Chapter 1 #2
“Because you’re so thirsty?” Jax’s mouth curves, pleased with himself in that infuriating way he saves just for me.
Asshole.
He never misses an opening. Teasing me is practically a hobby, one he does with great dedication.
“Because you’re unbearable.” The words come out sharp even though I know they make no sense.
Sometimes I hate him.
We filter out with the crowd ten minutes later, all heading toward the door, not knowing what personal space is. The chatter is mainly about her. About the way she unexpectedly took out Peacock.
“That was brutal. Did you see the way she hit him?”
”I want to see that again.”
”Remind me not to underestimate small women.”
Elias keeps a hand on my shoulder in the press out the door, steadying me when someone shoves from behind. The night air outside feels like a gift after the ten minutes it takes just to funnel out of the warehouse. It’s cooler, touched with the scent of rain and exhaust.
Bikes line the side lot in crooked rows, headlights flashing off chrome and scratched paint.
Some of them are genuinely beautiful. Others are loud on purpose, pipes screaming to distract from the fact that they’re held together with hope and zip ties.
I’m halfway through clocking which exhaust is going to rattle itself loose in a week when I see her.
She’s crouched by a matte black Harley Sportster, stripped down and low, the kind of build that looks personalized, not stock.
The tank’s been shaved, the frame darkened, everything tightened and intentional, like she tore it apart and rebuilt it exactly the way she wanted.
The stance alone makes my hands itch. I’m not usually one to ogle a girl like this, but… goddamn, that ass.
The guilt hits immediately when I notice the damage.
The headlight’s caved in like someone kicked it for fun.
The right mirror hangs uselessly, suspended by a single wire that disappears back into the housing instead of snapping clean off.
The front tire is dead flat. Thankfully there's no tear or puncture, more like someone opened the valve and let it bleed out slow. It’s petty and clearly targeted.
There’s grease smeared across her lightly tanned knuckles, and a small tool roll sits open beside her, laid out with care.
She’s got a flashlight clenched between her pearly white teeth, the beam cutting across the wiring she’s exposed behind the headlight.
No panic or confusion, just irritation and focus.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. Which somehow makes the odd feelings I’m having toward her a hundred times stronger.
She fights and works on bikes. What’s not to like?
Jax sees where I’m looking and lets out a low, dramatic sound. “No way.”
Elias has already started walking. Knowing him, he wants to check on her cheek and any other minor injuries she may have acquired.
He has that dad energy with everyone.
“Wait,” I say, which is ridiculous since he’s not going to. Neither of them are. “She doesn’t look like she wants company.”
“She looks like she needs a hand,” Elias counters, his too-big heart already bleeding for her. He stops at a respectful distance with his hands still visible. “You okay?” he asks, keeping his voice soft, the way he does when he knows someone is going to fight his help.
The flashlight leaves her mouth, but she doesn’t glance up just yet. “Do I look okay?”
“Fair.” Elias takes it in stride, unoffended, already turning his eyes toward her bike. “Did someone mess with it?”
“Someone’s ego got its feelings hurt,” she bites back, her irritation at the situation bleeding into her tone. “They took it out on my bike. A guy can never seem to handle getting his ass kicked by a woman. Especially a woman my size.”
Seeing her up close, I realize just how small she is. She can't be more than five-three and a hundred twenty pounds soaking wet. She's toned with muscles that tell me she knows what she's doing. I can see she has a small faint scar above her eyebrows from this distance.
“Vandalism as a love language,” Jax mutters, coming to rest on the other side like he belongs anywhere he sits down. “How romantic.”
She finally looks up at us, dark blue eyes assessing us for any threats.
The overhead light puts a halo on the edge of her long hair that cascades to her midback, but there’s nothing soft about her gaze.
It flicks over Elias, probably filing him under ‘not a problem.’ They linger on Jax just long enough to clock the smile he wears and know he's trouble. Then they land on me.
I wish they hadn’t. They're intense.
She looks like she could break your heart and then hand you the pieces and tell you to fix it yourself. The fresh swelling at her cheekbone doesn’t help either, making her look that much more intimidating. And yet somehow all I see when I look into her eyes is someone who’s tired.
“You gonna help or stare?” she asks me specifically, maybe because she can't quite get a read on my nervous energy.
“I—” The words trip on my tongue, but I give up on them and squat without thinking. Up close, the damage is worse.
I point with one finger, not touching anything yet. “They yanked the headlight connector and scuffed the ground from the frame. That’s why you’re not getting power there. And your tire—whoever did it vented your Schrader. The threads might be stripped.”
Her mouth moves like she's both impressed and surprised that I got it all right. I feel like I just passed some kind of test. Then she hands me the flashlight. “Great. Hold this.”
My heart does that kick again, but I manage to take the light and hold my hands steady, which is unfair considering the rest of me doesn't feel that way.
Elias kneels opposite me. “I’ve got a spare valve core in my kit,” he offers, attention squarely on her. “If the threads aren’t shredded, we can swap it and get air back in.”
“That would be helpful.”
It’s not a please, but it’s not rude either. Just a simple statement, because he offered.
Jax drops into a crouch behind me, too close, because he has a broken relationship with personal space. “And what’s your name, Sunshine?” He’s already smirking. Already flirting.
Good luck, Jax.
I hope she punches you in the face when you say something stupid.
She flicks him a look that makes me choke back a proud laugh, seeing she's not impressed nor amused. “Raine.” Then her attention goes right back to the bike, like he’s background noise, so now I like her even more than I did two seconds ago.
Her name sticks, fitting, something hard as a storm but soft as a drizzle. I don’t like that my brain latches onto it, and keeps it somewhere deep.
“I’m Jax.” He gestures grandly to himself like she asked. Then he points over my head. “That’s Elias. And Professor here is Theo.”
“I don’t teach,” I cut in, feeling it's important to clarify that, even with my hands elbow-deep in wires that aren’t mine. “He’s just not allowed to call me a nerd, so he settled on professor.”
“You teach us how to be anxious,” Jax shoots back, because he’s like this on purpose.
Raine snorts, and the sound is almost too cute for someone so intimidating. It’s small, barely a sound, but it’s the first crack in the armor I’ve seen. I hate that I wasn’t the one who got that out of her.
She catches herself immediately, lips pressing together. “Focus,” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else, like laughing is something she’s not allowed to do.
But why?
Elias peels off toward his Harley Softail, digs into one of the saddlebags, and comes back a minute later with a small parts kit and a compact inflator, already snapping the bag shut as he rejoins us.
Meanwhile, I work on the headlight housing, easing it free so I can properly reach the harness.
I strip back enough to see clean metal and reseat what I can, checking continuity with my pocket tester.
Raine watches my hands with curiosity, almost as if she's checking a test for right answers.
“You ride.” Her gaze tracks me for a second, assessing, like she’s already decided the answer and is just confirming it.
“Yeah.” I keep my focus on the bike between us, thumb worrying at a smear of grease on the housing. Eye contact feels like a bad idea. “And fix.”
The corner of her mouth lifts, subtle and fleeting. Not a smile. More like approval she didn’t mean to give. “Good. You’re not in it for the aesthetics then.”
I get what she means. There's too many guys nowadays buying motorcycles just for the looks, thinking it'll land them more girls but not actually caring for the machine.
Motorcycles are more than just chick magnets.
Elias has the valve core out, and thankfully, the threads look salvageable. He swaps in a new core and shoots me a look. “We’re in business.”
Raine doesn’t say thanks. In fact, she doesn’t say anything at all.
She stands in one smooth motion that makes my knees feel old and checks what I’ve done like she trusts no one, which I respect.
She runs a knuckle along the harness, testing for looseness.
I’ve already zip-tied things clear of the fan.
She tilts her head once with the smallest nod.
Jax, who physically cannot survive more than eight seconds of silence, breaks it. “So, Raine.” He leans back on his heels like they’re already friends. “You always pick on men twice your size, or was tonight special?”
She gives him a look that’s half amused, half tired. “I wasn’t picking on anyone. He signed up.” A shrug follows, careless and unimpressed. “Not my fault he doesn’t know how to actually fight.”
Her eyes roam Jax next, slow and deliberate, the same way she assessed her bike. Like she’s already clocking weak points. “Something tells me you’d be easy to knock out, too.”
That one gets me. A small snort slips out before I can stop it.
“Ooo. Yes please, Mommy.” Jax grins, fully misreading the threat as an invitation.