Endo (Full Send #2)

Chapter 8

8

REIGN

Time - NF

The garage is supposed to feel like home, but today it’s got all the warmth of a fucking graveyard.

The hum of the garage is like a pulse, steady and familiar, but today it feels heavier, like the walls are closing in. I lean against one of the tool benches, arms crossed, watching as Draygon and Thorne argue over a busted carburetor. Talon’s off in the corner, tinkering with something on his bike, but even he’s unusually quiet. It’s not like him to let Thorne’s sarcastic digs go unchecked.

The tension in the room has been thick all day, and I know exactly why. It’s not the bike, the upcoming season, or the endless grind of prep work. It’s fucking Lena.

“She’s really racing tonight?” Talon finally asks, breaking the silence. He doesn’t look up from his work, but his voice is tight, his knuckles white as he grips his wrench.

“Yeah,” Draygon says, his tone resigned. “Got confirmation from Jax. She signed up sometime late last night, and she’s using Cruz’s backup bike.”

A heavy silence settles over the room. No one needs to say it, but we’re all thinking the same thing.

“What the fuck is she’s trying to prove? She’s not a bloody racer. Hell, she’s barely ridden on her own. How the fuck does she reckon she’s got a chance at winning a race? Especially at the strip?” Thorne says, uncharacteristically serious. His British accent is sharper when he’s not joking around. “Mentally, physically—bloody hell, even emotionally. She’s still in bits.”

“And what, we’re not?” Draygon snaps. “We all lost him, Thorne. But Lena’s clearly got her mind set on doing this shit. If we try to stop her, it’s only going to push her further away.”

I stay quiet, the weight of their words pressing on my chest like a goddamn anvil. They’re right—she’s not ready. But what am I supposed to do? Kick down her door and force her to back out? All that would do is make shit worse.

“There’s nothing we can do. She’s been shutting everyone out since the funeral,” Talon says quietly, setting his wrench down. “You can’t reach someone who doesn’t want to be reached.”

“Maybe not,” Draygon says, his voice calm but firm, glancing at me with those dark, unflinching eyes.

My head snaps up, his words hitting me harder than I want to admit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, I take him in. He’s standing by the workbench, arms crossed over his broad chest, the black ink of his tattoos stark against his tan skin. His muscular frame is impossible to ignore—tall and imposing, like he’s carved out of stone.

The traditional Korean tattoos that snake up his arms and spread across his neck are intricate, bold, and unapologetic. They match him perfectly—layered, deliberate, and impossible to miss. Then there are the small teardrops tattooed beneath his left eye. They should make him look harder, scarier even, but to those of us who know him, they’re a reminder of how much he’s seen and how much he carries.

His hair is cut into a sharp fade on the sides, the longer strands on top slicked back with an effortless precision that only he seems to manage. He’s not just one of the oldest on the team; he’s a cornerstone. Him and Talon—they’re the ones who keep us in check, the ones who’ve seen the highs and lows of this life and still show up for the rest of us, no matter what.

Draygon shrugs, but his gaze stays steady. “She’s shut us all out, yeah, but that doesn’t mean we stop trying. Someone’s got to get through to her.”

The guilt claws at me, sharp and unrelenting. I’ve been thinking the same thing, but hearing it out loud stings. I shake my head, shoving my hands into my pockets. “She’s not answering calls, ignores texts, and hasn’t shown up in weeks. What makes you think anyone can get through to her?”

“It’s not about thinking you can,” Talon cuts in, his voice calm but firm. “It’s about showing up anyway. She’s grieving, Reign. Fuck we all are. She just… She’s dealing with it differently. After the funeral, she leaned on us for a while, and then something changed. She pulled away. But that doesn’t mean we give up.”

Wolfe nods, his shaggy blonde hair falling into his eyes as he glances around the room. The tribal tattoos winding up his arms—markings of his native heritage—shift as he crosses them over his chest. There’s a softness to Wolfe, a gentleness that sets him apart from the others. He’s the kind of guy who notices when someone’s struggling and steps in without being asked.

“We’re family,” he says, his voice steady but filled with quiet conviction. “And family doesn’t give up, even when it’s hard. For her, for Cruz—for all of us.”

It’s no secret this family of ours means more to Wolfe than anything else. It’s in the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, every word a promise that he’s not going anywhere.

The garage goes quiet, their words sinking in, but they don’t ease the knot in my chest. It feels like they’re waiting for me to say something, to step up.

I stare down at the floor for a moment before the weight of it all pushes me to speak. “I’ll do it,” I say, the words surprising even me.

Draygon raises a brow, his expression unreadable. “You sure? I mean, you got a lot going on yourself.”

I look up, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Fucking right I do, but like Wolfe said, she’s family. She’s not just shutting you out—she’s shutting all of us out. But Cruz wouldn’t have given up on her, and I’m not going to either.”

Talon nods, his expression softening just a bit. “Alright, but let’s not forget who we’re talking about here. Lena can throw a punch better than most guys, and that Latina temper of hers? Man, you’re walking straight into a storm. This isn’t gonna be some easy stroll in the park, bro.”

“I know,” I mutter, my voice rough but steady. “She’s grieving. Hell, we’re all fucking wrecked. But she’s gotta know she’s not in this shit alone. I don’t care if she slams the damn door in my face—I’m not walking away from her.”

The garage falls quiet again, the weight of my decision pressing down. But it doesn’t bring relief. The guilt doesn’t lift—it just twists deeper, sinking into places I didn’t even know it could reach.

I grab my keys off the bench, my fingers tightening around them like they’re some kind of lifeline. Maybe they are. Anything’s better than drowning in a bottle, trying to forget what I can’t change. At least this feels like moving forward, even if it’s walking into a storm.

“I’ll pop by her place before the race,” I say, mostly to myself. “She’s going to know we’re still here for her. Maybe—hell, maybe I can convince her not to go through with it tonight.”

As I head for the door, Draygon catches my eye. His expression shifts—almost relieved, like he’d been waiting for me to take this one.

“Best of luck, mate,” Thorne calls after me, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “Though I’ve got to say, it’ll be bloody entertaining watching Lena tear you to bits. That bird’s got a tongue sharper than a knife. Cruz would’ve had a right laugh seeing you squirm.”

The corner of my mouth twitches, the first flicker of a smile I’ve felt in days. “Yeah, well, maybe Cruz can send me some pointers from wherever he is now,” I shoot back, pushing the garage door open.

Wolfe chuckles, leaning against the workbench. “Just don’t piss her off too much, man. I don’t want to be the one patching you up after she breaks your nose.”

“Funny,” I say, rolling my eyes as I step out into the late afternoon light. “You guys done taking bets on how this goes, or should I wait for the odds?”

Draygon’s voice follows me as I head for my car, “Odds are against you, but if anyone’s stubborn enough to pull this off, it’s you.”

As the door swings shut behind me, their laughter fades into the hum of the street outside. I grip the steering wheel as I climb into the car, my mind already spinning. They’re joking, but we all know this isn’t just about Lena. It’s about doing something—anything—other than spiraling further into the void Cruz left behind.

If I can’t fix myself yet, maybe I can at least help her.

Lena’s apartment building looms in the warm light of late afternoon, the shadows of the overhanging roof stretching across the driveway. I pull up to the curb, cutting the engine, and sit there for a moment, staring at her place. The air feels heavy, the weight of what I’m about to say pressing against my chest.

But then I see her.

She’s outside, perched on Cruz’s bike. The tarp is bunched up on the ground beside her, the sleek black frame gleaming in the fading sunlight. My breath catches as I take her in—her hands gripping the handlebars, her jaw tight, her expression a storm of emotions.

I step out of the car, shutting the door softly. She doesn’t notice me right away, too lost in her thoughts. When I finally speak, my voice is steady, but there’s a nervous edge to it.

“Lena.”

Her head snaps toward me, her eyes wide with surprise before narrowing, her defenses sliding into place like armor. “Reign? What the hell are you doing here?”

I take a step closer, my hands shoved deep into my pockets, trying to keep my voice steady. “Are you really going through with this?” I nod toward the bike, my chest tightening. “Racing? On Cruz’s bike? What the hell are you trying to prove, Lena?”

She slides off the bike, her movements slow but deliberate, like she’s bracing for a fight. Golden skin catches the last light of the afternoon, her long blonde hair falling in those perfect beachy waves that seem effortless, untouchable. She smells like the sea—fresh, clean, and alive in a way that twists something inside me. She’s a breath of air my lungs crave more than I want to admit, but the pain in her eyes cuts deeper than I can handle.

She stands her ground, her gaze hard and unyielding as it locks on mine. “That’s none of your business, Reign,” she says, her voice sharp enough to draw blood.

“None of my—” I let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through my hair. “Fuck, Lena, we’ve been trying to call you for months. Months! And then today, we find out you paid for a spot at the strip and you’re planning to race on Cruz’s bike?” My voice cracks, but I push through it. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

My eyes drop to her gear—black Dainese riding pants and matching boots. Boots Cruz bought her for her birthday just a few months before he died. I know because I was with him when he picked them out for her. I can still hear him laughing, trying to guess her size and swearing I’d better not tell her how much he agonized over it.

Now, seeing her in them, it feels like a punch to the gut. I hate the way my stomach knots at the sight of her gearing up like she belongs in this world, hate even more that all I can see is the pain she’s trying to bury.

“You think I don’t know what this is?” I press, my tone sharper now. “You’re hurting, Lena. We all are and we’re all coping in our own ways. But this? Racing? You think it’s gonna fix anything?”

She steps closer, her chin tilting defiantly, and I can see the storm in her eyes. “Don’t pretend you understand,” she snaps. “You don’t know what this is for me. You don’t know what it feels like.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” I fire back, my voice dropping. “But I know Cruz. And I know he wouldn’t want you doing this—not like this. Not risking everything when you’re not ready.”

Her jaw tightens, and for a second, I think I’ve hit a nerve. But instead of backing down, she leans in closer, her words like venom. “Well in case you didn’t notice, Reign. Cruz is fucking gone. He’s dead. So I guess what he would want, doesn’t really fucking matter, does it?”

The sting of her words is like a slap, but the worst part is, she’s not wrong. I don’t know how to reach her, not like this.

And yet, I can’t bring myself to walk away.

Her eyes blaze as she crosses her arms. “I don’t need you showing up here and acting like you can tell me what to do.”

I take another step forward, my voice lowering but turning protective. “This isn’t about control, Lena. It’s about safety. You’re not trained for this. You’ve barely ridden on your own, and now you want to race on the strip? It’s too risky.”

She scoffs, her jaw tightening. “You think I don’t know the risks? You think I’m just doing this for fun?”

“No,” I say quietly, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I think you’re doing this because you’re hurting. Because you think this will make it stop, even for a little while. And believe me, I get that. But Cruz wouldn’t want this, Lena.”

“Don’t,” she cuts me off, her voice trembling with anger. “Don’t stand there and pretend like you care about what happens to me. You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to?” She scoffs. “You think I don’t know you’ve been drowning yourself in booze and spending your nights beating the shit out of some poor fuck in the Iron Pit? You of all people don’t get to say a goddamn word right now.”

“I care, Lena,” I say, my voice heavy with all the things I’ve never been able to say before. “That’s why I’m here. Because if something happens to you, it’s not just you we lose. It’s Cruz, too. The last piece of him we have left.”

I swallow hard, the emotions clawing at my throat. “You think this is just about racing? It’s not. You’re family, Lena. Always have been, always will be. You’re his, and because of that, you’re ours. If you throw yourself into this and something goes wrong, it’ll tear us apart.”

I take a breath, forcing the words out. “We’ve already lost him. Don’t make us lose you too.”

Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, but before either of us can say more, the sound of a door opening cuts through the tension.

“Everything all right out here?” a voice calls, smooth and casual, slicing through the tension like a blade.

I turn, my jaw tightening as I recognize him instantly. It’s him . The guy I saw at the strip a few months back, riding Cruz’s bike with Lena clinging to his back.

He steps out of her apartment, tall and annoyingly self-assured, like he owns the damn place. His dark hair is tousled just right, and there’s a cocky ease in the way he moves that grates on my last nerve.

My fists clench at my sides as my mind races, the memory of him on Cruz’s bike hitting like a gut punch. What the hell is he doing here?

“Who’s this?” I ask, my tone sharper than intended.

“Revel,” Lena says flatly. “Reign, meet Revel. He’s?—”

“I’m the new Speed Demon,” he interrupts, his voice steady but cautious as he approaches. “Andre told me this morning. I made the cut. First race of the season, I’m on the starting line.”

The words hit like a gut punch, but it’s the way Lena looks at him—like she’s already made peace with it—that twists the knife.

“You knew,” I say, my voice low. “You knew he was taking Cruz’s spot, and you didn’t say anything to any of us?”

“Because it wasn’t my place to say anything,” Lena snaps, her voice sharp, but there’s something softer underneath. I can see the hesitation in her eyes, but she hides it quickly, her defenses back up in full force.

“Really?” I bite back, stepping closer, my chest tight with frustration. “You think it wasn’t your place to tell us your new little friend is filling Cruz’s spot? Your boyfriend’s spot? When you damn well know how tight we all are as Demons?”

She flinches at my words, but she doesn’t break. She stands her ground, her jaw tight, but I see the guilt flash across her face. She doesn’t want to be doing this. I can tell. But she’s hiding behind that damn bike like it’s the only thing left to hold onto.

“Cruz is gone, Reign,” she says, quieter now, almost defeated. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not... I’m not trying to replace him. I just…” Her voice cracks, and she looks away for a second, like she’s trying to find the right words, but they’re not coming.

“That’s because you can’t fucking replace him,” I growl, the anger rising in my chest again. “But sure, you carry on cutting us all out of your life and signing yourself up for races you have no fucking business racing, pretending like everything’s fine and dandy while you’re letting this fucking guy fill his spot.”

Before she can respond, Revel steps forward, positioning himself between us, like he’s ready to throw down. His face is a little too serious for my liking, and I see the way his eyes lock onto me. He’s not just trying to protect her—he’s trying to stake his fucking claim.

“Back off, bro,” Revel says, his voice low, but there’s a noticeable edge in it. “Lena doesn’t owe you anything. She’s not doing this for you. She’s doing what she has to do.”

I sneer at him, my hands balling into fists. “And what’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m gonna stand here while you play fucking hero? You don’t get to step in like you know what’s best for her. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Revel’s eyes narrow, but his stance doesn’t shift. “She’s not your responsibility, man. She can make her own choices.”

I shove my hands in my pockets, taking a breath to try and cool the fire burning inside me. This wasn’t about him. It was about her. But the way he’s standing there, all righteous and protective, like he’s the one who gets to decide what’s best for Lena, it makes my skin crawl.

“I’m not trying to control her,” I snap. “I’m trying to keep her safe. You’re the last fucking person to tell me how to look out for her. And don’t even try to play the ‘I understand her’ card. I’ve been by her side long before you showed up.”

Lena looks between us, frustration pulling at her features, but there’s something else there too—a vulnerability, a weariness that cuts deeper than any of the shit we’re throwing at each other.

“Enough, both of you,” she says, stepping forward. “I don’t need this right now. You both need to just... stop.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and final, but there’s something in her eyes. She’s caught between us, and it’s clear—she doesn’t want either of us fighting over her. But she’s also not letting go of the one thing she’s holding on to right now.

I step back, swallowing the lump in my throat. The tension still thick between us, like we’re all just waiting for the next damn thing to break.

I look at Revel one last time, feeling that familiar disgust rise in my throat. “Good luck, man. You’ve got a lot to live up to.”

Revel doesn’t respond. He just stands there, his eyes locked on Lena, his jaw set. Protective. Possessive. It makes my stomach twist, but I don’t have time to deal with it. Not now.

I turn and start walking back toward my car, the weight of what just went down pressing heavy on my chest. I slide into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life beneath me, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s broken—between me, Lena, and the whole damn team.

I glance over my shoulder one last time, catching Lena’s figure against the backdrop of Cruz’s bike. Her face is twisted with emotions I can’t read, but I know one thing for sure: she’s lost, just like the rest of us.

And as I drive away, I can’t help but feel like maybe I’m too late to fix any of this.