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Enjoy this first Chapter of BEAR…
BEAR
by
CARMEN JENNER
Chapter One
Bear
Fuck.
My bike coughs and sputters, dying out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. I push forward with my legs and steer it toward the shoulder. Then I flip the stand down, climb off, and kick rocks in a fucking toddler-sized temper tantrum before parking my ass in the dust on the side of the road. I pull out my phone and stare at the spot where the bars should be. Fucking AT&T.
“Piece of shit, bike.”
It’s not all bad. In the distance, I can make out the shapes of Main Street Uprising, Georgia, and it’s not that far to walk. Not even in the heat. I’ve experienced much worse in the Navy—even got the scars to prove it—but I ain’t leaving my bike for any asshole who wants to come along and pile my twenty-four-thousand-dollar piece of shit in their truck. She might be a hunk of shit, but she’s my hunk of shit, and I can’t afford to lose her.
I glance up the long stretch of road. Nothing but woods between me and the first few buildings. Aww, shit. I haul my gimpy legged self to my feet and turn, holding my phone in the air trying to get a goddamn signal. The beefy growl of a truck sends a jolt of panic through me, and I whirl around. For a heartbeat, I lose myself in a warzone, the sun beating down upon my back, the roar of the engine, and the oppressive heat. It feels a lot like Afghanistan, but the powder blue Chevy pulling to a stop beside me says otherwise.
A woman with tattooed sleeves, cherry red lips, and lavender hair tied up with a bandana leans out of the driver’s side window.
“Hey, sugar.” She smiles. “You need a hand?”
I narrow my gaze and shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans to quit from shaking. Pull it together asshole. “Just what are you proposing to give me a hand with?”
“Well, it seems like that broke-down Harley could use a little push.” She winks and opens her car door, jumping out.
She’s all of four feet—not even kidding—and when she struts toward me in her little Daisy Dukes and a Slayer T-shirt knotted at the waist, I roll my gaze over her shapely legs and the inch of skin exposed around her midriff. Jesus. She’s a fucking smoke show and my dick is itching to say hello.
Where the hell has Uprising been hiding you, darlin’?
She squats in front of the bike and turns to look over her shoulder at me. “Problems with the clutch?”
My brow furrows. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
She laughs. “It’s a 114, isn’t it?”
“What the hell do you know about Harley’s, little girl? It looks like you’re barely out of high school.”
“Oh, you’re one of those,” she says, standing to her full height, which is pretty much laughable next to my 6’4 frame. “Shame you had to open your mouth, because with a body like that I bet you’re a really fun ride. Now I guess I’ll never know.”
I smirk. “Listen, Tinkerbelle. I’m flattered, but I don’t fuck jailbait. Not even ones that look like you.” Not that she’d know what to do with me anyway. One look at my fat cock and she’d be running for the hills.
“Well, I’m so glad we got that cleared up. Anyway, looks like an internal leak is preventing the clutch from receiving enough lift. You’ll need to install a secondary clutch actuator piston.”
Come a-fucking-gain?
I stare at her like a slack-jawed fucking yokel. This bitch knows bikes. Really knows bikes.
I glance back at the truck, and the brightly colored logo emblazoned on the side that reads, “Jupiter’s Custom Builds and Auto”. Beneath the obtrusive logo—which is practically giving me a fucking stroke—is a line in cursive, “We’ll get your motor running”.
They weren’t fucking kidding.
She stands with her hands on her hips. “So, you wanna help me get this thing into the back of my truck, or are you just gonna wait for another big, strong man to come along and save you?”
I frown. I don’t like her fucking tone, or the fact that she’s deliberately pushing my buttons, but her sassy little attitude makes me want to put her over my goddamn knee. It’s been a long time since a woman affected me like this, and the last one practically took a goddamn sawn-off shotgun and blew a hole right through my heart.
Still, I can’t help but smile at the arch brow she’s giving me, and the attitude packed into that tight little body.
“Help you get it in the truck?” I give her a dubious look. “What are you, five feet and one hundred pounds soaking wet?”
“Actually, I’m four feet, eleven inches. And one hundred and six pounds,” She rolls her eyes and moves to the tailgate, lowering it before she turns back to me. “Wet or not.”
A smirk steals across my lips. “Alright, Tink. You got a ramp and a ratchet strap or two?”
“Yep. I’ve also got a wheel chock.”
“You ride?” It would explain how she knows so much about bikes when even most mechanics don’t know jack shit.
“No, but we have an awful lot of bikers in this town. Who do you think they call to come pick them up when they break down?” She shrugs and climbs up into the bed of the truck like she’s done it a million times before. “Besides, I prefer burning rubber on four wheels.”
That does get a rise out of me, but before I can respond, she turns to me and snaps, “Now, if you’re done with your little interrogation, can we get this goddamn bike on the truck?”
I take the small ramp from the bed and unfold it. Tinkerbelle gathers together a couple more ratchet straps and jumps down, her boots sending up a cloud of dust when she hits the gravel. Then she crouches and hooks the strap under the towbar, threading it through the rungs on the ramp and securing it to the Chevy. I smirk as I watch her. Definitely not her first fucking rodeo.
“Alright, let’s get that pretty baby on board.” She climbs into the truck bed again as I head to my bike, flip up the kickstand, and wheel it toward the ramp. She’s a beast of a machine, and not as easy to maneuver as I’d like, but once I line it up correctly, I push forward and hold the weight of the bike when it hits the bumper. Tink grabs the handlebars to hold it steady while I climb into the truck and we both drive it home into the wheel chock.
“You wanna climb on to steady the bike while I fasten it?” I tilt my chin toward my baby.
She gasps in mock surprise. “And here I thought bitches were only supposed to sit on the back of your bike?”