Make Me (KPD Motorcycle Patrol Book 4) Page 4

  But she had these rosy cheeks that looked so cute when she was exerting herself.

  And her ass. Oh my God. Her ass.

  I wasn’t normally an ass man.

  I was all about boobs.

  I didn’t really know what did it for me when it came to boobs, but they were normally what drew me in first.

  But when I first saw Royal St. James?

  It was her hair. Followed very shortly by her ass.

  She’d been in a dirty pair of overalls. The kind that were thin but fire retardant. The top part had been off her top half, hanging off the back of her as she stood in the middle of the parking lot talking to her boss, Stratton. She’d been gesturing wildly with her hands, leading one to think that I’d been attracted to those beautiful breasts that’d been swaying as she talked.

  But nope.

  It was her ass. Her ass that was holding up her coveralls on its own.

  It was big, shapely, and goddamn I wanted nothing more than to bend her over at the waist, pull everything down to her ankles and sink my cock so far inside of her that she’d never think of another man again.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  I blinked, surprised to find every single eye in the room looking at me.

  Which wasn’t like me at all.

  I didn’t lose focus. Losing focus meant you could get killed and getting killed wasn’t on the top of my list of things to do—ever.

  “I think I’m coming down with something,” I patted my chest. “It’s getting hard to breathe.”

  Luke’s eyes rose.

  “You look fine to me,” he said.

  I cleared my throat and shrugged. “It just started this morning. I was considering going to get it checked out before it got to the point where it always gets.”

  “What’s that point?” Luke asked.

  “Pneumonia,” I admitted. “Every time that it starts, it always just starts like this. Congestion. Fatigue. Morphs into the fucked up illness from hell. Never fails. I’ll end up with bronchitis and pneumonia by the end of the week.”

  Luke frowned. “That’s not normal.”

  I shrugged. “It is for me.”

  Luke sighed. “I have a doc friend. I’ll give you his number. We can’t afford you getting sick when you’re this close to Gomez.”

  Meaning I needed to have all my wits about me or Gomez might fuck me up and over while I was down for the count.

  “It doesn’t usually fuck me up to the point where I can’t function,” I admitted. “I’ll just sound like I should be quarantined for an infectious disease.”

  Luke laughed and shook his head. “Get out of here, man. I’ll give the doc a call and tell him you’re coming.”

  I stood up and offered him my hand. “Thanks.”

  “Corner of Ninth and Eleventh. His name is Gordo,” he said. “He’s a trip, and don’t let him swindle anything out of you. He’s rich as fuck.”

  I was walking to the door when Luke stopped me for the last time.

  “Royal St. James’ father, Raiden St. James, is a rather big ally to the police department.” Luke words were tight. “He’s not known as the nicest judge out there, but he’s never not on the PD’s side. He’s weird about his daughter, though. I’m not sure about the relationship they have, but I’m not willing to let you dip your dick into his daughter and lose The Judge’s good grace.”

  I gritted my teeth and stared at Luke Roberts.

  “If I want to dip my dick into Royal St. James, that’s our business, not yours.” I paused. “And, if I do decide to do that, which I likely won’t, your thoughts on the matter likely aren’t going to even cross my mind.”

  Luke’s jaw tightened, and I could see his teeth clench.

  “And, just to say, I don’t tell you who to fuck, you don’t need to tell me who I can fuck, either.” I tilted my head sideways. “I respect the hell out of you, but you’re not my father. You’re not related to me in the least. Also, I have no loyalty to you. You’re my boss, sure, but I’ve known you for less than a couple of weeks. Respectfully, mind your own fucking business when it comes to that.”

  Luke crossed his arms over his chest.

  “That’s how it’s going to be?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know how else to be.”

  In hindsight, I shouldn’t have said a word. I should’ve just let him say his piece and done what I wanted.

  But I’d never been good at being told I couldn’t do something.

  When I was seven and wanted to play soccer, it was highly suggested by my doctor that I not, under any circumstances, participate in sports.

  From a young age, I’d had asthma. It got so bad that I walked around with a rescue inhaler in my pocket.

  Still did, as a matter of fact.

  There was no telling when that inhaler would be needed, and though it’d been a couple of months since I’d had an attack—I was very good about noticing the signs of my body and whether I was about to experience one—I still made sure to always be prepared.

  I’d been hospitalized over eight times for my asthma, and when my doctor had highly suggested that I not put my body through the high physical demands of soccer, I’d given him my big F-U and done it anyway.

  Though, at the time, my parents hadn’t realized that I’d been playing with the neighborhood kids. And by the time they did find out, not only was I good, but I was also very aware of what did and didn’t cause my asthma to act up.

  They’d decided to watch me play for a while, and when they realized that I did, in fact, have the potential to play without having an attack, they’d enrolled me in soccer. Then they’d attended every single game with the inhaler at the ready.

  As I’d gotten older, my asthma hadn’t gone away as much as I’d been better at controlling it. About noticing the signs and getting myself away from the trigger.

  Which had also been the reason that I’d been able to enter into the military.

  Per military guidelines, as long as one doesn’t exhibit signs or symptoms from their thirteenth birthday, they could be considered ‘asthma-free’ by the military. And since I hadn’t been hospitalized for asthma—per se—since my eleventh birthday, I was able to not only enter the military, but succeed.

  Though, that’s not to say there weren’t a few really scary moments while I was in basic training.

  And when I’d almost had an attack, luckily, it’d also coincided with a boot straight to the chest.

  Which was usually how it always worked out.

  The moment that I was out of basic, though, I once again took to carrying my inhaler with me everywhere.

  Sadly, having asthma also meant that I was much more prone to getting sick. And that more than likely always meant that a simple cough would always turn into bronchitis and pneumonia.

  Sadly, the doc that Luke sent me to see said that since I wasn’t really exhibiting anything too substantial at that moment in time, I’d have to wait until I was.

  Which was usually too late, but what-the-fuck-ever.

  I’d deal just like I always did.

  Chapter 6

  Describe your sex life using a movie title: How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days

  -Sadly, Royal’s actual love life explained far too well.

  Royal

  It was the coughing that had me putting my helmet on the bench and walking to the bay door.

  Someone—the someone that I refused to think about—was coughing so hard and much that they sounded like they were dying.

  I looked across the street and contemplated ignoring it, but I couldn’t do it any longer.

  He sounded really bad.

  Walking to the office, I hollered at Stratton.

  “I’m going to get a Dr. Pepper,” I said. “Do you want one?”

  “No,” he called right back. “I just went and got one.”

  “Thanks for the offer, asshole,” I called.

&nb
sp; His laughter followed me across the parking lot.

  Instead of going straight to his shop, I really did stop in and get a Dr. Pepper.

  After studying my brother’s face—which was healing fast, but still covered in sickly colored yellow bruises—I heated half of my Dr. Pepper up in the microwave.

  “Someone sick?” he asked.

  “The mechanic right next door,” I said. “He’s coughing so bad that I can’t hear myself think. I’m bringing him this drink in hopes that it helps.”

  Jimmy grunted. “Tell him thanks for saving my chair. I went by yesterday to tell him, but he wasn’t in. The shop was closed, and he had a sign on the door that said he was at the doctor.”

  I nodded.

  “Will do,” I said as I pulled the paper cup from the microwave and nodded at Jimmy.

  “Dinner at six?”

  He grunted out an affirmative, and I left the store, only to be assaulted by the coughing as soon as I no longer had the shield of the store around me.

  Rounding the corner of the convenience store, I came to a stop in the mechanic’s shop and stilled.

  My eyes took everything in, and I was in awe.

  I hadn’t actually been over here in a while. At least since it was owned by the previous tenants.

  But the old, nasty mechanic shop had been transformed into a cleaner version of its former self. It was also bright and airy instead of dark and dingy.

  The coughing man that I’d come to see was bent over the hood of a classic muscle car that had gleaming cherry red paint.

  Justice was tightening a wrench on a bolt on the motor while simultaneously coughing his lungs up.

  I cleared my throat and his head turned in my direction.

  I hadn’t surprised him. He’d known I was there.

  No surprise there.

  He stood up straight and breathed deep.

  I could hear his wheeze all the way from where I was standing.

  “You sound awful,” I found myself saying.

  “Feel awful,” he agreed. “What are you doing here?”

  I held up the paper cup and said, “Got you a drink.”

  His eyes lowered.

  “What is it?”

  He made no move to take it, and my lips twitched.

  “It’s heated up Dr. Pepper,” I said. “I drink it when I’m sick and have a cough like you. I swear to God, it works.”

  Justice’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”

  “Promise.” I crossed my heart with the half a bottle of cold Dr. Pepper. “It works. I swear.”

  He walked over to me, and my breath caught as I watched him move.

  He was sexy as hell, even obviously sick as he was.

  When he got closer, I could hear his wheezing even better.

  “Why are you working when you’re so obviously sick?” I wondered, holding out the cup.

  He gestured for me to come deeper into the shop and took the cup as he did.

  I followed him into the small office that I could see toward the back of the shop.

  “I have a deadline.” He gestured to the muscle car with his thumb.

  I looked at the muscle car with a disinterested eye.

  “I can hear you all the way at the shop,” I told him. “Your hacking is concerning.”

  He grunted out a ‘whatever’ and then looked at the drink in his hand as if he was actually considering drinking it.

  I knew it was a possibility that he wouldn’t, but with him considering it, he must’ve been feeling awful.

  He started hacking again, and I walked up to him and took the drink before he could spill it.

  He bent over and rested his hands on his knees, his head hanging limply.

  I got concerned when his face turned a bit white, then blue.

  I took a step forward and started pounding my hand down on his back.

  “Jesus,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He stood up straight, but only long enough to pull out an inhaler from his pocket. He roughly yanked the cap off, then placed the inhaler to his lips.

  “How many times have you had to use that?” I asked as I watched him hold his breath after taking the first puff.

  His eyes met mine as he let loose the breath he’d been holding. But he didn’t say anything while he took another puff, holding his breath so long that his eyes started to water.

  I looked around for a phone, concerned when I didn’t find one.

  I needed to be able to call 911 if he dropped to the floor.

  When he tossed the inhaler to the messy desk with a carelessness that surprised me, I walked to it and recapped the lid, then walked back to him and tucked it into his pocket again. Just in case.

  “Two times,” he rasped, sounding like he’d just gone through a marathon.

  I had no clue if it was safe to use it two times, but I had a feeling that he’d used it two times very close together. Meaning something was very wrong.

  “Have you been to the doctor?” I wondered.

  “Going over lunch, again,” he said.

  That was when I threw my hands up in the air.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I asked. “You just nearly died right in front of my eyes. Go to the fuckin’ doctor! Don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars. Fuckin’ go!”

  He gestured to the car again, but before he could say he had a deadline, I growled at him.

  “Whoever owns that car can go fuck themselves. You’re dumb if you think they’ll be happy that you fixed their car instead of fixing yourself. So. Dumb!” I shouted, but then my bitch switch was flipped when I saw the tiredness etched on his face. “Seriously, let’s go. I’ll take you right now.”

  The transition from anger to sweet was a trait that I’d mastered well over time.

  “Ummm,” he wondered. “Are you well? Do you have multiple personalities?”

  I narrowed my eyes at the man. “Just to let you know, not a single one of my personalities likes you.”

  The fact that he didn’t laugh was enough evidence that he seriously wasn’t feeling well.

  “Car’s Marcus’ and I have to fix it,” he said. “I want it the fuck out of my shop, because there’s no telling how long it’ll take at the hospital.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  Marcus Gomez was the type of person that wouldn’t care whether you were dying or not. He was an asshole. Last month I’d heard a doozy of a story. Apparently, the car detailing place just down the road had his car in and was detailing it. When the owner had to take a break to go get his wife from school, Marcus had driven by and seen it just sitting outside, not being worked on. When asked why, the only person at the shop had explained about the owner having to pick up his wife. And in retaliation for not working on his car until it was finished, Marcus had set the man’s office on fire. Then he’d made him finish the job without any tools.

  It was awful to hear about, and even more awful to think that that was just one instance of many.

  “What else do you have to do?” I asked curiously.

  He walked back over to me, practically ripped the cup out of my hands, and took a deep sip.

  He paused, eyes closed for a few seconds, and tested the taste out on his tongue before taking another sip.

  He did this until it was empty.

  And when he was done, he tossed the cup into the large plastic trash can next to where he was working.

  “That wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounded when you described it.” He looked down at me. “And all I have left to do is add oil and I’m done.”

  The way we were positioned made me feel small with him looking down at me the way he was.

  I really wanted to step back, but I didn’t want him to know his superior height made me nervous.

  Well, I wasn’t sure it was his height so much as how close he was to me.

  Or the fact that I could smell him—a
deep pine scent with a hint of orange—over the smell of the garage—burnt motor oil and grease.

  “I’ll take you to the doctor when you’re done,” I told him. “I’m due for lunch anyway…and I’m not sure that you should be driving when you’re hacking up a lung like that.”

  “I’m not…” He trailed off into another coughing fit.

  I raised my brow at him and waited until it was over—thankfully this episode was much shorter than the last.

  “You’ll do it,” I told him. “And I’ll be happy to do it.”

  He walked over to the car and leaned down into it.

  “I’m not sure what to think of you,” he admitted to the motor.

  I walked over to him.

  “I’m sweet and helpful,” I told him. “You can think of me as a helper.”

  “Whatever,” he grunted. “You’re complicated.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I’m a walk in the park,” I argued.

  He snorted most gracefully and met my eyes once again. “Sure, a walk down Eleventh Street at two in the morning.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “That’s just mean,” I said.

  A walk down Eleventh Street any time after the sun dropped was mental. It didn’t matter if it was me or him. Doing it was only asking for trouble.

  “I’m not like other girls,” I teased.

  His brows rose in surprise.

  “So that means that you know where you want to eat?” he asked.

  With that comment, I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  I was back in thirty minutes. And when I got there, it was to find the shop closed, and Justice nowhere in sight.

  Well, alrighty then.

  That answered that.

  The man wanted nothing to do with me.

  Duly noted.

  Chapter 7

  Dad, I’m so happy your pull-out game was weak.

  -Coffee Cup

  Justice

  I should’ve waited.

  I knew I should’ve waited.

  But I didn’t want to drag her under the bus with me, so I wouldn’t be accepting her kind offer of a ride.

  Hell, I’d wanted nothing more than to pull her into my arms when witty comeback after witty comeback kept coming out of her mouth. But that was mostly the reason I left her alone.