Read Online Charged by Kerri Ann - Free Book Online Page B

They can’t really have wet outfits, now can they? The material sticks to everything when it’s dry, but when it’s wet they look like plaster puppets.” She doesn’t look up from where she’s flipping a large stack of papers into a neat pile. “We normally go over n’ see what they want for lunch. Mind goin’ over for me? I’m gonna get some paperwork done, seein’ yer here.” 
    Hazel’s ‘go get em’ attitude’ is infectious. She’s a truly genuine person, and she makes me want to do nice things. Hell, all she’s done is nice things for me and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. 
    “Sure.” Taking off my apron, I toss it on the counter and walk towards the entrance, calling out to tell Gus I’ll be back soon. 
    “There’s an umbrella by the door,” he calls back to me from the kitchen.
    Taking a pad of paper and a pen, I pick up the ratty blue umbrella, the bell dinging over the door on my way out. The awning at the front covers me while I open the ancient worn out umbrella. 
    There’s no wind, so the warm rain falls straight from the sky in fat lazy drops. I’ve avoided going over and checking on Creature all morning, mainly so I’m not harassed by Gus, but also because I figured the more I bugged, the more chance I had of hearing worse news than I had. 
    I know yesterday Ryker did a quick pull apart coming up with a vague repair list. I really can’t say I’ve looked after the car at all. Any money I’ve had was going towards somewhere to stay, something to eat or the odd drink to piss away the memories. Since I have enough money from the ring to take care of the repairs on Creature, and with Hazel not making me pay for a place to stay, I’ve saved a bit of money. Hopefully I’ll have some to spare for my grand escape out of Mississippi. 
    I hate staying put for too long. I’m scared shitless, if I’m being totally honest with myself. Oxford may have more people my age, but I’m still taking a chance hiding out somewhere so close to the last point of discovery.  
    As I venture across the asphalt towards the garage, the raindrops are so big they bounce off the blacktop, hitting my legs as I walk. It’s kind of refreshing and cool as it runs down my heated skin. 
    The steel bay doors at the front of the garage are closed to keep the wet out, so I venture over to the side man door. There’s a sign hanging beside the steel entry, brightly painted and polished to a sheen, reading J ack’s Autobody and Restoration . I open the door and step inside, shaking out the ratty umbrella and collapsing it to rest against the inside wall. 
    I’d only seen a quick view of the interior from the bay door yesterday, but I had no idea how massive it was. To the right stands racks and racks of body panels, all of them reaching as high as the ceiling. There seems to be every color and shape, some wrapped in bubble wrap, some in brown cloth sheets with taped up edges, while others lay loosely resting against the bare rack or upon each other. 
    Somewhere inside the space the stereo is cranked so high, the sound bounces off the walls. I’m guessing it’s so it can be heard loud and clear by all, but it’s almost deafening. As I move through the cavernous building, it looks like a metal graveyard. Some of the large racks holding whole motors, and even bigger components. Some are covered with tiny little baskets holding nuts and bolts, or stacks of the brown sheets.
    Right in the center of it all, that baby blue car sits with the top folded down and its doors open, a man tucked under the dash. All I can see is his torso and feet. His shirt is raised up, showcasing a multitude of vibrant tattoos across his stomach, chest, and the underside of his arms as he pulls at wiring under the dash. He looks busy right now; I’ll come back.
    Walking into the room instead of lurking by the door, I’m approached by another young, hot guy. He’s cute in a GQ fashion kind of way. Does Jack only hire good