Claimed by the Biker Giant (Maxine and Tank) novel Chapter 233

Cloe POV

My body won’t stop shaking.

It’s annoying, it feels like I am cold and hot all at the same time. I don’t think my body knows

what it wants.

I don’t know what I want.

Do I want to rest up, as the doctor said?

No!

All I know is I don’t want to be alone.

This house, the way the people interact, laugh, and do things together, was like a dream. I never thought people could be like this in real life. Thought it was all television crap. But this household lives and breathes family bonding, but then I haven’t been here long, maybe it’s all that way, because they have a guest in the house. Will find out, I am sure, when the novelty of my being here wears off.

Storm’s bike is, well, fantiddillyastic, like drool-worthy good. I can picture him on that bike, riding off into the sunset. It suits him, if that makes sense. A dream bike, and a gift from parents for his nineteenth birthday, so lucky.

Since mum died, I haven’t had a party or presents, unless you call a black a present. Not that I begrudge Storm or his generous parents; it was just a thought that entered my head about what it would be like to get gifts like that. My sister got gifts like that, a brand new car, and she totaled it within weeks; all Dad did was go out and buy her another one. I had to tutor at school to earn money for my bike. I brought one in a box, in pieces, real cheap, and over two years, built it, till I got my licence and rode it for a while. Wonder what Dad will do with my bike, bet he sells it, or sends it to the dump, if he finds where I hide it. But then, with no legs, I can’t ride it. Wonder if Storm can help me get it back. It’s a three-day drive, so maybe too far away to bother.

Fixer was taking me to her painting shed, Storm was pushing my chair, and between them, they were giving me an update on their place.

A HELICOPTER!!!!

They own not one, but a few helicopters, and the rescue ones and planes, and my gosh, how rich are they? Storm was a pilot. His grandpa, Savage, taught him, since Storm showed an interest, and when an emergency arises, so that all aircraft can be in the air. He was working on learning to fly planes, now, to help with bush fires, dropping fire retardants, but still prefers the helicopter

I am getting worried now that I won’t fit in, that they will see the poor beaten girl, and say wasn’t worth the effort. They are helping me at the moment because, pity me, losing both legs shocked a lot of people. I hope they keep me around long enough so I can be self-sufficient. I don’t like feeling stuck in a situation, mind you. So far, they seem like great people and very helpful.

We entered a clean room with lots of light and exhaust fans keeping the air dust-free.

“This area is where I prepare the item for painting, and might do the initial drawing, as a guide, then into this room for the big paint jobs, and that smaller one for detailed fine work, and air brushing.” Fixer was explaining as we went from one section to another, this place was super clean, everything put back in its place, like the garage, the bikes were in, clean, and tidy, nothing like you would expect, mind you, if you respect your property, you care for it, and where it is kept.

Dad never understood that, and his workshop was terrible, with tools on the floor, and he constantly complained he couldn’t find stuff, but that’s all on him. I was never allowed in that garage, so he can’t blame me, although Mia tries to blame me. It was her job to keep it tidy, and yeah, you can see where that was going. His favorite never does anything wrong. I am sounding bitter. I need to change how I see that. Can’t change it, so why harp on it? Time to focus on me, not what I didn’t have in the past. But it is hard sometimes, when memories or thoughts come to you unbidden.

Storm had hesitated at the doorway, letting me take it all in, before he pushed me to the smaller desk.

“If you need a hand with the setup, let me know.”

“Thank you,” I said. He pushed me up to the desk, and a chair that would have been here was moved to the side, out of the way.

“Do you want to stay in your wheelchair, or the desk chair?’ I looked at the chair, and it looked comfortable. Which one do I want to sit in? If I stay in the chair, I can move away when I have had enough, without asking Storm for help.

“Best stay in the chair. Where is the closest bathroom from here?” I used the bathroom as an excuse.

“Turn left, down the end of the hall.” He watched me as I set up at the desk, the chair a little low, but I can adjust.

“Sorry, but you are too low, which will cause problems later. Let me get that chair; I am not going anywhere for a while.”

He brought the chair over, moved me into it, and pushed the wheelchair away. So much for choice, but I would agree it was better on this chair.