In Rides Trouble (Black Knights Inc. #2)(51)

It was getting really annoying, this constant feeling of being on the precipice of something explosive. If only Frank, the big, dumb dill-hole, would let her apologize so they could go back to being normal, then she wouldn’t—

“I’m not riding with you,” he sputtered, his left eyelid twitching.

“Well, then ride with Rock. I don’t really care,” she rolled her eyes.

Although, truthfully, she did care. Why did he have to go and look like mounting up behind her on General Lee was tantamount to jumping face-first into a bubbling volcano?

Sheesh. What’d happened between them aboard the destroyer wasn’t that bad.

“I have a single seat, chère,” Rock reminded her. “Only your bike and Ghost’s have the capability to ride double, and Ghost took Phantom with him.”

“So Frank will miss out on all the fun and drive the Hummer,” she growled, throwing her hands in the air.

Why was everything always such a production?

Oh, yeah. Because they were all alpha males, pumped up on testosterone and their own sense of self-importance, used to doing every little pain-in-the-ass thing their own way.

God save her.

“Oh, uh,” Ozzie scratched his Einstein-esque crop of blond hair, “I forgot to tell you.”

She glanced at the guy’s grimacing face. “Sweet Lord, what have you done now?”

“So, uh…” His mouth twisted into what Billy liked to call a shit-eating grin, though where that expression came from she’d dearly like to know. Who would eat shit and, more importantly, who’d be grinning about it afterward? “So I was off-roading—”

“Oh, for the love of God! Ozzie, I told you not to do that with—”

“Hey!” he interrupted her. “That’s what those machines are built for! I was just keeping it in fighting condition.”

Yeah, right. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was still a kid at heart and liked to play accordingly. Unfortunately, his games were far wilder and infinitely more dangerous than a happy little bout of hide-and-seek, and those games usually ended with her spending hours fixing one of his “toys.”

“Besides,” he went on, futilely attempting to smooth down his wild hair as he picked at the peeling appliquéd letters affixed to the front of his T-shirt that read: My Other Ride is a Constitution Class Starship, “I plan to help you fix it.”

“You bet your ass, you will.” She smiled evilly. “And maybe after you’ve spent days elbow deep in that big engine, you’ll think twice before you take it joyriding again, and one other thing—”

“Children, children,” Rock interrupted, “let’s not get off track. So the Hummer is inop. Christian,” he turned toward the former SAS officer who was sitting by the window, avidly watching the byplay, “you’ll have to give Boss a lift in your Porsche.”

“Ha!” Ozzie slapped his knee. “I’d like to see that one. It’d be like trying to fold a whole tuna into a sardine can.”

“I’ve added racing seats,” Christian explained in his well-heeled British accent. “I seriously doubt Boss will fit.”

“Oh,” Rock scratched his ear, sending Frank an apologetic glance.

“I’ll just take the train like we all do when the weather’s shit,” Frank muttered, clearly unhappy, yet obviously resigned to the outing. Becky resisted the urge to pat herself on the back for having secured this one, small victory. With Frank, she had to count her successes when she could. “Or maybe I’ll throw caution to the wind and hail a taxi,” he continued. “Problem solved.”

“What’s wrong, Boss?” Angel rasped, his dark eyes glowing dangerously. “Are you too proud to ride behind a woman?”

Whoa, where the heck did that come from?

The Knights liked to give Frank a hard time on a daily basis, but their ribbing was always in jest. The hard look making Angel’s prominent cheekbones stand out like the wings of an F-22 Raptor was anything but playful.

“That’s not it at all,” Frank growled.

“It isn’t?” Angel challenged.

What in the world? Did Angel think he was helping her situation by provoking Frank? If so, the guy needed some swift lessons in how things worked around here.

Every pair of eyes in the room swung back and forth between the two men, like the group was watching a raucous ping-pong match—only this contest looked to turn far more physical if Frank’s clenching jaw and Angel’s clenching fists were anything to go by.

“Is that what you want, Angel?” Frank asked coolly. “For me to ride with her?”

She couldn’t read the expression on Frank’s face, but Angel obviously could, because the two stared at each other for a very long time. She fancied if she squinted real hard, she’d be able to see little bolts of electricity arcing between the two.

“I want you to do what’s right, Boss,” Angel finally ground out. “That’s all.”

What the heck was that supposed to mean?

“All right.” Frank nodded, his eyes flashing at Angel before he turned toward her. “I guess I’m riding with you then.”

“Uh, o-okay,” she stammered as Angel said something nasty about Frank’s mother beneath his breath.