a look, pretending to feel the tire to see what went wrong. Did I mention I didn’t like coffee? Because that shit was poison, and I was a semi-pro surfer with very clean-eating habits. She shifted, looking around, like I was going to tackle her into an alleyway.

“How do you take your coffee again?” With a shot of vodka. And no coffee.

“Surprise me.”

“Surprise you?”

“Yeah. It’s when you do something shocking and spontaneous. Like, you know, smile.”

“Who are you to judge me?”

“I’m your new best friend. Now, go.”

She shook her head gravely and started toward the Starbucks across the street. Downtown Todos Santos was dead for a Thursday evening. Another blessing for yours truly. I didn’t need people recognizing either of us. Jesse was as uptight as a tampon as it was. I did my thing, pushing to the back of my mind the fact that she was like a siren calling to my desires.

She is also a rape victim.

She is also a lucrative business deal.

Oh, and she is also a fucking teenager, you twenty-five-year-old perv.