Chapter Eleven

Mariah grabbed the collar of Skye's crop top and pulled, ripping the cotton material six inches down her chest. "Totally legit."

Skye rearranged the material. "I look like one of the bitches at the clubhouse."

"Good." Mariah tilted Skye's face and applied more eyeliner. "Like the bitches, we don't have time or money to go buy different clothes, so we're going to chill and use what we have."

"Dio will see straight through me and laugh his ass off," she muttered.

Mariah stepped back, studied her up and down, and smiled. "I'd bang you."

"You wouldn't, but I love you for saying that." She inhaled deeply. "If I'm going to do this, I better go before he takes off for the clubhouse."

She'd gone by his house an hour ago to make sure he was there before rushing to the apartment to get ready. After that morning with the shower fiasco and screwing up her big plan to seduce him, she wasn't sure he'd welcome her back to give him a massage and do his exercises.

Mariah grabbed a perfume bottle. "Walk."

She stepped through the spray of scented mist. "Wish me luck."

"You won't need any." Mariah followed her through the apartment and to the door. "Balls to the wall, girlfriend."

"Ew." She waved over her head before she chickened out and hurried toward the stairs.

Mrs. Homola from Apartment 4 stopped on the top step and gasped. Skye's face warmed. She understood what she looked like.

"Costume party." Skye smiled widely, lying through her teeth. "Have a good evening, Mrs. Homola."

"Put some clothes on before you get arrested."

She waved over her head and kept going. At her car, a chill ran through her. The night air had already pushed the heat of the day away. She started her car and turned the heater on. Most of the goosebumps on her body came from her hesitation to go through with her plan.

Dio expected her to come over morning and night for a while until his back felt better—at least he had until he walked in on her naked in the shower. She wouldn't be surprised if he went back on his opinion of wanting a massage.

That's why she couldn't give him time to overthink the situation.

Showing up in cutoffs that showed the bottom of her butt cheeks every time she walked, a top that highlighted the swell of her breasts in a black bra, and heavy dark makeup on her face was supposed to throw Dio off balance. She wasn't his Skye tonight. She was a woman. A woman who'd waited a lifetime to show Dio how much she loved him.

She stopped at the one stoplight between her apartment and Dio's house. Looking in the rearview mirror, she rubbed her lips together. The tinted gloss had plumped her mouth into a kissable size.

A car honked behind her. She startled and put her foot on the pedal, shooting off through the intersection. She looked behind her and blew out her breath. Her heart raced at how reckless she'd become in her pursuit of Dio. She needed to pay attention.

The steering wheel moved. She looked down at her dash. Why was her car moving like that?

She looked at the road. There were no bumps.

A vibration came from the front of her car. She looked behind her and put on her turn signal, pulling off to the side of the road.

As soon as she stopped on the gravel shoulder, the car sounded okay.

She turned off the engine and opened the car door. Instantly, she spotted the problem. The front tire was flat.

A car honked, zooming past her. She ignored the traffic and contemplated what to do. Her dad was on a ride tonight. Aunt Brooke would want her to call, but she wasn't going to make her change a tire.

Gravel crunched. She looked behind her car. Another vehicle pulled to the side of the road and came to a stop.

Every warning her parents taught her screamed in her head. She moved to the driver's door and went back inside. As she hit the lock, she opened the console between the seats and wrapped her hand around the grip of the pistol that was always there.

Her dad had taught her how to shoot as a teenager and made sure she had a defense weapon in her vehicle and her bag when she worked. Because she went to her clients' houses, it made her feel safer to have a way of protecting herself.

In her side mirror, a man stepped out of the car parked behind her. She reached out and hit the contact number for the clubhouse. A Havlin member would get here faster than the police could arrive.

"Yeah?"

She hit the speaker button. "This is Skye Harrison. Maverick is my dad. I'm parked on the side of Quarterly Road, right past the Crab Shack." She gazed into the mirror. "I have a flat tire, and there's a man walking toward me. Can someone ride over?"

"This is Cord, Skye. I'm sending someone now. I want you to keep talking to me. Can you tell me where the man is?"

"He's coming up to my window." Her heart raced. "He's here now."

The man knocked on the glass. Her hand tightened around the pistol.

"He tapped on the window," she whispered.

"Do not roll your window down. Shake your head and yell that someone is coming to help you."

She followed the instructions. The man moved to the front of her car and peered down at the tire.

"Is he leaving?" asked Cord.

"No, he's looking at the tire."

"Okay. Hang tight, sweetheart."

She swallowed hard. "I know he's probably just trying to help, but I'm a little freaked out.

She wasn't appropriately dressed to be out in public. Her tire wasn't supposed to go flat. Anyone seeing her would get the wrong idea about her. She wasn't a prostitute.

The man returned to the window and bent down, peering inside. She pressed into the seat as if the stranger could reach through the glass.

"Hey, do you need help?" The man patted his hand against the car's roof.

"No. I'm fine. Someone is coming," she said loudly.

"Skye?" Cord's voice came through the phone. "You're doing great."

Traffic zoomed by. She glanced in the mirror, hoping to see a biker.

"Do you have a spare?" The man put his face inches from the window. "A jack?"

God, why wouldn't he leave? She shook her head, even though she had both in the car's trunk. Her dad had taught her how to change a tire and where the tools were located that she'd need. But she wasn't going to bend over on the side of the road wearing booty shorts.

"Don't unlock the door," said Cord.

"I have a pistol," she whispered. "I-I'll be okay."

"Good, girl. Your dad taught you well. Just sit tight."

In a matter of seconds that seemed like hours, two motorcycles rolled to a stop in front of the vehicle. At the sight of Dio and Brett, she almost cried in relief.

"Dio's here." She inhaled deeply, watching him get off the motorcycle and talk with the man who'd stopped to help her.

Dio shook the man's hand and walked him back to his car before returning to Skye. She told Cord thank you and hung up. Then, she unlocked her car door and rolled down the window.

"Go ahead and grab the jack out of the trunk." Dio reached inside the vehicle and hit the button, opening the back.

As Brett moved out of sight, Dio opened her door and squatted beside her. He ran his hand down the side of her face. She pressed her cheek into his hand, relieved that he had come.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "I've never had a flat tire before. I didn't know what to do, and then that guy—"

Hey, hey, hey...no worries. You did the right thing." His gaze lowered, and he frowned.

Suddenly aware of what she had on, embarrassment brought out the tears she'd held back through the ping-pong of emotions she'd experienced that night.

"I was going to your house." She pressed her hand to her stomach. "I didn't plan on stopping on the side of the road."

She knew the dangers of being half-dressed in public, especially when alone and it was getting dark. While every female had a right to dress however she wanted, she wasn't stupid.

The car moved. She jerked her gaze away from Dio. Brett jacked up the front of her vehicle.

"I should help him." She wiped her cheeks, feeling young and foolish. "Dad taught me how to change—"

"You're not stepping out of the car." Dio straightened. "Sit tight."

She hugged her middle. He wasn't supposed to be at the clubhouse. She'd seen his motorcycle at his house before she headed home to change her clothes and get ready. Now, she'd made him mad.

Taking her phone off the holder, she texted Mariah.

Everything is ruined. Car got a flat. Dio's helping but he hates the way I look.

Mariah answered. R U ok?

She stopped typing and looked out the window. Dio scowled at the tire. He still had that same expression on his face. The one he got when he looked at her tonight.

Maybe he was in pain, and she made it worse, asking him to help her change a tire.

I don't know what to do. She hit enter.

You want him. Stop second-guessing yourself. Do it.

She put the phone back in the holder. Normally, Mariah's support motivated her.

The front of the car dropped off the jack. Feeling sick, Skye could only sit and wait until Dio or Brett signaled that the tire was replaced with the spare.

She couldn't take her gaze off Dio. He looked miserable and it was her fault.

Life shouldn't be this hard. Love was supposed to rule over every little inconvenience she suffered through.

Her dad had kidnapped Aunt Brooke—for love.

She swallowed hard, sitting up straighter in the driver's seat. She was stronger than a girl sitting in the car, feeling sorry for herself.

She'd started her own business at twenty years old. She went out of her way daily to make other people feel better. She lived independently, paying all her bills without anyone's help. There was no reason she couldn't have the man she loved. Period.

Unless he couldn't see her for a woman capable of loving him, she'd prove him wrong if that was the case. She was more than capable.

Brett walked to the back of her car. Seconds later, the trunk closed, and he waved at her as he walked to his motorcycle.

She stuck her head out the window. "Thank you."

Brett lifted his hand and gave her the peace sign. She looked at Dio and found him still standing at the front of the car, staring at her. If he was a stranger, she'd be intimidated. He was big, rough, and scary when he scowled.

He walked to the side of the car and braced his hands on the door frame, lowering his head to her level. "Straight home. Don't stop. Don't look at anyone. Call and leave a message on my phone when you get there."

"But—"

"If you can't do that, I'll follow you and carry you up to your apartment myself."

"Why are you being this way?" She hit the steering wheel. "I couldn't predict that I'd get a flat tire."

His gaze lowered to her chest and then he met her gaze. His was heated. Hers was stubborn. The more he tried to push her into a corner, the more she wanted to fight for him.

"Fine. I'll follow you." He stormed away from her car with a slight limp.

She almost felt bad for riling him when he suffered with a hurt back. But she was more determined to end the torment she was living with. He needed to hear how she felt about him.

As soon as he got on his motorcycle, she pulled out onto the road and headed straight to his house before he could stop her. She had no idea what she'd say when she arrived, but she wasn't going to go to bed tonight without getting everything off her chest.