Chapter 4
LEO
Six months later . . .
“Leo,” Isaiah called from the doorway to the paint booth. “You in here?”
“Yeah.” I came walking out of the storage room, a can of paint in one hand and a stir stick in the other. “Just mixing up a new color for that Road Glide. Check it out.”
I held up the stick, letting the paint drip off the tip and into the can. Under the light, the cinnamon color shone with flecks of gold and caramel. Two shades that reminded me of a pair of eyes I hadn’t seen in months.
Eyes that belonged to a woman I didn’t let myself think about.
“Perfect color,” Isaiah said. “That’ll look awesome.”
“I think so. I’ll add some black pinstripes along the tank and the fairing spoiler. But she’s gonna shine.”
“Mind if I come in and mess around later?”
“Not at all.” I took the can back to the storage room, popping on the lid, then rejoined Isaiah.
He was inspecting a side panel that I’d primed yesterday for a custom job Dash had brought in a month ago. “Are you going to paint this today?”
“Yeah. Wanna help?”
“If you don’t mind.” Isaiah had been a mechanic here for years, and during that time, he’d always been hungry to learn.
When he’d started, he’d stuck to the routine jobs, oil changes and tune-ups, but over time, he’d expanded his skill set.
He could do nearly every aspect of a custom rebuild and restoration these days, from metal fabrication to engine work. Lately, he’d been learning to paint.
The Clifton Forge Garage did it all, from oil changes to custom bikes and classic cars. Draven had built one hell of a business and when he’d retired, he’d passed it down to Dash.
Nick, Dash’s older brother, ran his own garage in Prescott, Montana. Between the two brothers, the reputation they’d built was impeccable. You couldn’t go to a car show in the Pacific Northwest and not hear the Slater name dropped in conversation.
If Draven could see them now, he’d be damn proud.
Customers from across the country brought their cars to Montana to be restored. Even with two shops, Nick and Dash had to turn work down and the waiting list was eighteen months long.
It was the reason why that Firebird was in the lot behind the shop again. There was no space for it in the garage. With two bays we kept open for regular maintenance jobs, the other two were on the board for whatever projects were on the docket.
So the Firebird sat, unfinished, under a blanket of snow.
“Appreciate you teaching me how to do this,” Isaiah said, running a hand over his short hair. “One day, I want to build something all on my own. Every step. Have it to pass down to the kids.”
Kids. Everyone was always talking about their kids. “Yeah, no problem.”
He’d been shadowing me for about a month in the booth. He’d come in and mess around with the air gun, a lot like I’d done early on.
Those days had been all about the art. I’d loved painting pinup girls or a crazy skull. On a wall of my room at the clubhouse, I’d painted a version of the Tin King patch. Then I’d brought a sketch of the same to my tattoo guy and had him put the piece on a shoulder blade.
Half of the skull was silver, made to look like metal. Behind it was a riot of fire, its orange, yellow and red-tipped flames dipping over my shoulder and tickling my ribs.
The other half of the skull was a simple white, adorned with a head wrap and different bohemian pieces. It was a symphony of color and some thin stitching of sorts around the eye socket and teeth.
The words that had sat below the skull on my cut weren’t on my shoulder but instead wrapped around a bicep.
Live to Ride
Wander Free
The Tin King patch was a work of art. It showed two sides to many complicated men. Violence and love. Fear and spirit.
Emmett had a tattoo of the same. So did Dash but in the years since he’d met Bryce and they’d had their two boys, there were new tattoos on his body that held more significance. His kids’ names and their birthdates. His wife’s name on his calf.
But for me, that skull was the most significant ink on my skin.
Always would be.
Isaiah walked to the wall, studying the sketch I’d tacked up of the Firebird I’d done months ago.
The day she’d been in town.
The day I’d chased her away.
“Presley’s ordering lunch,” Isaiah said. “She wants to know what you’d like.”
I scoffed. “She couldn’t come in here and ask me herself?”
Isaiah held up a hand. “I’m staying out of it.”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
When I was working on a car, I usually had a partner, either Dash, Emmett or Isaiah. But when I was in the booth, I was alone. Maybe that was why I’d spent so much time in here lately. It was rare that I had company, especially company from Presley.
She should give lessons on delivering a cold shoulder. I’d been enduring the freeze for months.
Isaiah led the way out of the booth, and as soon as we were in the garage, the sound of a pretty voice drifted across the space. It instantly caught his ear and for a guy who didn’t smile a lot, the grin that stretched across his face was easy.
“Hi.” Genevieve came waddling over, her pregnant belly leading the way and her heels clicking on the concrete floor. She was wearing a pair of black slacks and a fitted sweater with her hair twisted up, probably having come from the law office where she worked as a lawyer.
“Hey.” Isaiah put his hands on her belly, then bent to kiss his wife. “Everything go okay today?”
“Just a normal morning.” She sighed. “Had to draft up a will for a young couple and that’s always emotional these days. I’m glad to be done early today. When my brother showed up to follow me here, I couldn’t close my laptop fast enough.”
It had been months since the FBI had raided the Warrior clubhouse, but we were all still taking precautions, especially for the wives.
The women rarely went anywhere alone. When Bryce needed to go to the newspaper office while Dash was working, I’d tag along with her and make sure she got there safely.
When Presley had errands to run over the lunch hour, Emmett would ride shotgun.
When Genevieve came here from her law office, Dash or Isaiah would tail her.
“Did you go to daycare already?” Isaiah asked.
She nodded, just as the office door opened and Dash came out with his one-year-old niece on a hip. Amelia had one hand in his mouth and the other latched on to an ear, tugging hard.
I turned away. I should have stayed in the paint booth. Christ, there were a lot of kids and pregnant women these days.
Genevieve. Presley. Scarlett.
I was fucking surrounded by swollen bellies. It was like they’d all conspired against me so that just one look and I’d feel like a miserable son of a bitch.
Well, the joke was on them because I didn’t need their help to feel like a piece of shit. I could do that all on my own.
Dash didn’t work on Fridays normally, which was part of the reason I’d been working every Friday. He was my brother. My boss. My friend. Maybe I was imagining the judgment in his gaze, but even now, when I looked up, I swore it was there.
At least he didn’t talk about it. About her.
No one talked about her.
“Da da.” Amelia spotted Isaiah and instantly Dash was forgotten. She launched herself into Isaiah’s arms, earning a kiss on the cheek and a toss in the air.
“Pres is ordering lunch,” Dash said, jerking his thumb toward the adjoining office door.
“I heard.” I gave him a nod, then left them for the office, escaping one pregnant woman for another.
Presley was stationed behind her desk, the phone sandwiched between her ear and shoulder. “We’ll see you tomorrow at eleven. Bye.”
The smile on her face for the customer flattened when she saw me.
Whatever.
“You’re ordering lunch?”
She nodded and picked up a pen, the ballpoint hovering over a sticky note as she stared at me, waiting.
“Where are you ordering from?”
“The deli.”
“Hot ham and swiss.”
She scribbled it on her note, then picked up the phone, dialing the number to the deli that she’d memorized years ago when this shop-wide Friday lunch had become a thing.
While Presley talked on the phone, as sweet as can be to everyone but me, the door chimed. Bryce came in with Emmett on her heels.
“Hi.” She smiled brightly. Her dark hair was tied up in a ponytail and her neck wrapped in a scarf. January was cold as fuck this year and the blast from the parking lot swept into the office.
“Hey.” I took a chair along the wall, relieved when she came to sit beside me.
Bryce was the one person over the past six months who hadn’t mentioned Cass or looked at me like I was a complete fucking failure. She was also the only female who wasn’t pregnant, making her my current favorite.
“How’s life at the Clifton Forge Tribune today?” I asked, spotting a bunch of notepads in Bryce’s purse.
“Quiet. Other than the fight in the parking lot of The Betsy on New Year’s Eve, all we’ve got are birth announcements and obituaries.”
“I was there for that fight,” I said, giving her a grin. “Need an eyewitness report?”
“Do you have anything new to tell me other than the big guy with the beard swung first, and then the big guy without the beard swung back?”
“Nah.” I chuckled. “That about covers it. Not even an exciting fight. No weapons. No broken beer bottles. Tame, really. The bartenders didn’t even have to break it up. Bearded big guy took a hard hit to the gut and started puking. Fight over.”
Bryce rolled her eyes but smiled. “I knew I should have just called you instead of going down there to talk to Paul. I could have saved myself the trip.”
“Of course he was there,” Presley scoffed. While I’d been talking to Bryce, she’d ended her call to the deli. “We should look into changing your address so your mail can be delivered there and you can skip going home altogether.”
“So what if I like The Betsy?” I should have kept my mouth shut but the question came out too quickly. “I have friends there.”