Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(40)
“Hmm.” Ali bent to pick up Peanut who was busy winding his substantial self around and between her legs. When she managed to struggle to a stand and pull him to her chest, the traitorous animal—come on, Becky was the one to scoop his massive cat turds out of the litter box and keep him nose deep in Fancy Feast; was a little loyalty too much to ask?—started purring loud enough to drown out the sound of Pat Benatar wailing “Heartbreaker.”
Thank God she’d remembered to charge her iPod last night. One more day of ’80s music and she’d have to schedule a lobotomy.
“Well, I hate thinking about the poor animals that lost their lives so I could fashionably sit on the back of a motorcycle.” Ali changed tactics.
“Excuse me, but are you the same woman who ate not one, but two all-beef hotdogs last night? So you’re saying you have no issue with animals on your plate, but can’t stand the idea of one strapped across your back?”
“Oh!” Ali dropped Peanut to the ground, and the stupid cat had enough nerve to start slithering around her legs again. Even mistreatment didn’t seem to negate his misplaced adoration. That was the last straw. He was going to be on dry food from now on. No more pampering the furry little Judas. “Stop starting arguments with me I can’t possibly win,” Ali demanded, looking kinda kickass in all that leather with her hands fisted on her hips.
Becky shook her head and laughed. The poor woman would do anything to take her mind off the fact that she was going to be snuggled up to the back of Ghost for the next fifteen hours. Whatever had happened between the two of them last night, whatever had caused them to circle each other like wary lions this morning, would no doubt only be exacerbated by the close confines of a shared motorcycle seat.
“Sorry,” Ali made a face. “I’m not usually so…so…” Her hand turned circles as she searched for the right word.
“Bitchy?” Becky offered helpfully.
“I was going to say irritable,” Ali harrumphed.
Yeah, bitchy. Becky chuckled. She liked Ali. She really did. Even if the woman was a bit na?ve and a little too prissy…of course, that probably wasn’t really fair. Most women were a little too prissy when compared to herself. Maybe that’s why she irritated Frank so much. Maybe he thought she was too manly. Maybe if she—
Dang.
Why did every thought have to wind up back on Frank? Maybe what she should do is seriously consider that lobotomy.
“It’s going to be okay, you know,” she told Ali, laying a kind hand on the woman’s leather-clad shoulder.
“It is?” Ali asked hopefully. “How do you know?”
“Because you’ve got the Black Knights on your side, and they are the absolute best. Besides, Ghost would sooner die than let anything happen to you.”
“Yeah.” Ali took a deep breath and shuddered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Wow. Those two sure had it bad.
Ghost practically lifted a leg and pissed on Ali anytime she walked in the room, and Ali got all doe-eyed and flushed the minute Ghost looked at her.
Perhaps this trip would do them some good. Some forced togetherness might be just the thing they needed to finally compel them to break down and admit they were totally white-doves-and-orange-blossoms in love with each other. Of course, it might do just the opposite. Fifteen hours was a long, long time to be sitting on a bike. Becky was usually wiped out after just four or five. Thinking of riding bitch on the back of Phantom for fifteen hours was…well, it was pretty crazy in her book.
Yepper, Ali certainly didn’t know what she’d signed herself up for when she’d insisted on accompanying Ghost on this little errand, but it wouldn’t take the woman long to figure it out. About three hours, Becky guessed. Then muscles Ali didn’t even know she had would start complaining—loudly.
Of course, thanks to her and Steady Soto, there really wasn’t another option. Nate didn’t trust commercial flights because, quote, “They let anyone and everyone on those.” There wasn’t a military transport leaving Great Lakes Naval Base for the east coast within the next twenty-four hours. Taking Ali’s little Prius was dismissed by everyone with a snort and a laugh because, really, the thing was basically a go-cart with power-steering and AC, and, unfortunately, the only two vehicles of the four-wheeled variety in the Knights’ employ were the Hummer and Christian’s souped-up silver Porsche—living in the city, with parking such a challenge, the Knights usually relied on public transportation or taxicabs when the weather was not conducive to riding the bikes.
And regrettably, the Hummer was currently sitting idle in the back of the shop without a transmission thanks to Steady’s rather unusual driving style—unusual in that the guy seemed to have a strange aversion to the clutch. And the Porsche was up on the lift with its engine in pieces, which was where Becky’s culpability came into the matter. She’d decided since the ex-SAS agent was away, it was the opportune time to get her “grubby little hands”—Christian’s words, not hers—on his baby and overhaul that gleaming eight cylinder. Because, come on, every engine could use a little tweaking. Unfortunately, the helo had arrived, and she’d gotten sidetracked.
Which reminded her, she better get going on reinstalling that turbo-charged sucker, or Christian was going to kill her very slowly and very painfully when he finally got home.