Revv (Full Send)

Chapter One

Cece

Tampa at night is a sweaty bitch.

The air sticks to my skin like it has attachment issues, thick with salt, gasoline, and that burnt rubber smell every biker here wears like it’s designer cologne.

Music spills from the open bay doors of the garage behind me, all bass and filthy lyrics, loud enough to make the pavement buzz under my wedge heels.

Motorcycles line the lot in messy rows, chrome flashing beneath cheap string lights while their engines tick as they cool. Helmets hang from handlebars and someone revs a bike for absolutely no reason other than being born with too much audacity and not enough supervision.

Basically, a normal night with this crew.

I lean against the side of Echo’s car with a plastic cup in one hand and my phone in the other, pretending to scroll even though I haven’t read a single thing on my screen in about ten minutes.

My long lavender hair is sticking to the back of my neck, my black yoga shorts are riding up just enough to be annoying, and my cute little top was a good idea when there was sunlight.

Out here?

Questionable.

Still hot, though.

Obviously.

I set my cup on the hood of Echo’s car long enough to free my hand, then hook my finger around the little gold locket resting against my chest.

It’s old, scratched, and worth more to me than anything else I’m wearing.

It belonged to my abuela, and inside is a tiny picture of my baby, Guacamole, a black Sphynx cat with the face of a sleep-paralysis demon and lives exclusively for snacks, naps, and judging me from his favorite place to sleep—my warm laundry.

The crew is scattered everywhere tonight.

Talon is near the open bay doors of the garage, looking annoyed for no reason, which is honestly just his face at this point. Echo is perched on the edge of a workbench, boots swinging, watching everybody act stupid like it’s her favorite reality show.

Which is fair considering every hangout somehow turns into engines revving, someone bleeding, somebody flirting with someone they shouldn’t, and at least one person saying, “Relax, it’s fine.”

It is never fine.

Nunca.

But it is entertaining.

I take a sip of my drink and look over the lot, because honestly, this group is a mess and I’m nosy. Hot bikers, bad decisions, and way too much testosterone.

A bike rolls in near the far end of the lot, loud enough to cut through the music and make half the girls turn their heads.

Of course.

Because Revel St. Clair doesn’t just show up. He makes an entrance like the world owes him attention and, annoyingly, usually gets it.

He kills the engine, swings off the bike, and pulls his helmet free. Dark hair, his black hoodie stretched across his chest, and like trouble decided to leave a signature.

Then he grins.

The kind of grin that makes smart girls do dumb things and then blame tequila.

I don’t do dumb things.

Not anymore.

Well.

Not unless he’s really hot.

Guys like him are always comfortable. Too pretty to be ignored, too loud to be forgotten, and way too used to everyone shifting around them like they come with their own gravity.

A girl near the bikes turns her head as he passes. Then another. One of them does that little hair flip thing women swear they don’t do on purpose.

Puta, please.

We all do it on purpose.

Revel notices her too. I see the flick of his eyes, the little curve of his mouth like he knows exactly what she’s offering.

And then he looks past her.

Right at me.

My drink pauses halfway to my mouth.

Because, okay.

Fuck.

He is, indeed, really hot.

Not in a cute, harmless way either. Because why would life make it easy for me? No, Revel is hot in a stupid, inconvenient, “this is why women make bad choices” kind of way.

But I’m not about to let him know that.

So I take a sip, keep my face neutral, and look back at my phone like his eye contact didn’t just ruin my entire attitude.

The cup is still near my mouth, phone loose in my other hand, one hip pressed against Echo’s car like I’m calm, cool, and not at all affected by the six-foot-three problem walking around this lot with tattoos crawling up his neck and one whole arm blacked out like he lost a fight with the devil and won.

I am calm.

Mostly.

Revel’s eyes stay on me for another second, and then his smile changes to the kind a man gets when he finds something he wants to mess with and has absolutely no plans to behave about it.

Ay, no.

My stomach does this stupid little flip.

Rude.

I lower my drink slowly and give him one flat look, the kind that says don’t even think about it.

He thinks about it.

Obviously.

Then he stops in front of me, close enough I have to tip my chin up, which is already annoying because I don’t like being physically reminded a man is tall.

His gaze drops before he says anything.

Not subtle or even accidental.

He looks me over from my hair to my hoops, down to my shirt, my shorts, my legs, then back up so slowly my skin heats like he touched me with his hands instead of his eyes. His tongue drags across his bottom lip, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he already knows I noticed.

Cocky bastard.

“Well, shit, Mama,” he says, voice low and playful. “Don’t you look good.”

I lift my drink to my lips, taking my sweet fucking time while I look him over from head to toe. When my eyes make it back to his, I cock one hip and tip my head, giving him the same unimpressed look I give every man who thinks a pretty smile is enough to get somewhere with me.

“You better be packing more than cheesy pickup lines, papi.” My mouth curves slightly. “Because I don’t do talkers. I do finishers, and I always look good.”

His grin spreads like that answer just made things worse for him in the best way.

“Oh, I know you do.” His eyes dip again, shameless and hot, lingering on my legs before sliding back to my face. “But tonight? Fuck. So fucking good.”

My fingers tighten around my cup enough that I notice.

Hopefully not enough that he does.

But of course he does, because his smile turns even more pleased, like every tiny reaction—I don’t mean to give him—is something he plans to collect.

I lower my cup and let my gaze drag over him right back. Six-foot-three of cocky biker stands in front of me like confidence is a contact sport, and Dios mío, I hate that it works.

“Careful,” I say, tilting my head. “You’re starting to sound obsessed.”

His laugh is low and immediate, like I said exactly what he wanted me to say.

“Starting?” He leans closer, not enough to touch me, just enough that I catch the heat coming off him and the clean leather smell under the gasoline. “Mama, I’ve been obsessed with you since I first laid eyes on you. Pretty sure everybody here knows it. Including you.”

I scoff, because honestly that’s safer than smiling.

“Okay well, I’m not interested so go obsess over someone else.”

He laughs again, softer this time, eyes locked on mine like he can see right through the attitude and likes what’s underneath even more.

“Yeah, okay.” His gaze flicks to my mouth, then back up. “You say that, but we both know that’s not what you want.”

My pulse jumps which is annoying.

I lift my brows and give him my sweetest look, the one that usually makes men either back up off me in fear or make bad choices.

“You think you know what I want?”

“No.” His grin turns slow, dirty, and way too sure of itself. “But I’m dying to find out.”

For a second, neither of us moves.

The music thumps behind him. Echo says something from the workbench to Lena who’s across the lot, but I don’t catch it. All I’m aware of is him standing too close, me refusing to step back, and the fact his eyes keep dropping to my mouth like he’s already decided how this ends.

Puta madre.

He’s going to be a problem.

I take another sip of my drink, acting like I’m calm, then drop my eyes back to my phone. “Yeah well, keep dying, pretty boy.”

Revel laughs under his breath, low and pleased, like me shutting him down only made him more entertained, which is exactly why I refuse to give him anything else.

I’m not intimidated by him. I’m not flustered either.

I’m simply choosing not to feed wild animals.

Especially six-foot-three ones with motorcycles and dangerously pretty mouths I’d like to feel—

Nope.

No, pendeja. Not going there.

“Cece,” Echo calls playfully from the bench.

I don’t even have to look to know she’s smiling, but I look anyway.

Echo is watching me with one brow lifted, boots still swinging, wearing that expression she gets right before she makes somebody’s business her personal entertainment and tonight it seems she’s chosen mine..

Revel’s gaze stays on me the whole time. No embarrassment or irritation. Just pure fucking amusement, like every time I try to cut him down, I’m accidentally giving him exactly what he came over here for.

That’s the annoying thing about him.

Most men get defensive when you don’t giggle and bat your lashes. They puff up, push back, try to make you smaller so they can feel tall again.

Revel doesn’t.

He just stands there, taking every sharp little thing I hand him like I’m feeding him dessert straight off my tatas.

Dangerous.

But not in the easy way.

Easy danger is simple. You see it coming, you move out of the way, done. Revel is worse than that. He’s the kind of danger that grins at you, calls you mama, and somehow makes being annoying sound hot.

Which is rude and inconvenient.

Because I’m careful.

Usually.

Mostly.

When I feel like it.

“So, do you have a reason for standing in front of me still?” I ask, lifting my cup. “Or am I that unlucky this is where your ego decided to park?”

His grin flashes, all teeth and trouble. “Wanted to check up on you.”

I blink. “Check up on me?”

“Yeah.” He inches a little closer, like personal space is a rumor he heard once and ignored. “Make sure you’re still over here looking fine and giving me shit. Highlight of my day, Mama.”

Heat crawls up my neck, but I trap it behind a bored stare and point at him with my cup.

“Call me mama again and you’re gonna need a dentist.”

His smirk deepens, slow and shameless, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Noted.”

He says it like he is absolutely not taking notes.

Before I can tell him where to shove all that confidence, Sayshen stumbles in from the side and throws an arm over Revel’s shoulders like their bromance is the main event and I’m just lucky enough to be standing near it.

Great.

A drunk man-shaped distraction.

Finally, something useful.

“There he is,” Sayshen slurs, grinning way too wide. “Our pretty little menace. You done harassing Cece yet, or are we all pretending this time it's actually going to work?”

Revel shifts with the added weight, one hand coming up to steady Sayshen without ever taking his eyes off me.

“Oh, it’s working.”

I scoff. “In your dreams.”

His grin goes filthy so fast I almost regret handing him the opening.

“Definitely in my dreams,” he says, voice dropping just enough to make the words feel like fingers. “But you’re usually a lot sweeter there.”

My face gets hot.

Sayshen laughs, loud and drunk, then leans harder into him. “Bro, you’re down bad.”

I smile sweetly “And that’s my cue.”

Revel’s brows lift. “Running away already?”

“Running?” I glance over my shoulder, letting my eyes drag over him just enough to make it daring. “No, Papi. I’m just done with my community service for the night.”

His mouth twitches. “Community service?”

“Yeah.” I lift my cup in a tiny toast. “Entertaining men with oversized egos and a tragic inability to accept no. Very generous of me.”

Sayshen makes a wounded noise against Revel’s shoulder. “Damn.”

Revel laughs, low and warm, like I just made him want to chase harder.

“You say that like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Ay, cabrón, please.” I keep walking before my smile sells me out. “Don’t confuse charity with interest.”

I don’t look back.

Mostly because I have self-respect.

Also because if I look back and he’s still watching me, I might trip, and I refuse to give that man a physical manifestation of my poor judgment.

The garage sits at the back of the lot, all black-painted siding, open doors, and music leaking out like the building itself has bad habits.

A couple of the girls are already heading that way, laughing with their drinks in hand, and I fall into step behind them like I am a normal woman making normal choices.

I am not.

Because my body, apparently, missed the entire conversation where I told it Revel is not happening.

My skin still feels too warm from the way he looked at me. My neck. My thighs. My mouth, because of course the man kept looking there like he had plans and no shame. Tall as fuck, stupid grin, stupid voice, stupid everything.

Goddamn.

He’s hot.

Deeply inconveniently hot.

Like, makes you forget your own point in the middle of an argument kinda hot.

And that is exactly the fucking problem.

Men like Revel are trouble. Not the kind you flirt with once, regret for a week, and move on from with a new playlist and better standards.

He is the kind of trouble that knows he is trouble.

The worst possible kind. With pretty eyes, a filthy mouth, and enough sex appeal to make every red flag plastered on him look like a goddamn accessory.

I know men like that.

I was raised on what men like that leave behind.

My dad chased my mom for years. Years. Flowers, cheesy songs outside her window, big promises, all that romantic novella bullshit women eat up when they want to believe being wanted means being loved.

It finally worked. She gave my dad everything she had, then she got pregnant.

And suddenly the same man who couldn’t live without her figured out how to disappear just fine.

Dropped her like she was nothing. Like we were nothing and all that chasing had just been about proving he could catch her, not keeping her once he did.

So no, I do not trust men who make wanting look easy.

I do not trust pretty faces with too much confidence, or men who smile like every no is just a challenge they haven’t won yet.

And I definitely do not trust the way my body is still humming from three minutes of Revel standing too close and running his stupidly tempting mouth.

I step inside the garage behind the girls, lifting my drink to my lips as if that can wash away the heat sitting low in my stomach.

Trouble like Revel is not something I need.

Or want.

Obviously.

I’m just walking away very fast because I’m mature, emotionally stable, and deeply committed to making healthy choices.

So naturally, I’m probably fucked.