Threat Read Free Page A

leather chairs. And all around it the
walls are plastered with black and white photos, newspaper clippings,
a couple signed band posters and tons of sketches.
    I look closer at some of the photos and recognize many of the
musicians and celebrities in them. Slash, Prince, the Doors,
Aerosmith, Jimi Hendrix; essentially, rock royalty. And then I
realize one other thing they have in common—the same man is
posed with each of them. He even has a signed Hendrix guitar mounted
on the wall.
    “Wow,” I whisper to my self, having no idea that someone
is actually standing behind me.
    “Big Hendrix fan?”
    I flinch when I hear the voice come out of nowhere. “Jesus,”
I mutter as I spin on my heel, clutching my chest.
    “Didn't mean to scare you,” the man says with a smirk as
he emerges from the back room of the shop.
    He steps forward with this gleam in his eyes like he already knows
me. The second I see him my lips part to speak but nothing comes out.
For a moment I start to question my own sanity. He is not, under any circumstances, the type of guy who turns me on. Ever. He's
tall as fuck and muscular too, both of which are fine but not when
those muscles are covered in more tattoos than I can count. His hair
is buzzed on the sides and super long on top—almost like he
wanted a mohawk but chickened out at the last second—and he's
got more than a half day’s growth lining his chin. Totally not
professional, but then again, I guess he doesn't have to be to work
in a place like this.
    He's every single thing that physically turns me off, so why am I
speechless just looking at him? Is my pulse picking up, or am I going
into cardiac arrest? Maybe it’s because he looks like a model
under all the trappings of a biker.
    “Hi...” I finally manage to get out. He keeps his eyes
fixed on me, stepping a little bit too close. I have this thing about
space, and I instinctively step back. “Um, I'm looking for
someone named Threat?”
    He smirks at me, like he knows a secret that I don't—who does
that? And then he hooks his fingers beneath the hem of his already
low cut tank top and pulls it down even lower . “That'd
be me,” he says in his gruff voice, revealing the word “threat”
tattooed across his chest in big, bold black ink.
    And suddenly I completely understand his name.
    This isn't my future stepbrother. He can't be. This is probably just
another mix up on my dad's part. The guy looks like he's in his
mid-twenties; there's no way he's “around my age.” And
there's no way in hell I would live under the same roof as someone
like him.
    “I, um, I'm pretty sure I made a mistake,” I say with a
forced and completely awkward laugh. I stagger away from him,
accidentally hitting the wall with a loud thud—shit! I'm making
a total fool of myself here. Wait, why do I care? I'm never going to
see this guy again. I shake my head and touch my forehead. “Sorry,
I'm pretty sure I'm at the wrong place.” I turn clumsily and
head for the door, just as Threat reaches out and wraps a hand around
my bicep, surprisingly gently, holding me back.
    “You've made no mistake, Leah,” he says, his voice deep
and rich like butter, sending shivers up and down my spine.
    Wait, why does he know my name?
    I turn back around toward him. “You don't remember me do you? I
look a bit different.”
    Huh? I squint and study his face. Goddamn, his face is pretty much
perfect, even with all the scruff and piercings.
    “I remember you real well.” His eyes pan down my body,
slowly, and back up again. The look in his dark eyes makes all of the
muscles in my stomach tie in knots. “You've changed a hell of a
lot since freshman year.”
    Freshman year? Freshman year of high... holy fuck . My mouth
falls open and I quickly clasp my hands over them, standing in
stunned silence. It's not... it can't be...
    “David?!” I shriek.
    He grins. “It's been a long time, turtle .”
    David fucking Banducci.
    Red hot boiling rage builds up inside me