Page 6 of Gonzo’s Grudge (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Dreadnought, NC #1)

IvaLeigh

N o, no, no, don’t die, dammit. This couldn’t be happening. My night was already bad enough.

I knew better. Why I went to the stupid frat party was beyond me. Dammit, I knew better.

It was two in the morning, I left the party angry. “Never drive under duress,” Mom always said.

Did I listen? Not tonight.

Why did I torture myself? I knew he would be there.

Like a fool, I went thinking somehow, I had hope to fix this.

Collin and I were over before we started because I don’t put out on the first date.

I liked him more than I should. His actions when I said no should have been enough for me to never give him a second thought.

A good man doesn’t get angry and try to guilt a woman into sex saying their balls hurt.

Wasn’t my consent and my desire more important than his tight balls?

How could I tell him? I was a virgin. Yes, at twenty-two years old, I had yet to have sex. It wasn’t that I was a prude. It was more, I didn’t date. In high school, I was focused and determined to go to Appalachian State University in Boone, North Carolina.

My dad, as a judge, wanted me to go to a bigger school, like Duke University, or even consider a private college. Me, I didn’t want to be far from home. I liked the idea of college until I had my first dorm mate. She was a slob.

Roommates could be difficult, who knew?

I had lived a sheltered life. That much college has taught me so far.

I met my current roommate our sophomore year in a criminology class.

We get along and this year we got an apartment together.

She was cleaner than any of the other roommates I had.

Granted my mom paying a housekeeper to come to the apartment once a week probably helped.

Darla, my roommate and friend, asked me to go to the frat party.

The party I knew I could see him at. Since she never invited me anywhere because we were complete opposites, I went.

She lived for the social life. I lived to get good grades.

Parties were her thing and schoolwork was secondary.

Why I thought I could convince Collin to give me a second chance was beyond me.

I knew my worth.

Right?

I was worth waiting for, wasn’t I? With every failed attempt to have a relationship, I began to wonder if I wasn’t actually the problem.

Tonight, though, it was a doozy. Especially when Darla changed things at the last minute saying she would meet me there instead of us riding together.

Yeah, she met me all right.

She made sure to be practically climbing Collin like a tree when I walked in the door. Did I leave? Nope. The idiot I was stayed for more of the show.

Finally, after four hours of only casually saying hello to a few people, I left.

Everyone was either hooking up or passing out by that point.

I should have made my exit hours before, but I wasn’t sure what to do.

I didn’t want Darla to think she got something over on me.

Because as much as she may enjoy girl drama, I did not …

ever. Also, during this party, I resigned myself that I would not date again until after graduation.

I needed to focus on my education anyway.

No more distractions.

Since I wasn’t keen on the idea of having to deal with Darla’s return to our place, I decided to make the drive back home.

I didn’t live far from the school, just over the North Carolina state line into Johnson City, Tennessee and there was something to be said for being in my own room after the betrayal of a so-called friend.

Only what should have been less than an hour home, would now indeed take much longer. My Mercedes G-Wagon was only two years old. Why then was it lit up like a Christmas tree on the dash? Why couldn’t this happen when I was still in Boone?

No, I found myself on the backroads of Dreadnought with a car that was shining brighter inside from warning lights than the headlights I had on.

The tiny valley of a town that didn’t even manage to make a dot on the map.

It was the only thing between Boone and Johnson City, and there wasn’t much to the town.

As if things couldn’t get worse… before I could safely pull off the road and assess my situation, the car shut off. Without a moment to get my thoughts together, the engine died. No more engine lights, no more headlights. I was dead in the street.

Tapping the touch screen, nothing. All power gone. Pressing the push start button, again I was met with silence. Stuck in the middle of a mountain road on a curve in the dark was the worst way to die, that was all I could think.

Finding my purse, I took out my phone. Using contacts, I called my mom.

No answer.

My dad.

No answer.

Leaning my head against the headrest, I decided I needed to get the car pushed off the road and then call for a tow.

Getting the car in neutral, I climbed out and used the seat belt trick I learned on social media to try to steer and push/pull the car. I didn’t even get it rolling when I saw a single headlight coming up.

“Please don’t let it be a serial killer,” I muttered to the air around me as I hoped this person could see I was stranded and not run into my car.

The approach came in almost as fast as the man managed to stop his motorcycle. Well, the single headlight made sense now. Inside, I had this trepidation but not a fear of a stranger, but rather curiosity if the man would help me.

Should I be afraid? Absolutely.

Was I?

No, I was desperate for assistance.

With the motorcycle shut down, he climbed off, removing his helmet.

He left the headlight on which was the only light illuminating my car and the space between us.

He was older. A beard that was clean cut not shaggy, and distinctive tattoos that ran down both arms. His dark hair glistened under the headlight’s glow.

Definitely my dad’s age or more. The closer he came the more I drank him in.

Dark hair, dark eyes, a beard, but not a bushy one, and the way he carried himself screamed danger but controlled.

He wore jeans and a black T-shirt with a leather vest. His arms were covered down to the tops of his hands and fingertips even in tattoos.

I loved the art of tattoos. Personally, I didn’t have any yet, but I wasn’t opposed to the idea.

“Sorry, my car shut off and won’t cut back on,” I explained. “The hazard lights won’t even come on.”

He smirked. “I can see that, baby.” His voice was raspy with fatigue or maybe smoking for too many years.

“I have a tow truck coming,” I lied. “And my boyfriend.” I quickly added to the lie with another lie. Hey, I was already this deep into the story, why not?

I had seen those videos from men on social media too.

The ones where you could play it in the back of a ride share to make it sound like there was a boyfriend waiting for you and aware of your location.

Except, I didn’t save not one of those recordings.

Even though, I loved the concept and thought that was important, I also never believed I would be stranded with a man who clearly could overpower me.

He stood well over six feet tall. His gaze pierced through me as if he was studying me. His entire demeanor screamed don’t mess with me. Yet, his eyes told me the man had a story. One that didn’t involve raping me, kidnapping me, or any type of harm coming to me.

Sure, I was certifiable to even allow myself to think I was safe around him. Maybe my drink was spiked. I only had bottled water, but maybe there was something in it, making me think this man was okay.

“Might not need that tow, baby. Let me get it off the road and take a look.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Luckily or unluckily for me, he took over. In the blink of an eye, he had my car off the road and the hood open.

“Cable came loose. Try it now,” he muttered from behind the hood of my car. I did as instructed and the car came back to life.

“Oh my God! Thank you,” I told him jumping out as he closed the hood. “I can’t say thank you enough,” I reached back in the car for my purse.

He stepped into my space. I was caged between my car door, my driver’s seat, and him. Moving my butt brushed against him as I grabbed my purse. Turning, he closed in more. Needing to breathe, I inhaled. The smell of his leather, cologne, and a hint of a menthol cigarette were intoxicating.

“Let me pay you,” I whispered, “mister,” I paused because I never got his name.

“Gabriel, but my friends call me Gonzo.”

I forced my mouth closed as I realized it was hanging open.

I wanted to ask why Gonzo but thought better of it.

“I’m IvaLeigh Walsh, Gonzo. I am thankful to meet you tonight.

” Opening my wallet, I retrieved a hundred-dollar bill.

His hand came around mine as electricity shot through me.

Heat coursed through my veins like never before.

“Keep your money. Want to make sure there weren’t any lights on the dash before you take off, baby.” He motioned to my car’s interior.

Instantly, I felt like a fool.

First, he was old enough to be my dad and second, he wasn’t interested in me, he was checking the car. He probably had kids my age and was doing what any parent would. What the hell was I thinking?

“I would like to pay you. After all, in today’s world not everyone has good intentions like helping a stranger get back on the road.”

His face changed to a darker look. One that caused the hair on my arms to raise as goosebumps ran through my body.

“Intentions matter, sweetheart.” He began leaving me reeling, “Never trust that anyone has pure intentions.”

With a soft kiss to my forehead, Gonzo backed away returning to his bike. Deciding this night needed to be over, I climbed in my car. He put on his helmet, but didn’t start his motorcycle until I had my car on and in gear.

The rest of the drive home, I had a single headlight in my rear view until reaching the gate of my parent’s community where he twisted his throttle which made the engine rev louder before he took off to wherever it was he went.

I pulled into my childhood home with one thing on repeat in my head.

“Intentions matter, sweetheart. Never trust that anyone has pure intentions.”