Taboo: Bittersweet Revenge (Sequel)

Got Juice?

..........................

Wiping the grease off my sweaty forehead, I threw the towel over my shoulder after I had inspected the significant damage done to my bike. "Exhaust chamber's busted", I admitted, pulling myself away from under the hood of her truck. "It needs the extra intake charge up from the crankcase into the cylinder", I admitted.

"And where the hell do we find a new one out in the middle of freaking nowhere?", she asked, frustrated.

"Nearest Harley motor dealer is 45 minutes outside of town. I get my bike fixed, and get your truck tuned up", I replied, stepping a way from her truck and take a sip of beer.

As I do so, I hear my phone go off. Taking in out of my back pocket, I harbored no interest in calling back whoever it was. I was too busy to worry about anything else at the moment. My bike was completely trashed, Karen's pick up trunk needed major repairs, and I was stuck in the middle of no where with someone I don't trust.

Without as much as a glance down the screen, I shut the phone.

"You know it's weird. We've been stuck here for hours and you haven't popped any caps in my head", she raised her brow.

I gave her a suggestive look before maintaining a straight poker face. "Yeah you know what you right", I admitted sarcastically. Patting my shoulder, I continued, "Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently over you shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug and even slow dance".

Guess someone was feeling a little sentimental. "Don't push your luck, Slater", I shot a warning glare at her.

"Had to try it", she smiles sarcastically before my phone rang again. But I didn't have time for a damn phone call. I wanted my damn bike fixed so I could get the hell out of here.

I shut the phone without a second thought, nor a glance to see who was calling me. My mind was already racing after that strange encounter with my mother and that brutal ambush I was still recovering from. My body was healing fairly well, but that busted up knee of mine clearly didn't get that memo.

On top of that, I was not in the right state of mind to deal with being stuck with a person that I know for a fact will turn on me in a dime....

.........................................

"Thunderheader exhaust, custom choke knob, and new crank shaft", I requested from the worker. I'd known this guy for a while through all the bike shows throughout the years. His large potbelly, wild curly hair and short stature made him look like the epidemy of a fat biker.

"With a job like that, your looking at 3, maybe 4", he suggests.

"Hundred?"-

"Thousand. And that not including the custom repairs".

"Do I look like I got cash oozing out of my ears?", I spat out harshly.

"No. But your friends tits do", he comments, shifting his toothpick between his lips.

"I'm not her pimp either", smirking back, half impressed but his comeback. "How much for the parts alone, without the repair job?", I asked, my frustration building.

"28 hundred".

"Don't be stingy. I know you got a favor to return after yours broke down in front of my shop. You owe me one", I recalled.

He released a deep breath, knowing he's been caught. "Bump in to 2 grand and we got a deal", I added.

...............................

Driving down the highway in eery silence, I found myself drifting off to sleep amidst all the pain. But my body's been through so much lately that I can barely distinguish between physical and psychological pain.