Wrong Side of the Tracks by Ashley Zakrzewski
ChapterOne
Blowing the loose tendrils of hair from my grease-dappled forehead, I’m determined to get this engine up and running even if it kills me. I’ve spent all day on my back beneath this pig of a car. I’m in desperate need of a coffee break. Bodie and I are swamped with work, picking up the slack from when Dad hung up his wrench through ill health. He and our mom moved to the coast, hoping the sea air would help with his emphysema. He can’t fix cars with an oxygen tank strapped to his back, poor guy. It killed him to leave, but Mom called us yesterday saying they both love early retirement. Which is good, I guess. The garage is like his third child. It’s our family legacy. Our grandpa started Blake Autos here in Mountview back in the early fifties, and we’re determined to keep it going strong and hand it down to the next generation. Well, that’s the plan. That’s if we don’t fall victim to all the gang warfare tearing up these parts. Bodie is a member of the Knight Hawks Motorcycle Club, fronted by his childhood bestie and the embodiment of all my dirty fantasies, Jason Knight. Not that he’ll ever notice. The fucker still treats me like a kid at twenty-three. I’m only two years younger than he is. To him, I’ll always be Bodie’s little sister. Jason will never see me as anything else. I’m probably the only person besides his mom who still calls him by his birth name. Nowadays he goes by his nickname, Havoc. That’s what his biker buddies call him. The folks around here call them a gang. But they’re nothing like the thugs who rode into town last year. Those guys call themselves the Jackals, and like a pack of savage dogs, they’ve preyed on the good people of Mountview, picking off their businesses one by one.
“Bodie, are you there?” I call out. “I need you to hand me a torque wrench.” I hold out my hand, flexing my fingers.
“Just a second,” Bodie replies from across the garage. “I’m on the phone.”
The sound of a metallic clink near my workstation arouses my suspicion. Someone else is snooping around where they shouldn’t be. Using the heels of my work boots, I roll out on my creeper, my eyes bulging as I see who it is.
“Need a hand, Peaches?” Jason asks, using a sweet nickname that means anything but. When we were in school, he said it was because I had a fat ass. It got a laugh out of Bodie, but it gave me a complex. Thanks to him, I wore nothing but Spanx for years. But he was as stunning then as he is now, only broader, sexier. Even his shirts cling to his muscles like they don’t want to let go. Jason grins at me, smug as fuck. He's looking down at me, his hair dangling in front of his forehead in dark, messy strands. God, he's handsome, and the arrogant fucker knows it too. Those glinting grey eyes make me wish I could read minds, wondering what the hell he's thinking about. Probably some witty jibe to tease me with. I half expect him to toss the wrench across the garage just to be a dick.
“Not from you,” I reply, trying to sound unaffected by him. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. “That’s an adjustable spanner, not a torque wrench. I thought bikers could find their way around a toolbox, or is it only your own junk you’re familiar with?”
I’ve insulted him this way plenty of times, insinuating his brains are located far south of his skull. Jason chortles at my comment, then scratches his stubbly chin with his thumbnail, probably thinking of a comeback. I stand and fold my arms beneath my tits, waiting for my chance to retaliate.
“If you weren’t Ratchet’s sister, a remark like that would’ve landed you across my lap,” Jason mentions, hinting at what he could do if he wanted. “I would have spanked some manners into that peachy ass of yours.”
“But you won’t because I’m Bodie’s little sister?” I scoff at that, using my brother’s christened name.
Jason's eyes flare with surprise. "You sound disappointed."
Not that I’m inviting Jason to smack my ass. My overalls are padded, but what lies beneath is just a lace thong. And like fuck am I stripping down to that, even if it is my secret kink. Imagine the rush I’d get if I was able to let go. Not with my brother listening. Not with the garage door wide open. But damn, I’m thinking about it. My face is getting hotter, probably looking beet red by this point because my clit likes the sound of that too, and it’s growing nice and plump between my labia.
"You wish," I retort.
“Hey, quit ribbing my baby sis and get over here, will you?” Bodie cuts in, keeping his finger over the phone speaker. “You should hear this. It involves you too.”
Jason nudges my jaw with his knuckles, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Maybe next time, Peaches."
I harrumph loudly. "Mind you don't trip over that ego."
What I say and do and what I fantasize about are two different things. I may be scowling with disgust, but in my head, I’ve just climbed him like a tree. At least in my head there's no risk of being rejected.
“You’re so easy to tease,” Jason says to me, his tone softening. He turns around and picks up the torque wrench, then hands it to me, proving he knew what it was all along.
I snatch it from him with an unfriendly snarl. “Get out of my workspace, jerk.”
Bodie gawps at Jason impatiently. "Come on, man. This guy won't wait."
“You know, boys might want to fool around with your tools if you weren’t so hostile.” Jason turns away smirking.
“Ahem.” Bodie fakes clearing his throat. "Today, please."
I walk a few steps and lean back against my workbench, breathing hard, my heart pounding. Jason always does this. Gets me all riled up, making me attack like a viper. Then when he’s gone, the downtime is brutal. Not because of sexual frustration. But because I didn't pluck up the guts to flirt back. Maybe I should have called him out on his bluff and invited him to spank me instead of making fun of it. I've tried dating other guys. It never works out because I keep comparing them to Jason.
Bodie finishes his call, then goes outside with Jason for a smoke. I hear motorcycle engines outside and think nothing of it. I’m used to the Knight Hawks showing up whenever they damn well please like they own the place. But when I crane my head to look, I don’t see the Hawks, I see the Jackals.
“Kiera, inside the office, now,” Bodie hollers at me, jerking his head. “Don’t come out until I say you can.”
Doing as he says, I lock the door behind me, then turn the blinds so I can partially see out, but they can’t look in. Bodie and Jason stand at the front of the auto shop like guard dogs, not letting any of the redneck fuckers pass the threshold. I strain to listen, deciphering from the mixture of muffled voices as to who’s saying what to whom. From the short, disjointed conversation that ends with Bodie telling them to “fuck off”, it sounds like he was offered money to pack up and leave town.
“You’re gonna regret this.” The foreboding last words of the rival biker stay with me after he leaves.
I step out of the office amidst the throaty engine noise and watch them leave in a thick cloud of road dust. Bodie double-takes at me and huffs.
“What did I tell you? Not to come out until I say you can,” he berates me.
I fling my hand up at the dusty street. “They’re gone now. What did they want?” I ask, expecting him to relay the information.
Bodie and Jason exchange a furtive glance, then Jason mutters that he needs to take a piss, which is charming. Bodie manages a strained smile. “Nothing,” he lies, which doesn’t alleviate my anxiety. “They came here for tune-ups, but I told them where to stick it. We’re not doing business with the likes of them.” He reaches up and drags the shutter down.
“We’re open until eight,” I remind him, frowning bemusedly. “It’s only quarter past six.”
“Did you remember to eat today?” Bodie asks, sounding like Dad.
I roll my eyes.
“I’ll take that as a no then,” he says with an exasperated huff. “You can finish up tomorrow. I’ll drive you home.”
“Where are you going?” I ask suspiciously.
“Nowhere that concerns you,” Bodie fires back, shutting me out and treating me like a kid as always.
I can’t shake the bad feeling I have that something terrible is about to happen. Bodie drops me home, where I spend three-quarters of an hour scrubbing the stench of fumes and all the oil and grease off me, but even a nail brush and a pumice stone aren’t enough to remove the ground in dirt from my work-worn hands. It feels good to be clean again, even if it is only short-lived until tomorrow. With my hair wrapped in a towel, I scour the freezer in nothing but my bathrobe and slippers while looking for something edible for dinner. I pull out a pepperoni pizza, remove the packaging, then shove it into the oven and wait for it to cook. It’s not much, but it’s enough to settle my hunger so I can at least get some sleep tonight. I’m not sure what time to expect Bodie home, so I lock up the house before going to bed. I’m dog tired, but my thoughts are plagued with worry. Thinking about what those guys said to Bodie and what repercussions we’re likely to face. Bodie isn’t stupid. I know he’s wondering the same thing. Which is why I’m worried about what he and Jason will do. And this brings me back to Jason and what he said to me today. If I were anyone else, he would spank me. God, I want that. Next time, I’ll dare him to follow through with it. I play the scenario out in my head, closing my eyes, and letting my fingers glide down my naked body between the warm, soft bed sheets, bringing my knees up slightly and letting them fall to the sides, my stomach tightening as I get closer to my sparsely covered mound. Something I wished I could have done earlier, back when the urge was stronger, stroking my fingers along my shorn pussy lips until my clit grows nice and fat. When I’m satisfied that I’ve teased myself enough, envisioning Jason’s handsome face as he strokes me into a panting mess, I bring my finger up to my open mouth and coat it with saliva. It’s easy to mistake my calloused pad for a man’s dexterous touch, gliding the slick tip around my swollen nub until I’m seeing stars. I pretend Jason is finishing me with his tongue, lapping at my pulsing clam until it detonates. Then groan through my climax, riding it out with a vigorous rub.
“Oh, Jason,” I whimper, my breathing tremulous, the pulse in my clit throbbing as my orgasm wanes.
I don’t even pinpoint the moment when I drift off to sleep.