Page 39 of Dirty Mechanic

My nails tear at his skin, his shirt. I can't breathe.

“My lawyer will make sure they find my father’s murderer.”

His breath is hot and rancid.

“Doesn’t live far from here, does he?”

He hired a lawyer?

“You sent your mechanic boyfriend to beat me?” he hisses. “You like big hands and dumb morals, don’t you?”

My vision blurs. A truck rumbles in the distance—closer, louder.

With a strangled curse, he releases me and bolts across the field, jumping a fence.

My legs give out. I crumple to the ground, hands clawing at grass and weeds, knees scraping over sharp rock. I drag myself from the ditch, stumbling onto the road, blinking through tears.

A roar of tires on gravel skids to a halt. Derek’s out before the engine cuts, running toward me at full speed.

He catches me just before I collapse.

I gasp for air, choking.

“He’s here.”

I grip his grease-scented shirt.

“He found me.”

“I’ll fix this,” he murmurs, voice shaking with fury and fear.

“I swear, I will.”

She stumbles onto the road, looking like she’s been dropped there by a storm—braid unraveling, one shoe missing, hands scraped raw. There’s a streak of dirt across her cheek and a smear of blood at her temple. Her eyes don’t focus right, like she’s halfway between here and somewhere terrible.

My stomach lurches.

I should’ve been faster. Should’ve never left her alone. That damn banner wasn’t worth five minutes with Simon, no matter how crookedly it hung. I thought I had time, but it’s the same damn lie I told myself with Sarah.

My jaw locks, hard enough to ache. Past and present press in like a vise.

Not again.

Not this time.

I throw the truck into park, jumping out so fast the door bounces. She sways when I reach her.

“He’s here,” she whispers, voice shredded and barely there. “He found me.”

I pull her into me before the words even finish falling from her lips. She folds like paper against me, shaking so hard I can feel her heart echo through my chest.

“I’ll fix this. I swear, I will.”

But I’m not sure how.

I don’t know if fixing it means calling the sheriff, or driving to Mike’s motel and making him disappear. I just know the woman in my arms is breaking, and all I’ve got are these hands—and they’ve failed before.

God help me, they can’t fail her too.