Page 13 of Live Love Steal (Destroyers MC: Skilletsville PA #2)

Breathe - Isobel

D id he just admit there were drugs in the car? In this car? The one we’d gotten pulled over in?

“ Don’t forget to breathe,” Sketch muttered.

“ You asshole.” I couldn’t lean forward because the seatbelt locked me in place when I tried to put my head between my knees. That’s what you do when you feel faint, right?

“ Holy shit. Holy shit,” I chanted as softly as I could. This was so wrong.

“ Hey , Isobel . It isn’t that bad. Breathe . Inhale , count… hold it in… now exhale.”

Between breaths, I said, “ Fuck you.”

Sketch smirked. “ Someone told me it works when you’re having a panic attack.”

I counted out the exhale and took a deep inhale while trying not to scream at him. Once I got myself under control, I tried to correct the situation. “ Let me out.”

“ We’re getting your car.”

“ Let me out, now.” I clarified. I couldn’t be here. I couldn’t do this.

He glanced in his mirrors, probably checking for cops because… drugs! I had to pace my breathing again. If anything warranted a panic attack, this had to qualify.

“ Listen , I’m going to try to put this in a way you’d understand—” I started.

“ Isobel , face it, I’m not a good guy. I know that. So do yourself a favor and just shut up until we get your car. Then you never have to see me again.”

No one tells me to shut up. “ I’m the oldest, do you know that?”

“ Oldest what? Pain in the ass?”

Dick . “ Oldest sister. I don’t do things like this. Do you know why?” I didn’t let him answer and barreled on. “ My little sister has horrible taste in men. Her last boyfriend dealt drugs .”

“ Is he dead?”

“ You will be if you keep interrupting me.”

That got him to shut up. But the glance he shot at me betrayed his amusement.

There was nothing funny about this at all.

I was serious. I was the good sister. The responsible one.

The one who didn’t get in trouble. Sure , I had fun, rebelled just a little by bleaching part of my hair so I could wear the funky colors I loved, but then washed it out and did my nine-to-five.

Like good girls should. They didn’t ride around in stolen cars with tattooed bad boys who thought killing people was funny.

Nor did good girls sleep with someone who dealt drugs.

“ Do go on,” he prompted when my silence went on too long.

“ As I was saying…” What was I saying? I was still a little tipsy from slamming single-batch bourbon with a biker named Bear .

And there was the whole problem, wasn’t it?

Good girls didn’t think that was fun. They didn’t revel in teasing men twice their size.

They certainly didn’t drink with bikers and feel right at home doing it, did they?

I had to be honest... if only with myself. “ I’m not a good girl, am I ?”

Sketch pondered that. As he did, he licked his lips. “ A good girl? No . You have been a very bad girl today.”

Why did that send a warm tingle from my groin to the top of my head and back? Was it the way he growled it, or the way his wolfish smile quirked up after saying it?

And I had to lay down some rules before this conversation went too far. “ I don’t do spanking.”

Sketch’s eyes narrowed, and his grin slipped sideways. “ Neither do I , but I’m sure I could punish a very bad girl. Maybe handcuffs? A feather…”

Holy shit . He was going to make me orgasm in a stolen car.

Why was that even hotter? “ Please don’t.”

There was a second where his blue eyes locked on me before he returned to watching the road.

The promise of what he’d do to me buzzed in the air like the vibration of a guitar string picking up sound you can’t hear.

I crossed my legs to keep from reaching between them.

His mouth had been there. His tongue… in there.

He’d drawn me… naked. Wow . I didn’t need him to say a single word, and I was ready to pop off.

“ Beg .”

Damn him and that infernal low rumble coming from his throat! “ No .”

I tightened my legs together. I would not break. I was iron. I rubbed my tattoo.

Sketch reached across the console and pulled my hand to his lips, stopping me from my nervous tic. “ Sorry . I shouldn’t have pushed.”

His tone had softened, and I missed that growl. “ What ?”

“ I made you uncomfortable,” he clarified.

He most certainly had, but in a supremely, deliciously delightful fashion.

But I realized what I must look like. I was closing myself off, fidgeting, acting like prey.

I projected ‘wounded bird,’ not a strong woman.

Which meant I had to act like a strong woman and own up to my feelings. “ Uncomfortably horny.”

His fingers tightened. “ Really ?”

Oh yes. “ Yes .” I tried to sound clinical. Tough .

This time, when he pulled my hand to his lips, he ran his teeth over my knuckle.

A sound escaped me. One he’d probably heard at least twice... today.

“ That’s my good girl.”

Ah … my kryptonite. Danger ! “ You shouldn’t flirt with me in a stolen car filled with drugs.”

He dropped my hand and put both hands on the wheel.

I slowly let my tension escape. Which was probably a mistake. I recognized the area. My sister’s ex lived about eight blocks away. Which meant my plates had been somewhere else while I backed into his car. “ I’ve been driving for two weeks without plates.”

Sketch made a noise that was suspiciously close to a snort.

“ Asshole .”

“ If it’s any consolation, I didn’t steal your plates.”

“ Your friends did.”

There was no comment on that because it was true. But I had to know exactly what his role in all this was. “ Did you steal this car?”

“ No .”

“ What did you do?”

He shrugged and pulled into an alley. “ I welded the fake panels in the trunk so that they look like they belong there, but they don’t if you catch my meaning.”

Ah , a smuggler’s trick. I slept with the modern equivalent of a pirate.

Which wasn’t a good thing, right ? Somehow , my libido thought it was most excellent. I was more like my sister than I thought. Was it genetic? If so, how had our normal parents fucked up so badly? Who in our family tree was related to Blackbeard ?

He pulled into a parking space behind a run-down house that stood in a long row of run-down houses. My car was parked in the dirt to our right. Seeing it further drove home how fucked up this whole day was. And , it made it all too real. I swallowed. “ You don’t really kill snitches, do you?”

“ Personally ? Not yet.”

That was not comforting. “ Would you?”

He had his hand on the door latch, but stopped to study me. His eyes were in shadow, but a catch of light from a street light or maybe the reflection of someone’s bedroom lamp glittered an amber-red. “ Don’t snitch, and we’ll never find out.”

Sketch meant that. “ Why ? Why would you do that?”

He took his hand off the handle and stretched in the seat.

His hand landed on my hair and slid down until it settled on the back of my neck.

“ You’ve seen my son’s picture. He’s a good kid.

I wasn’t. I was an awful bastard. I ran the streets from age five to fifteen.

When Mom finally lit off, I …” He shook his head, lost in thought.

“ Well ... with her gone, I was homeless. I broke into the garage where I live. It was empty. No one had been there for years. It wasn’t much, but there was no one trying to lock me up there.

So , I made it my home. I almost died several times in the four years before I started prospecting for the Destroyers .

Once that happened, I had something, a family, finally.

I wasn’t dying every day. That’s why I will do anything for them that keeps that family safe, and why I’ll do what it takes to keep Noah safe. Anything it takes.”

His head dropped as he could not look me in the eye.

There was a lot in that confession. “ Do you think his mother is going to turn out like yours?”

His sharp glance confirmed my theory.

“ You found someone like her, didn’t you?”

Sketch frowned. “ Probably . Sharon isn’t as bad as she was, but…”

“ She’s a gold digger. Probably a narcissist, too.” I dealt with a boss who had the same issues. Money and ego were the only things that mattered.

“ You’ve never even met her, and you’re making assumptions like that?”

It was my turn to send a scathing glare toward him. “ I heard that phone call. And her asking for money didn’t sound like it was a one-time thing.”

He sighed. “ It wasn’t.”

My heart went out to him and his son. They needed someone solid in their lives, like my parents.

Then it hit me. The Destroyers were Sketch’s solid.

And because of that, he could be Noah’s solid.

Ugh . It was too easy to sympathize with him.

If my parents hadn’t been so awesome, maybe I would have been the wild sister.

And , if that had happened... I rubbed my tattoo.

Crystal clarity revealed too many dark secrets in my soul.

I could have been just like Noah’s mom. Hardened by life and demanding something to make it less difficult.

And the less I dwelt on that, the better.

“ Let’s get this shit over with and get out of here. This is a horrible neighborhood,” I said.

“ How would you know?”

I poked a finger north. “ My sister lived about two blocks away with her boyfriend. He was much worse than your ex or you, and I’d really like to not go that direction when we leave. Okay ?”

Sketch quietly scrutinized my words. Finally , he relented. “ Stay in the car.”

Translation ? This deal was much more dangerous than remaining in a stolen car in the middle of one of the worst neighborhoods for about fifty miles in any direction. Great .

“ Please make sure you get my keys and laptop?”

Sketch nodded. He popped the trunk and banged around for a moment while pulling whatever he had stashed in the car out.

It was enough to fill a small duffle bag.

I watched all the mirrors and anything I could see from my position in the front passenger seat, but the entire block was dark and surprisingly quiet.

Not even a dog bark or the noise from loud TVs .

It didn’t match my experiences at my sister’s.

Strange .

The security floodlights behind the house went on as Sketch approached. His body was outlined by them and the light that blazed out of the entrance when someone finally unlocked the door.

Then everything went dark for a bit. I waited, getting more and more nervous as it took longer and longer.

A car drove down the alley. It slowed as it went past the opening where my car and this one were parked.

I ducked down and watched the glow from it move across the headlining as the sole sign of life in this area slid past. I sighed in relief as it finally faded.

Where was Sketch ? Surely a deal didn’t take…

what? Hours ? I glanced at my phone. More like five minutes. Damn .

Five minutes later, I checked my phone again, certain it was at least twenty. “ Fucker .” He needed to hurry up.

Maybe I could steal my car back? I knew how, thanks to Sketch . But I didn’t have my keys, therefore the immobilizer would stop me.

“ Stupid bikers and stupid drug deals,” I muttered. I pulled up a game on my phone to play while I waited. The glow and the familiar monotony made me feel better. I got sucked into trying to beat one of my high scores.

That was a mistake. I’d just started a quest when a sharp bump startled me so badly I dropped the phone. I looked around, trying to see what had happened, and noticed the red glow of brake lights behind the car. Then , they shifted to the tell-tale white of backup lights.

Oh shit .

Whoever was backing up was insane. I was in the car, for crying out loud. They slammed into the car again, tossing me forward, and the seatbelt locked before I hit the dash or the windshield with my face. I screamed.

They pulled away, and I waited for them to ram the car again.

But instead, four shadowed figures climbed out of the car and surrounded me.

As they triggered the building’s security lights, I recognized Victor .

My sister’s ex didn’t wait for me to try to explain or escape; he hit the window— hard .

It was as if he intended to punch my face in. Luckily , the glass held.

I scrambled to lock the car, but he pulled the handle before I could find the right button. “ I thought this was your car.” His smile was evil. “ Now it matches my car.”

I gripped the seat belt, holding the locking mechanism so it would be harder for him to drag me out. I didn’t dare mention that he’d messed with the wrong car. I could barely talk as it was. “ H —hi, Victor .” Lame .

“ Bzzt . Wrong . It’s El Maleante .” His henchman mocked me.

Dicks . Victor gave himself that nickname.

Audrey told me so. What a poser. Picking a Spanish nickname when he obviously had zero genetic ties to anything remotely Latin .

Worse ? It meant ‘criminal.’ For a guy already named Victor King , he had to go and add another descriptor on himself? Can you say ‘ ego ?’

He tipped his head to his posse. One of them tried the driver’s door and found it unlocked.

I shrank into the seat as he climbed in, tore at the duct tape surrounding Sketch’s patch job, and twisted the makeshift “key” Sketch had jammed into place.

He turned to grin at me. “ We’re going for a ride, mamasita. ”

Victor slapped his hand on the roof. “ My place, we’re going to have some fun tonight.” He leaned in and addressed me. “ Let’s see if you’re half the lay your sister was.”

Gross !

Commotion coming out of the house caught his attention.

Sketch exited, gun raised.

I shrank in the seat, praying he wouldn’t spray the car with bullets as he fired on the gang.

They scattered, the driver of my vehicle shoving the shifter into reverse and peeling out of the spot, barely missing my car as he did it. I took one long look at my car and Sketch fading into the distance, and wondered if I’d see either ever again.