Chapter 7
SEVEN
BLADE
I roll into the parking lot at Iron Reapers Customs, running on the energy drink I chugged when I woke up.
I chew on the toothpick in my mouth as I head inside, mentally preparing for the usual routine.
Tank screwing around. Rev throwing parts.
Music loud enough to fry brain cells. Normal.
What I’m not prepared for is Bri, sitting in the damn office like it’s hers.
I stop dead. It feels like the entire world is misfiring.
She’s behind the desk, wearing a fitted black Iron Reapers Customs shirt that clings to her curves.
Her messy bun barely contains her hair, little dark strands falling against her neck and shoulders, and she’s typing quickly with a concentrated look.
She looks edible. Dangerous. Like she might kill me or kiss me and I genuinely don’t know which one turns me on more.
My pulse jumps into fight mode. Definitely not lust mode. That would be insane. I storm inside, making the door crash louder than it needs to when it hits the wall. “Where the hell is Mason?”
She looks up slowly, unimpressed like I didn’t just have a cardiac event at the sight of her in my territory. “Good morning to you too,” she grumbles under her breath. “Nice to see you’re still as cuddly as a cactus.”
“I’m serious, Bri.” I get closer, lowering my voice because I already hear Tank laughing somewhere in the shop. “What are you doing here? Because there is no fucking way you’re actually working here.”
She stands, hips swaying on purpose, and walks around the desk.
Her jeans hug her thick hips in a way that should be illegal before noon.
And the boots. Black shit kickers laced up tight like she means business.
She rounds the desk and settles on the edge, arms crossing beneath her chest, turning every soft curve into a weapon aimed at me.
One boot swings slowly, almost teasing, and my heart damn near forgets how to function.
“Really now?” Her brow arches, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You sure about that boyo?”
I hate how much she’s enjoying this. The little smirk.
The raised brow. The absolute audacity. But worse than that, I hate how good she looks in our logo.
Like she was always meant to be part of this world.
And I hate how damn good she smells, like warm sugar and heat and something I can’t name without admitting I’ve noticed her way too many times.
It hits me every time she moves, sliding right under my skin until I’m the one coming apart.
I hate all of it so much that I want to drag her right off that desk and kiss her until she forgets her own name.
Which means I need to get the hell out of this office before I embarrass myself.
I spin around and slam the door behind me harder than necessary.
My brothers definitely heard that, because Rev pokes his head out from the parts wall with a grin like he knows exactly how doomed I am.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he calls.
“Shut up,” I snap, and then I immediately regret reacting because Rev’s grin doubles. Great. Fuel for the fire.
I pace in front of the office, trying to shove my emotions into a box and nail it shut.
Behind the closed door, I hear Bri moving papers around like she is genuinely settling in.
Like this is normal. Like the universe doesn’t care that this is the worst idea since someone let Tank cook at the clubhouse.
The door swings open. Bri pops her head out, eyebrow raised like she’s queen of the sass kingdom. “Mason’s in the garage talking to Tank. If you want to throw your little tantrum his way instead of at me.”
I glare. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.”
She leans her shoulder against the doorframe, gaze crawling over me like she’s checking for lies. “Sure. My bad. You’re just slamming doors and breathing like a dragon because that’s how you normally say hello.”
She’s impossible and sunshine dipped in sarcasm and wrapped in trouble. And now she fucking works here. I swallow hard, trying to drag my sanity back from whatever cliff it just swan-dived off. “We’re not done talking about this.”
“Oh, I know,” she says, smiling like she is absolutely going to ruin my life.
The worst part is she is right. I’m so fucking screwed.
I march across the shop like a man on a mission to stop a building from collapsing, except the only thing collapsing is my sanity.
Monday is my day off, so this is my first time back since the weekend.
And apparently the universe spent those twenty-four hours rearranging reality just to screw with me.
I find Mason near the back, going over a parts order with Tank. He looks up the second I approach, eyebrows raised like he can smell the attitude rolling off me.
“Blade,” he says, voice even as ever. “Morning.”
“We need to talk,” I snap, jerking my head toward the office.
Tank whistles low. “Somebody woke up spicy.”
I ignore him and focus on the man in charge. “Why is Bri behind the desk in there?”
Mason wipes his hands on a rag like he has all the time in the damn world. “Because I hired her.”
I just stare at him. “You what?”
“She started yesterday,” he says simply. “She’s the new office manager. Books, payroll, inventory, ordering, phones. All the crap we suck at.”
I feel my jaw clench. “Since when?”
“Since Sunday,” Mason replies. “I offered her the job. She accepted. She’s already cleaning up Rev’s mess from last quarter.”
Tank pipes up, cheerful as always. “And we like her better than you already.”
I shoot him a look that promises pain. He grins wider, then I turn back to Mason. “She can’t work here.”
“Why not?” Mason asks, eyes locking onto mine like he already knows I don’t have a good answer.
Because she’s distracting. Because she’s sunshine wrapped in sass. Because every time she smiles at someone who isn’t me, my chest gets tight and my brain gets stupid. Because wanting her is the dumbest thing I could ever do.
I have nothing I can actually say. So I growl out the first terrible excuse that comes to mind. “She’s Bella’s sister.”
Tank snorts loud enough to be heard in the next county. Mason’s eyebrows lift just slightly. “I’m aware. And that is not a valid reason.”
“It feels like one,” I mutter, sounding like an absolute idiot and hating myself for it.
Mason steps in closer, voice low and final.
“She’s smart. We trust her. She wants to be here and she’s damn good at what she does.
That’s all that matters.” I grit my teeth but stay quiet because arguing with Mason is a losing game.
“And Blade,” he adds, looking me dead in the eyes.
“Whatever your issue is, figure it out. Fast. Because she’s staying. ”
I swallow down every emotion I refuse to name. “Fine.”
“And stop slamming doors,” Mason finishes. “Next time I'll make you fix the hinges yourself.”
I grunt something that might pass for agreement and turn away, stalking back toward the office with my hands balled into fists. I can feel Bri watching me through the window. I look up just in time to catch her leaning back in the chair, smirking like she absolutely loves that I’m losing my mind.
She gives me a tiny wave. I swear under my breath. Tuesday just started, and I am already in trouble.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m already one bad minute away from chewing through my own toothpick.
All morning I kept my head down and did my damned best to ignore the chaos disguised as a woman sitting in our office.
Every time I walked past, Bri was there.
In that fitted Reapers Customs shirt. In those jeans.
Glasses sliding down her nose while she muttered numbers and typed fast enough to set the keyboard on fire.
I should get a medal. Or therapy.
I grab a sandwich from the diner across the street and eat it in the break room like a feral animal hiding from its problems. I think I have regained some control by the time I get back to the shop floor.
That lasts exactly six seconds.
The front door swings open and three guys stride in with the kind of swagger only people who have never been punched carry around. Early twenties. Fresh faces. Hair gelled like they’re headed to a nightclub instead of a bike shop. They spot Bri immediately and make a beeline.
Of course they do. Why wouldn’t they?
Bri gives them her professional smile, but I see the way her fingers tighten around her pen. The way she inches back a little from the counter. The way she tries not to roll her eyes when one of them leans too far over the desk, invading her space like he paid rent on the air she’s breathing.
“Hey beautiful,” Mr. Gel says. “We’re looking to drop some serious cash. Build something sick. Something the ladies will notice.”
His buddy elbows him. “Ladies already notice us. We just need a ride to match the vibe.”
Third one, the one with the fake confidence dripping off him, taps the counter and says, “Someone like you could help us figure out what looks… hot.”
Bri chuckles politely, but it sounds like the kind of laugh people make to avoid stabbing someone with a pen. “I can walk you through options if you’re new to riding.”
“Oh we ride,” Fake Confidence claims quickly. “We know what we’re doing.”
Sure they do.
I step in because I have reached my limit for the day and we are barely past noon. “I’ll take it from here.”
Gel looks me over like he just noticed a person existed besides Bri. “Chill, man. We were talking to the pretty girl.”
“And now you’re talking to me,” I say, giving him my best smile that is not a smile. “She has actual work to do.”
Bri shoots me the quickest glance. Relief flickers across her face before she hides it. That is all I need to justify stepping in.
Fake Confidence crosses his arms. “We want full custom. Top tier performance. Whatever your biggest, baddest engine is.”
I lean in slightly. “What bike do you ride now?”
He hesitates. A beat too long.
His friend jumps in. “He doesn’t have one yet. None of us do. But we’re bikers at heart.”
I make a sound that is somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. “Right. So you want us to build you a machine you don’t know how to handle so you can cosplay Sons of Anarchy on the weekends.”
Gel scoffs. “We’re not posers, bro.”
I tilt my head. “What’s a clutch?”
Fake Confidence blinks rapidly. “A… what?”
Bri’s shoulders shake. She’s laughing silently. At them. At me. Probably both.
I fold my arms, blocking their view of her completely. “You want badass? Earn it. Learn to ride. Learn not to die. Then come back and we’ll talk about chrome and horsepower.”
They bristle like I kicked their puppies. “We got money,” Gel snaps. “We want the cool bike.”
“And I want idiots to stop hitting on my office manager,” I say casually. “Yet here we are.”
Fake Confidence’s jaw drops. Gel sputters. The third guy starts pretending he’s interested in a helmet display.
Bri finally speaks, voice soft but firm. “Blade can help you pick out something smart to start with. Once you’ve got more experience, we can build whatever you want.”
The guys grumble but follow me toward the showroom, leaving Bri blessedly alone.
Once they’re far enough away, she calls out to me quietly, “Thanks.”
I pause and look back.
Bri leans her hip against the desk, lips curled in a real smile this time, not the forced one she gave them. She looks at me like she sees right through the armor I’m desperately holding together.
“I know you could handle them,” I say. “Doesn’t mean you should have to.”
Her smile softens. “That almost sounded sweet.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I mutter, turning away before she sees too much.
But my chest feels too tight and my adrenaline is still humming.
This day is far from over.
And I already know I’m losing.