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Later that night, Vinnie found himself sitting on the very same couch Charley had spent the night on, a fact that kept lingering in the back of his mind but he chose to ignore for his own sake.
He was still only wearing the black sweatpants he had put on after that very interesting shower this morning and hadn't even bothered to change into something else, primarily because he hadn't left the scoreboard all day.
Modo had suggested bringing Charley back home as she was the only one who possessed a specific tool he needed to fix something on his motorcycle.
Not liking the idea but knowing that protesting would only raise unwanted questions, Vinnie had merely shrugged and waved his goodbye before dropping on the couch.
And that was right where he still was.
Slumped against the soft cushions, his legs wide apart as he was simply too lazy to keep them together.
With the remote resting against his chin, he stared blankly at the flickering television screen without really seeing anything.

Although his body was feeling strangely relaxed after experiencing two amazing orgasms within the span of just twelve hours, his mind was racing at a breakneck speed, desperately trying to figure out what the hell was going on between him and Charley.
He had thought about it all day, and now the sun slowly sank behind the iconic skyline of Chicago and he still had no idea how in the world things had escalated this quickly.
Because they had escalated.
And, weirdly enough, it bothered him.
Normally, he didn't care that much when that happened, he was known for loving the unexpected.
But this…
This felt different.
Dangerous, even.

But not the fun kind of dangerous, like the rush of adrenaline he got from doing something reckless and wild.
This was a different kind of danger.
Serious, and slightly unsettling.
He wasn't entirely sure why, though.
Maybe that was what bothered him the most.
He had no idea why having a wee bit of fun now suddenly felt dangerous.
I mean, fucking hell…
It was just sex, right?
Right?!
Right…

For some reason, he somehow knew it wasn't that simple.
Perhaps that had something to do with the reason why this had all started in the first place.
The reason that had driven him to her garage that night, drunk and hurting, searching for…
Yeah for what, exactly?
Comfort?
Warmth?
An escape…?
Ugh.
How the fuck should he know?
It just happened, just like everything 'just happened' to him.
He didn't think, he never did.
He just acted on instinct and sheer stupidity.
Not thinking about these things called consequences and now…
Now, things were suddenly hella complicated.
Hello, consequences, my dear old friends…

Deeply annoyed by himself, his brow furrowed, and he nestled himself even deeper into the soft cushions of the decrepit yet surprisingly comfortable couch.
By doing that, a whiff of Charley's scent made it to his nose, and while a shiver coursed down his spine in response, his mind went back to this morning.
The shiver became more intense as it now made its way down to his tail, and a sharp tingle in his lower abdomen made him part his lips to let the soft sigh escape his lungs.
This morning had been… wild.
In fact, all encounters he had with Charley ever since that night were.
He didn't recognize the person he became in these moments.
Never, ever, not even in his dreams, had he teased and pleased a girl like he did Charley, let alone be so dominant while he was at it.
Although he was known to be playful, it wasn't like him to be that controlling, to take charge the way he had done.

Sure.
He had his experiences.
Fleeting one-night stands, the kind that blurred into each other over the years, and a few quick hand jobs in shady pubs back in the days when he was still a teenager and Mars still had bars.
All meaningless interactions compared to those with Charley.
She made him feel different.
Brazenly arrogant.
Powerful, even.
Almost as if he owned her.
Like a puppet, and he was the puppet master, pulling her strings…
His nose wrinkled, and he let out a soft snort.
He didn't like that thought.
Not even close.
The war on Mars had taught him that no one should ever be owned, regardless of what form it took.
It was a lesson branded into his soul.
Everyone deserved to ride free.
Then why did he enjoy controlling her so much?

He shifted his weight, feeling severely uncomfortable by the train of thoughts hurtling through his mind.
If only he could stop it, but as always, he couldn't.
The train was just always there, riding in circles at full speed, never slowing down, never stopping to let something off unless there were some big booms along with a massive boost of adrenaline involved…
Charley.
Sweet and sexy Charley.
Why did she let him control her?
It was another one of those questions that kept him busy today.
She wasn't known for being submissive.
Hell, not even close.

She was independent, fierce, and someone who never let anyone tell her what to do, especially not him.
So why did she let him play with her like that?
Why had she given up the control she cherished so much and allowed him, of all mice, to take the lead?
It made no sense.
None of this made sense.
It was completely out of character for her, just as taking control over her was completely out of character for him.
What was happening between them?
Above all, what had changed after that night…?

Man.
This was exhausting.
You know, overanalyzing things.
Who was he kidding anyway?
He never really understood the female mind, in fact, they always had been some sort of mystery to him.
There was just no way he was going to figure this out on his own.
He really needed to talk to her.
She was having second thoughts this morning, and he wanted to know why.
Tomorrow…
Tomorrow, he was going to talk to her.

He would wait until they were alone, and then, he would just ask her.
He would ask her what was happening between them, and why it felt dangerous.
He wouldn't corner her, or lift her and place her on one of the counters in the garage.
He wouldn't position himself between her legs and lean closer to her, so close that his lips would almost touch hers, teasing her to kiss him, to take the first step.
He wouldn't open her blouse, slowly, button by button, if she didn't.
He wouldn't let his fingers slip into her bra, nor would he play with her nipples to push her in the right direction.
To make him do what he wanted her to do.
He wouldn't do any of that.
He would keep his distance, and ask her.
Yes…
He totally would…

Meanwhile, Throttle sat quietly in the corner of the living room, eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he watched his younger brother.
Vinnie had been sitting there for hours, staring at the TV without his usual fidgeting or flicking through channels at the speed of light.
It wasn't like him to be so still, and that alone was enough to catch Throttle's attention.
But, in all fairness, that wasn't really what had him on edge.
No, it had started before that.
On the night Charley called for help.

"No, I want you to pick me up. Or Modo. That's okay, too."

Her words had triggered a quiet alarm.
Ever since they met, there had been this unspoken rule that Vinnie took care of her.
It was just one of those things that came into being, mostly because his youngest bro was always the first to volunteer, eager to be her hero and get the confirmation he always so desperately searched for.
And she had been okay with that.
Always.
So what changed?
Throttle wasn't really the type to read into things all the time, but he wasn't stupid.
In fact, he was perfectly capable of putting two and two together.

Vinnie had been sneaking out a few nights before that call, thinking no one noticed.
But he had.
He had heard the door creak, the sound of a whiskey bottle clinking just before Vinnie started his bike and disappeared in the night.
He could have stopped him, but he didn't.
He knew what night it was, after all.
Five years had passed since that night Vinnie's heart had been shattered, and Throttle figured he deserved a night alone to grieve in his own way.
To be alone with his pain.
But then Charley's strange request made things click.
Vinnie hadn't been alone that night.
He had gone to see her.

Since then, things had shifted.
They acted differently around each other, but it was subtle, mostly.
Just enough for someone as perceptive as Throttle to notice.
The easy banter was still there, but it didn't flow as naturally as before.
There were longer pauses between their jokes, a little more space between them than usual, a glance that lasted just a second too long before looking away…
It wasn't dramatic, but it was there.
And then there were the less subtle signs.
When they regrouped at the nightclub last night, Throttle had caught a faint scent clinging to both of them.
It wasn't the usual mix of smoke and sweat he had learned was part of partying in clubs, but something sharper.
A mixture of alcohol and hormones that didn't quite sit right.
It wasn't obvious, not unless you were really paying attention, but that was just the thing.
He always paid attention, and thus he had noticed.

Later, when he offered Charley to sleep on the couch, Vinnie's reaction was strange.
It was hard to explain, but there was this look that flickered across his face, a look Throttle knew by heart.
He had seen it a thousand times during fights, eager for adrenaline as Vinnie was—like he saw an opportunity but knew he couldn't act on it.
Although less subtle than the other signs, it was still subtle and gone in a second.
But again, Throttle had noticed.
Then came the next morning, this morning, in fact.
Throttle had walked into the room to find them on the couch, sitting at opposite ends, the space between them conspicuous.
They both had wet hair and fur like they had just come out of the shower.
Together…?
He had no idea.
They could just as easily have taken a shower shortly after each other, but he didn't ask, and neither of them offered an explanation.

So yeah.
Throttle knew something was up.
The signs were all there, even if neither Vinnie nor Charley was saying a word about it.
But what exactly had happened?
That was harder to figure out, also because he felt conflicted.
Was it even his place to figure it out, let alone ask?
Maybe whatever was going on between them was something they needed to work out on their own.
Maybe all they needed right now was some space, and he didn't mind giving that to them.
As long as it didn't affect their mission here on Earth, it was all good.

But that was just the thing.
He couldn't shake the feeling that whatever this was, it had the potential to mess with exactly that, and if that was the case, lives could be at risk.
Still.
For now, he decided to just wait and see how things unfolded.
If it got worse, maybe then he would step in, but for now, it was their business and theirs alone.

The day started out as usual.
Another scheme of Limburger, another villain hired to tear down Chicago.
And, much to Charley's annoyance, another hostage situation.
She had only tried to help the guys, even though they had told her to get herself into safety the moment they realized this was going to be another one of those fights.
You know.
A dirty one.
At first, she had listened.
Vinnie had scooped her up from his bike, setting her on her feet with a light flick of his tail, playfully shooing her away from the chaos with one of his trademark winks, and that was that.
It always irritated her, the way they treated her like she was some fragile woman, like she was something that would break with only the slightest gust of wind.
But despite that, she had listened, simply because she didn't want them to worry.
She knew they would be distracted if they had to keep one eye on her, and that distraction could mean blood.
Or worse.

So yes, she ran.
Through bent knees and over flying debris, she made her way out of danger, her hands raised to shield her head.
But then, just as she was about to flee the scene, she spotted something that froze her in place.
One of the goons was aiming a gun at Modo.
Modo, the sweet gray-furred giant that was her friend, was too caught up in wrestling with another thug to notice the weapon being aimed at his back.
In that moment, there was no hesitation.
Without thinking, Charley charged forward, tackling the man to the ground with a fierce burst of adrenaline and a healthy dose of determination.
That, along with a well-placed punch, was enough to take him out.
She couldn't stop feeling a hint of pride.
She had saved Modo, and did it with style, too.
See?
Fuck fragile.

Unfortunately, not everyone was impressed.
Before she could catch her breath, or even rise back to her feet, a hand grabbed her by the throat, slamming her back against the nearest wall.
The wind was knocked out of her, and her heart suddenly pounded loudly in her ears as she struggled against the grip of another goon.
The very one she hadn't seen in her rush to be the hero.
Of course, her resistance was futile.
Though simple-minded, Limburger's goons were known for being physically strong, and the harder she struggled, the tighter his grip around her throat became, making breathing difficult.
Yep.
It was definitely one of those days.

The goon raised his blue eyes to meet hers, a dirty smile spreading across his face as he lifted the hand that wasn't holding her but a walkie-talkie.
"I've got me a hostage here, boss man. It's that female friend of them mice. Ya know, the hot-looking one…"
His grin widened, revealing a row of rotting teeth, as he waited for further orders.
Charley locked eyes with him, her breathing ragged as his grip tightened, squeezing her windpipe just enough to make each breath a struggle.
This was bad.
And no, not because she could barely breathe.
She didn't fear for her life, not now.
She knew the rules of this game, she had played it many times already.
They wouldn't kill her, not yet.
They needed her alive, needed her as leverage.
She was the enemy's only ticket to controlling the guys, forcing them to surrender.
And that was the real problem here.

She knew the mice.
Knew their loyalty, their stubbornness…
...and the lengths they would go to protect her.
If it came down to a choice between her life and the fight, they would choose her.
They always did.
Every time they ended up in this situation, it ended the same.
Vinnie, Throttle, and Modo backing down, doing whatever it took to keep her safe, even if it meant putting themselves or Chicago at risk.
It was heartwarming, yes, but bad nevertheless.
Because once again, the enemy was holding their only weak spot in hand.
Goddammit, Charlene.
If only she had listened, just this one time…
But no…
She had been stubborn once more, and now they had her.
Good job, girl.
Good job.
Ugh.

She heard Greasepit crackling through the walkie, ordering her captor to keep her there.
The promise was clear; he would let 'those biker bunnies' know they had their lady friend, and that things would get very ugly if 'those rodents' didn't do exactly as they were told.
He never really was known for being creative, especially not with words.
Listening to Greasepit's oinky laugh echoing from the speaker, Charley couldn't help but roll her eyes, and a squeaky sigh escaped her lips to vent some of the growing unease inside of her.
She squirmed in the goon's grip, trying to twist free, even though she knew it was useless.
The man was like a tree, roots dug deep and a grip like a vice.
She wasn't getting out of this one by force, that she knew.

Her mind raced, trying to come up with a plan before the guys showed up, but she didn't have time.
The man clipped the walkie back onto his belt and turned his full attention to her.
His gaze slid over her face, lingering in a way that made her skin crawl.
Charley's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming quicker now but not from the chokehold.
She knew that look.
Growing up in the ghetto of Chicago, she had seen it too many times before.
"No…", she whispered, shaking her head as much as she could in his grasp.
Don't even think about it.

Of course, he just did exactly that.
His smile twisted into something darker, something more… dangerous.
He reached up and brushed a strand of auburn hair out of her face with his rough-feeling fingers.
"And now, we wait…", he said, his voice low, fingers tracing down her cheek.
The flicker of lust in his eyes was unmistakable, and Charley's pulse quickened, her fear rising alongside her disgust.
This man wasn't like the goons she usually encountered.
Limburger must have freed him from prison, as she knew he did sometimes in his search for muscles.
And what better way to buy a man's loyalty than by giving back his freedom?

She tried to turn her face away from him, to put distance between them, but he wasn't having any of it.
His fingers dug into her jaw, forcing her head back with a painful snap.
"You ain't going anywhere, lady", he growled, leaning closer.
The somewhat chemical scent of cigarettes and alcohol coming out of his mouth made her stomach roll.
"You heard the boss man… I gotta keep you here till those rodents show up to surrender."
He leaned even closer, and Charley clenched her fists, resisting the wave of nausea as his lips brushed against her jawline.
"Might as well have some fun while we wait", he breathed into her ear, pressing his body hard against hers.

Panic shot through Charley's body, rising from a place deep in her gut.
She wasn't scared easily, the presence of the guys along with their war in her life had toughened her more than most, but this?
The very thought of being violated here, in this filthy alley, with no way to fight back, terrified her in a way nothing else ever had.
Her mind screamed to do something, but her body was frozen, pinned against the wall by his weight and his crushing grip.
She could feel the rough brick biting into her back, but it was nothing compared to the fear that gripped her now, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.
She had to get out of this.
She had to.
Gritting her teeth, she forced her brain to snap into survival mode.
Her eyes darted around, desperately searching for anything.
A loose brick, a weapon, anything she could use to get him off her.
But there was nothing.
Just nothing.

Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision.
She was so caught up in her distress that she didn't hear the roar of a motorcycle cutting through the silence.
She didn't smell the faint scent of exhaust fumes now hanging in the air around her, nor did she notice the shift in the atmosphere, one that told something dangerous was approaching.
She did, however, notice when the man was suddenly yanked away from her.
It happened so fast it startled them both, she supposed.
That had to be why his grip on her throat didn't release immediately, jerking her forward as he was pulled back with brute force.
And she…

Well, she was simply too stunned to remember how to move her feet, and thus they stayed rooted to the spot as her body toppled over.
Her knees hit the ground first, soon followed by her hands as they instinctively reached out to break her fall.
Her palms scraped against the rough asphalt, tearing the skin like a rotten tomato, but strangely enough, she didn't feel the pain, neither did she realize that her airway was free now, that precious oxygen was rushing into her lungs, easing the burning ache in her chest.
Hell, she didn't even register that she was coughing in response, gasping, wheezing, even, as she tried to catch up with the flood of air.
There was only the scene in front of her, the one her wide-open eyes were fixed upon.

Vinnie.

He had come out of nowhere, crashing down on the man who dared to lay hands on her, his tail flicking violently behind him.
The goon landed hard on the ground with a grunt, air rushing from his lungs as Vinnie pinned him down with his weight and raised his fist in one smooth movement.
Charley barely had time to blink before it came down, and the sickening crack of bone meeting bone was louder than a gunshot, yet she didn't hear it.
There was this high-pitched beep ringing in her ears, like the world had tuned itself out, leaving her in this bubble of eerie quietness.
Whether it was due to the lack of oxygen from a few moments ago, or her mind trying to protect itself from the brutality unfolding in front of her, she did not know.
Right now, it didn't even matter.
All that mattered was her usually playful and cheerful Martian friend, straddling the man with his back to her.
All she could do was stare at him with her lips slightly parted.
Stare at how his hoodie rode up as he raised his fist again, exposing the ripple of muscles under his fur, whilst his other hand clutched the man's jacket, gripping it so tightly she could almost see the veins popping out.
How he seemed to breathe pure fury as his fist connected with the man's face for a second time, and a third, and a fourth…

Time had slowed down at this point, or maybe it had stopped entirely, Charley couldn't tell.
It tended to do that, though.
To just stop ticking, putting everything to a halt when something brutal like this happened.
And whilst she was aware of every little detail of the scene as they burned themselves into her brain, Vinnie wasn't aware of anything at all.
Not the blood that sprayed with each hit, splattering across his fur, staining his hoodie and knuckles a dark crimson.
Not the fact that the man had stopped moving under him after the fifth blow, or that his face now looked more like a pack of minced meat instead of an actual human's face.
He just kept hitting, over and over again, his fist coming down like a hammer, breaking bone and flesh with each strike.
Oh my god…
He was going to kill him.
If he wasn't dead already…

Jesus.

Charley blinked, her mind struggling to catch up with what was happening, but it was hard.
This wasn't the Vinnie she knew.
Again, he was showing her a side that was completely unfamiliar to her, and this time, it wasn't a good one.
Sure, she had seen him angry before, short-tempered as he could be.
But it was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to what she was seeing now.
This was sheer rage, raw and unbridled, and frankly, it scared her.
He scared her.
It was something that had never happened before, and yet here she was, hardly able to breathe as fear had her chest in a tight grip, squeezing the air out of her lungs once again.

Still.

Despite it all, she knew someone had to stop him.
Before he would cross a line he couldn't come back from -if it wasn't too late already- and since his bros were MIA for whatever reason, that someone had to be her.
Trying to ignore the rock-solid grip of fear holding her, she took a deep breath.
"Vinnie…"
Her voice was weak, raspy even as her throat was still raw and sore from the assault, but it was all she had now, and she reached out her hand.
"Please, stop…"

He didn't hear her.
Desperation welled up from within, pushing her to act.
Her legs trembled beneath her, her knees sore and stiff from her earlier fall, but she managed to force herself back onto her feet nevertheless.
Once again, she had to be brave.
And she would have been if she hadn't been shoved aside.
The sudden force knocked her off balance, and she quickly clutched the wall for support.
Soon thereafter, relief came over her when she recognized the person sprinting past her, and she let out a soft sigh.
Throttle was here.
Surely, everything was going to be okay now.

Unhesitatingly, the tan-furred mouse reached out to Vinnie, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him away from the broken body beneath him.
"Walk it off, Vincent", he ordered, his usual husky voice sharp and almost eerily cold.
That, along with his body language that practically breathed obedience, would normally have been enough for Vinnie to snap out of it, but not this time.
With a grunt, the white-furred mouse tore himself free, lunging back toward the crumpled figure on the ground, but Throttle wasn't having any of it.
Swiftly, he grabbed Vinnie's hoodie with both hands, and his tail lashed through the air as he yanked his little bro away from the man once more.
Again, Vinnie resisted, but Throttle positioned himself between him and the motionless figure on the ground before shoving Vinnie away with brute force.
"Walk it off!", he snapped again, louder this time and his tone edged with authority that left no room for defiance, not anymore.

Now that he had turned around, Charley could see his face, and her stomach twisted into knots.
Never had she seen Throttle this angry.
The fury was radiating off him like waves, making the air around him feel heavy with tension.
His jaw was clenched, and so were his fists as he stood there, his burning gaze fixed upon his baby brother.
It was a different kind of rage than Vinnie had displayed only moments ago.
Less explosive.
More calculated.
Cold, even.
That didn't make it less intense, though.
She couldn't be the only one impressed by this, and without really realizing it, her green eyes darted over to Vinnie, who had just regained his balance after Throttle's powerful shove.

For a brief second, all she caught was a glimpse of his blazing red eyes still burning with fury and his eerily twitching upper lip before he pulled his hoodie over his head and turned around.
With a certain gracefulness only he seemed to possess, even in his rage, Vinnie leaped onto his beloved motorcycle.
The engine roared to life almost immediately, and with squealing tires, he sped away without looking back.
Charley followed him with her eyes until he disappeared from sight, the rumble of his motorcycle fading into the distance.
She exhaled, her breath shaky as the tension slowly began to diminish.
Her heart, still pounding in her chest, began to settle, though the dread from what had just happened still hung heavily over her like a fog.
She turned her head, her gaze landing on Throttle, who stood there with his shoulders slightly slumped, as if the sigh he let out took the anger swirling within him with it.
"What was that?", she asked, her voice still raspy.

Throttle didn't answer.
Instead, he sighed for a second time, the sound heavy with exhaustion.
Then, still without a word, he turned around and knelt beside the man still lying motionless on the filthy ground in this equally filthy alley.
Charley couldn't bring herself to look.
The image of the man's heavily mutilated face was already etched into her brain, a nightmare waiting to revisit her in every sleepless night to come.
So instead, she fixed her eyes on Throttle's broad back, repeating the question, though this time a little bit more compelling.
"What was that, Throttle?"

Again, no response.
The tan Martian reached out, his fingers pressing against the man's neck, searching for a pulse, or at least, that's what she assumed.
Panic flared suddenly within her, hot and sharp.
She realized she didn't want to know the answer.
She didn't want to know if the man was dead.
She wasn't ready for that.
She probably would never be ready for that.
And yet, she didn't move.

Her hand remained against the cold brick wall for support, and her wide, green eyes stayed locked on Throttle, who was now rising to his feet.
He wiped his hand on one of the red bandanas he always carried, but he still didn't meet her gaze.
Instead, he looked past her, at someone standing beside her, and after taking a shaky breath that almost sounded like a hiccup, Charley turned her head.
Modo stood there, silent and motionless, his ears low, and his single eye flickering red.
The tension between the two brothers was palpable even for a simple human, and strangely enough, it felt somehow familiar, or some such.
Almost as though they had been through this before.
There was something weary in Throttle's expression as he looked at Modo almost pleadingly, while Modo…
Well, Modo just looked angry.
God.
Everyone was just so angry today.

Charley shifted her weight in unease as she cleared her throat, wanting to break the suffocating silence, but before she could speak, Modo beat her to it.
"We ain't done here. It's only a matter of time before Greasepit finds out we tricked him, and when he does, he'll be here with another army of those clowns."
His head jerked in a quick motion, gesturing to their surroundings with his back still as straight as an arrow, tension evident in every inch of his body.
"We'll be sitting ducks in this alley. We need to move."
Throttle nodded in agreement, and for the first time since everything had happened, he looked directly at Charley.
"Take my bike and get the hell out of here, Charley."

She blinked, caught off guard, but not by his offer -though it was rare for him to let anyone ride his bike- but by the tone of his voice.
It was short, almost cold, business-like.
Almost as though he were blaming her for everything that had just unfolded…
A strange sound escaped her lips, and she stared at Throttle wide-eyed.
"Throttle…"
She sounded way too pleading, but dammit.
This wasn't her fault.
She never wanted any of this to happen, she didn't even understand why it had happened.
All she ever wanted was to keep her friends safe…
Tears blurred her vision, but before she could break down, a warm hand gently took hers.
She looked up to see Throttle's face softening, and his furry fingers entwined with hers as he flashed her a reassuring, soothing smile.
"Just get out of here, Charley babe. Rendezvous at the garage, 'kay?"
Then we'll talk.
He didn't need to say it aloud for her to understand.

Looking at him, Charley realized that she was right.
He was indeed blaming someone, but it wasn't her, nor was it Vinnie.
He was blaming himself.
She didn't know why, and this wasn't the moment to figure it out.
Modo was right—the fight wasn't over, and she needed to leave.
She knew, and yet she couldn't stop worrying.
She never really could when it came to the guys.
Her family.
"What about you?", she asked, squeezing his hand gently.
"I'll ride with Modo. Now go."

Letting her go, Throttle gave her a soft push toward his black and chrome bike, its engine already purring, waiting for her.
Charley's limbs felt shaky as she climbed onto the seat, her hands hesitating over the handlebars.
This felt weird.
The only extraterrestrial bike she had ever ridden had been Vinnie's, then again, a bike was still a bike, no matter where it came from.
Throttle rested his hand on the headlight and whispered something in what she assumed was Martian.
The bike beeped back, and with a small smile tugging his lips, he stepped aside.
Charley kicked it into gear, and the bike took off with a roar of the engine, the alley quickly disappearing behind her.
But she wasn't heading to the garage.
No.

She knew Throttle expected her to do just that, all to make sure she was safe.
But she was a Davidson, and if there was one thing her family was known for, it was being stubborn.
And so it was decided.
She was going to find Vinnie, and she was going to talk to him.
She just had to talk to him, and yes, really talk.
No joking around, no distractions with sexy playfulness or whatever.
No.

She needed him to help her erase the brutal image of tonight from her mind, to remind her who he really was.
The good guy.
The one she trusted.
The one who would never cross the line she saw him inch so dangerously close tonight.
Because if he didn't, then so help me god…
…she would never be able to sleep, ever again.
Not with that image haunting her for life.