Captive of Outlaws (SHIFTERS OF SHERWOOD #1) by Jade R. Evans EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Jade R. Evans
- Language: English
- Genre: Paranormal / Sci-Fi
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 4.9 MB
- Price: Free
Seven years later
“EXCUSE ME, SIR?”
I can barely hear the voice—male, deep, a tiny bit irritated—over the
clanking and grinding of the shop, but I grimace all the same. I know he’s
talking to me, because there’s no one else around who could hear him. And
yeah, I know that there’s nothing to indicate the gender of the work boots
and coveralls sticking out from underneath the ancient Buick—the one that
I happen to be working on—but still. The sexism gets me every time. Why
assume that the mechanic is a dude?
I crane my neck and arch my back against the wheeled creeper beneath
me just enough to see what I can of this would-be customer—his shoes.
And they’re fancy shoes. Of course. Dark, polished leather, one foot tapping
with impatience. Even the cuffs of his jeans look designer, somehow. Not
that I’m an expert on fashion—as evidenced by my usual uniform of
grease-stained canvas—but for whatever reason, I can just tell.
Rich asshole, I think. And I deal with enough of those.
“Sir?” the voice comes again, much more pointed and less polite now.
“I don’t have all day.”
There’s no way this guy is a local, then. That’s definitely a Yankee
voice, clipped and rushed sounding the way everyone north of the MasonDixon seems to have no time to waste. Folks in Sherwood County take their
sweet time with everything.
And that, I decide, is what I’m going to do too.
Around me, the air is thick with the smell of motor oil and pulsing with
the greatest hits of the 80s, 90s, and today pumping in from the prehistoric
FM radio in the corner. I’m sweating like a beast here under Ms. Donovan’s
Buick, and I know that rolling out from under it will bring a welcome rush
of fresh (well, fresh-ish) air over my damp collarbone and the strands of
hair sticking to my face where they’ve escaped my ponytail, but I force
myself to resist the urge to pop out. Instead, I walk the heels of my offbrand Timberlands forward inch by inch, rolling the creeper out from under
the car annoyingly, painfully slowly, until I’ve revealed exactly who I am.
Surprise, asshole. Your mechanic’s a girl.
“Yes?” I say, in my ever-so-sweet customer service voice. “Were you
talking to me?”
No sooner do I say it than my breath catches in my chest.
I don’t know what I was expecting this dude to look like, but the guy
towering above me wasn’t it. He’s not balding, beer-gutted, or wrinkled.
Quite the opposite: he’s young, maybe a few years older than me, and,
well…handsome. There’s no other word for it. The late-afternoon sun slants
in perfectly from the open garage door to frame his head in a blazing corona
of light, illuminating hair that’s so light it can’t be blonde—guess he’s
prematurely gray?—and I can see that his face, even in shadow, has the
firm jaw and high cheekbones of a fairy-tale prince. Broad shoulders fill out
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