Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(107)

I fluffed my hair once more and swiped on a fresh coat of lip color. Noise from the Clifton Forge Garage carried up from the floor. The clang of metal on metal. The hum of a compressor. The muffled voices of men working.

Crossing the studio apartment, I stepped up to the one and only window that overlooked the parking lot below. A row of gleaming black motorcycles was parked against the edge of the property, lined up and equally spaced against a chain link fence.

My half brother owned one of those bikes.

So did my father.

He was Mom’s biggest secret, one I’d only learned about because of her death. Would she have told me about him eventually? I guess it didn’t make a difference now. Except for a few times as a kid and then a bratty teenager, I hadn’t asked about him. I hadn’t needed a father when I’d had her as a mother.

She was everything I’d needed and more. And now she was gone, leaving me to deal with this family of strangers. What other secrets would I uncover in Clifton Forge? They seemed to be seeping from the boards of her coffin.

A man walked out from the garage, striding to a black bike that didn’t gleam like the others. It was the only motorcycle in the row I’d ridden.

Isaiah. A name that had been haunting my thoughts for days.

His stride was long and confident. He had a grace about his steps, an ease in the way those strong thighs lifted and his narrow hips rolled. But then came the thud, a heaviness each time his boot hit pavement.

It sounded a lot like dread.

I could sympathize.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on my car parked by the stairs leading to the apartment. He stared at it for a long moment, then turned his gaze to the window.

I didn’t bother trying to hide. If he could see me past the dirt and water spots, it didn’t make a difference. Soon, there’d be no escaping his gaze.

It was impossible to see the color of his eyes from this distance, but like his name, they’d been a constant part of my dreams. And nightmares.

Green and brown and gold. Most would classify them as hazel and move along to his other mouth-watering qualities—the long legs, rock-hard stomach, chiseled arms decorated with tattoos and ass that didn’t quit. But those eyes, they were exquisite.

The spiral of colors was ringed with a bold circle of dark chocolate. And though the pattern was intriguing, what made them so heartbreaking were the demons beneath.

There was no sparkle. No light. They were empty.

From his time in prison? Or from something more?

Isaiah gave me a single nod, then went to his bike, straddling the machine as it rumbled to life. It was time to go.

My heart jumped into my throat. I’m going to be sick. I swallowed down the wash of saliva in my mouth and breathed through my nose, because there wasn’t time to puke. It was almost noon.

I pulled myself away from the window and returned to the bathroom, tidying up the few things I’d left on the counter. While the rest of the studio was wide open, the bathroom had a door, which was good since I’d be sharing this space tonight.

Then with all my things put away in a travel case, I risked one long look in the mirror.

I looked pretty today, a fancier version of my normal self. In a way, I looked like Mom.

Damn it, Mom. Damn you for not being here. For making me do this alone.

I sucked in a breath, not allowing the threat of tears to ruin my mascara. I shoved those feelings deep, to a dark place where they’d stay until I could afford the breakdown needed. Now was not that time, no matter how fucked my life had become.

First, there was my job. By quitting, I’d killed my dream to one day become a lawyer and work alongside the great Reggie Barker. Did Clifton Forge even have lawyers? If so, I doubted any specialized in pro bono work for abused women. There certainly wasn’t a law school nearby. Which meant if I did find a job, I’d be stuck as a paralegal.

Goodbye, dream job.

Next, there was my condo, the one I’d picked out meticulously. The one I’d drained my savings account to buy. The one I’d been slowly decorating, taking care and patience to pick things that were perfect, not just things that filled empty spaces.

It was agony to think of selling my condo, especially while I was stuck in a studio apartment, and not the swanky kind. No, this was the bachelor kind with white, cracked walls and old tan carpet.

Goodbye, home.

Goodbye, life.

I trudged out of the bathroom, grabbed my purse and headed for the door. My heels clopped down the metal stairs as I gripped the handrail to keep my balance. When my shoes hit pavement, I hustled for the car, not risking a glance at the garage.

I’d been avoiding my half brother, Dash, and his girlfriend, Bryce, since I’d arrived yesterday. They had questions about what I was doing here. Why I was living in Isaiah’s apartment. How long I was staying.

I had answers but wasn’t ready to give them yet.

When I pulled out of the parking lot undetected, I breathed a long sigh, then I followed my phone’s navigation toward downtown Clifton Forge.

I passed a wide river along the way. It meandered along the edge of town, bordered by trees that swayed in the breeze. The sun gleamed off its flowing currents. The mountains stood proud and blue in the distance. It was . . . picturesque.

Maybe I’d been a bit harsh in my judgment of Clifton Forge. It actually had the same country, quiet feel as some of the rural areas in Colorado, places Mom had taken me for weekend getaways. The garage wasn’t all that shitty either but fancy, like the garages you saw on car-resurrection shows.