Sean aka Diesel (Cocker Brothers Book 14), стр. 22
Atlas and Celia head to their Harleys, which are backed-in so they can take off without a problem, just like all the bikes are. I glance to her as she shakes out her hair, ties it back into a pony tail, tighter this time, and pulls her leather jacket from the saddlebags, The Ciphers patch on the back and a matching ‘C’ on the left bicep shoot envy into my veins. Atlas tugs his on, shrugs his shoulders to get it to lay comfortably, and man I want one.
With the exciting roar of engines echoing off the walls, they slowly drive their Harleys to just outside the garage, and wait for me to join them. Can’t fuck this up. Been almost a decade since I rode, when Mom and Alan broke it off. Never had one of my own.
Pulling every memory of how the engine works from the deepest recesses of my brain, I mount the beast like I tamed it long ago. Fake it ‘til you make it, as the saying goes.
Nobody can tell you don’t know what you’re doing if you act like you do.
Then learn fast.
Jett walks beside me, staring over his nose, arms crossed while I hold the clutch, light the thing on fire. Kicking it into neutral I strap the helmet on and lean back like it’s just another day.
My eyes lock with Celia. She gives me a wink, and takes off, thighs gripping that beast and fingers relaxed on the handles.
That’s gotta be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Lookin’ good, Sean!” Jett mutters. “Don’t fuck this up.”
I take off, vowing to myself that I won’t.
How hard can watching and learning be?
CHAPTER 15
SEAN
“We ride staggered,” Celia shouts over our engines.
“Guys in front and behind,” Atlas calls back.
I nod and back off the gas, switch the side of lane to complete the formation. It’s a humid day. The wind feels like flying through warm water. But with green trees layered with Spanish Moss under a smattering of clouds, I’m loving every second of this. Atlas laughs and whoops loudly. I join in. Celia follows and for about a quarter of a mile we sound like freedom personified. Such a rush, and as her laughter drifts on the wind, my smile falters. Can’t let Celia’s thighs wrapped around that leather seat, the curve of her ass in stretched-tight jeans, get in the way of doing what I came to do.
She glances back and holds my eyes a second. “Good form!”
I pause a beat, “You too.”
Nodding like she knows she’s a good rider, Celia faces front and calls to Atlas, “You’ve got the map.”
“Yep, another mile!” he looks over his shoulder and jerks his chin to me. “Men protect the women! That’s why you’re in back.”
“Plus he’s shadowing us anyway,” she adds, defensive.
He checks the road, then throws back, “Even if he was an elder he’d be back there, Ceels, and you know it!”
I see her left knuckles tighten to white. Amused I call up, “You are smaller than I am.” Her head swings back and fire shoots from her look. “Oh shit,” I mutter, grinning.
Her snarl shifts to laughter. “You’re a jerk, Sean. Nice one.”
“I thought so!”
Soon we pull off the road and park on a quiet Louisiana street marked mostly by the fact that it’s mostly apartments, and not high end ones. Walking on solid ground feels like floating after controlling a beast like that hog. Didn’t realize how tense I was, making sure I looked good and handled it right, until I have only my limbs to control. Atlas and Celia stare up at the second story of a building with 1970’s brown and orange paint.
“You think it’s that apartment?”
“Hope so,” she says. “Curtain’s closed though. And we can see that guy moving around in the next place so that’s not her.”
“Tip said she’s a caregiver during the days. Probably working, right?”
“Let’s find out.”
I follow them to the buzzers, watch them read through dozens of names, find one they’re looking for, and push the tiny silver button. After a few tries, they nod to each other and push another button. A man answers.
Atlas moves for Celia to say, “Hi, this is Jennifer from 310. I locked myself out, could you buzz me in? Sorry to bother you!”
A beep squawks, front door unlatches, and we head in.
My pulse is quickened as we head to the stairs, walk up to 207 and wait while Atlas pulls out his keys, pretending to be using them while also jimmying the door open. Takes him a long time, so I’m getting nervous. Even Celia glances around. For the sake of hiding his break-in she laughs, “You shouldn’t have had that fourth shot, John!”
He laughs, “You bet me to drink, I drink!” Just then it opens and he says, “See, home sweet home. Stop worrying so much,” loud and amiable so nobody gets suspicious.
We step in, and they move quickly. Opening up drawers and cupboards, looking for I don’t know what. Jett gave them the details without me there—soon as Celia and I returned to the house he pulled them aside. He didn’t want to encourage me taking actions when we got here. You can’t move if you don’t know which direction you’re going in.
Celia says. “This might have been furnished when it was rented.”
Atlas walks out of the kitchen, scans the layout. “That makes sense. It’s got enough space to add what you bring with you, and enough to get by if