Chapter 7 Definitely Not Hiding Something #2
Two suits come into view, both black and pressed to a point, too tidy for a garage.
One has a scar hooked along his jaw, a hard little mark that makes his face look finished.
The other wears a smile he doesn’t mean, all teeth and no warmth.
They don’t move as customers do, with no hesitation at the door, no curious glance at the sign, no pause for the counter bell.
They step up to the glass, look in, and take inventory with their eyes, calm and certain, as if the place already belongs to them.
My heart goes cold and angry all at once. But for once, there's fear in there, too. Not for me. Not exactly. Fear because Jax is here and he’s loud, and if he opens that mouth now, I’m going to have to clean blood off the concrete before dinner.
I step in front of him to block the sightline from the window and talk fast, low, eyes on his. “Listen to me. No matter what happens, you do not speak. You’re a client who needed your chain checked. That’s it.”
His eyes search mine. The jokes are gone. “Raine—”
“Not a word. I mean it.”
He nods once. It’s quick, serious. He stands and pulls his jacket straight like he’s at attention. The dimples vanish for once. His face goes flat in a way I didn’t know it could. The posture shift looks like trouble—relaxed on purpose, but his eyes alert.
I move quickly—grab his keys off the bench, shove them into his hand, smear a dot of grease across the edge of the fob to make it look touched. I walk to the closest bike on the floor and pop the chain guard like I’ve been mid-inspection since the dawn of time.
“Stand straight,” I tell him without looking back, keeping my hands busy so my face doesn’t give me away. “Keep your arms loose, and your hands in your pockets.”
He obeys after a half second of hesitation, adjusting his posture until he gets it right, shoulders settling, expression smoothing into bored indifference even though his eyes stay pinned on me.
The suits don’t bother waiting for an invitation. They step into the garage and walk straight toward me as if Jax doesn’t exist.
“Morning,” I greet them, voice easy, still not giving them the satisfaction of a full look. “We’re closed for walk-ins. Appointments only.”
The one with the scar lets out a laugh that carries no humor. “We’re not here for an oil change, sweetheart.”
I straighten slowly and turn to face them, letting a smile spread across my mouth that never reaches my eyes. “Then you’re lost. DMV’s down the road.”
His partner ignores me and sweeps the shop with his gaze, methodical, checking corners, the lift, the workbench, the open bay, until his attention lands on Jax and sticks.
Jax doesn’t move. He shifts his weight with practiced boredom, eyes forward, patient the way men get when they’re stuck waiting for their girlfriend to finish talking about nail colors.
“You busy?” Scar asks, chin tipping toward Jax as if he’s already decided what he is.
i.e. nothing.
“Client,” I reply, keeping my tone just this side of bored. “Chain’s loose. Sending him out in ten.”
“Chain’s loose.” The second man repeats it slowly, rolling the words around as if they’re amusing.
“Some of us work for a living,” I shoot back, keeping my hands steady on the tool.
Scar’s gaze slides to me again. “Bash wants a word.”
I don’t let my face change. “He can make an appointment like everyone else.”
“You’ll want to take this one.” The other man’s voice stays smooth as he says it, eyes still on Jax. “Time-sensitive.”
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” I say, calm enough to sell it.
Scar smiles, showing teeth and nothing else. “He said now.”
He steps closer. Jax shifts half an inch, not enough to read as a threat, just enough to put his shoulder in the line Scar would have to cross if he got cute.
He does it casually, bending his focus toward the bike as if he’s checking the chain again.
Subtle, and protective as hell. I feel it anyway, a prickly static crawling up my skin.
Scar barely registers him. The other one does. His gaze narrows as he tips his head toward Jax. “You the boyfriend?”
Jax’s mouth twitches, the impulse to say something reckless flashing across his face. My stomach drops. He catches himself at the last second, scratches his jaw with one knuckle and looks through the guy instead of at him.
“Client,” I repeat, keeping my voice flat enough to be a wall.
“Must be a good mechanic,” the second one remarks, letting his eyes travel down me in a slow sweep that makes my hands itch to break his wrist first. “Guys lining up for chains.”
“Guys line up when they respect the work.” I sharpen my tone as I hold his stare. “It's not my problem that you can’t recognize decent labor even if it punches you in the teeth.”
Scar’s smile tightens at the edges. “Cute.”
I don’t blink. “You want me, you make an appointment.”
He lifts a brow, taking his time. “You sure you want that to be the answer?”
“Positive,” I answer calmly, even with my pulse drumming hard in my ears.
His attention slides past me toward the back office, then to the register, then across the shop again. He’s counting tills without touching anything, measuring exits, mapping the room. Bash sends the clever ones when he wants the pressure to feel slow and inevitable.
“We’ll wait.” He steps back just enough to perform politeness. He plants himself at the lobby opening, blocking the path without officially blocking it. The other takes up a position by the pegboard, close enough to watch my hands, close enough to make sure I notice.
They’re here to send a message, not to collect. Not yet. Surveillance, done in person so it sticks.
Lovely.
I feel Jax’s eyes on me, but I make it a point not to look at him. If I do, I’ll tip something I can’t afford to tip.
I bend back over the chain, hands steady only because I make them be. “You’re at forty-five.” I jerk my chin at Jax, motioning him. “Check your tire pressure. You’re low.”
He moves like he’s done this a thousand times.
He fetches the gauge from the shelf where it actually lives, not where a random person would guess.
He crouches by the back tire and sets his shoulders so I block their line of sight to his face.
He looks like a man who knows his way around a bike.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t say a word the entire time.
Scar watches us like a cat watches a fishbowl. The other one checks his phone, bored. I give them nothing but the show of normal business with all the prickly edges filed off.
When I straighten, I wipe my hands on a rag and finally look Scar in the eye. “You tell Bash I’m working. He wants to waste my time, he can call. If he wants to make me late on deadlines, he can put that in writing.”
Scar lets the silence ride a second longer than is comfortable. Then he nods like I just did a trick he didn’t hate. “We’ll be back,” he promises.
“You always are.”
They don’t thank me for my hospitality as they leave. The bell dings again, too light for the weight they had brought in with them. I don’t breathe until the door clicks shut and their shadows are gone.
One deep breath, then another. Jax stays down by the tire, hand on the valve cap, but those icy blue eyes are glued on me.
“Don’t move,” I tell him quietly, keeping my voice low while my fingers tighten around the tool in my hand. “Give it thirty seconds.”
He nods once, staying still, surprisingly not asking questions or giving me grief.
He just counts with me, jaw set, as if he can hear the seconds ticking.
When the thirty hits, he twists the cap and checks the pressure, smooth and unhurried, selling the performance like we’ve been doing customer service the whole time.
He rises to his feet slowly, dusting his hands off in the process. “Client,” he murmurs under his breath, forcing a ghost of a grin into place even though his eyes stay hard.
I swallow the rest of the adrenaline and make my own mouth cooperate. “Yeah. Client.”
His gaze locks on my face, restraint pulling the muscles in his cheek as if he’s holding back a storm. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He doesn’t buy it, narrowing his eyes as he scans me, not flirting now, not playing, tracking every detail as if he can catch the lie before it finishes leaving my mouth. “Raine—”
“Later.” I cut in, going for steady even as the edge of a tremor gives me away.
He doesn’t let it go, which I should have seen coming. “Who were they?”
“Customers.” The lie comes out easy while I grab the rag and pretend to wipe grease off a wrench that’s already clean, giving my hands something to do.
“Right.” He lets the word drip with disbelief, eyes staying on me. “Because every customer you get drives a car like that and makes you go pale.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” He steps closer, voice dropping, insistence replacing humor. “You looked scared.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, you were.” His jaw shifts as he stops himself mid-sentence, takes a breath, then tries again with more control. “You looked at me the way someone looks when they think something bad is about to happen.”
“Drop it, Jax.”
He folds his arms, planting himself in my space without crowding me, stubborn written all over his posture. “Why are you so nervous around them?”
“Because people make me nervous.”
“Bullshit.” The word comes out flat and certain, his eyes holding mine. “You take punches for money. You don’t scare easily. Besides, who the fuck is Bash?”
The air between us tightens, too hot, too heavy. I move past him, grabbing tools just to keep my hands busy, knowing if I don’t, I might shake. “You ask a lot of questions for someone who was told to pretend to be a client.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a client who's not built for quiet.”
“Maybe try it sometime.”
He laughs once—low and humorless. “You don’t get it. You went white as a sheet. I don’t like seeing that.”
The rag twists in my hand. I hate that he noticed. Hate that it sounds like he actually cares. “Why?” I throw over my shoulder. “Why does it matter to you?”
“Because you matter.” The words land between us before he even realizes he said them. He blinks, breath catching, but he doesn’t take them back.
It hits me right in the chest, too close to something I can’t afford to feel. I turn, glare hard enough to hide the panic bubbling up under it. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Say things like that.”
“I meant it.”
“Don’t,” I repeat, my voice breaking this time.
He takes a step closer, already too close even though there’s so much room between us. “Tell me what’s going on. Who the hell were those guys?”
“I told you, customers.”
“Raine—”
“I said drop it!” The words rip out louder than I mean them to. The sound bounces off the walls and comes back smaller, rawer. My hands are trembling again. “Just go, Jax. Please.”
He freezes. For once, no smart remark. No grin. Just that searching look—the one that makes me feel seen in ways I never asked for.
“Raine,” he says softly. “You don’t have to handle everything alone.”
“Yeah, I do.”
He watches me for a second longer, then nods, slow and reluctant. “You really want me to leave?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. When he speaks again, the edge of his usual confidence slips back in, but just barely. “Alright, but next time you tell me you’re fine, I’m not believing you.”
“There won't be a next time.”
He drifts toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle, turning back for his eyes to snag on mine. “Clearly you're in denial, Sunshine.” His words are softened by something stubbornly gentle. “Some of us just show up anyway.”
Then he’s gone.
The bell over the door jingles, but the silence that follows is too heavy, too real. My jaw locks, chest tight, and before I can stop myself, I grab the nearest wrench and hurl it at the wall. It hits hard, the clang echoing through the shop before fading into nothing.
I drag a hand down my face, breathing shallow. I picture Bash's men outside, watching. The thought of them seeing Jax here—of them connecting dots—makes my stomach twist.
This is exactly what I can’t let happen.
They can’t get hurt because of me. Not Theo with his soft voice. Not Elias with that quiet protectiveness. And definitely not Jax, with all that stupid charm and loyalty he hides behind jokes.
I can’t afford any of them.
I stare at the dent in the wall, jaw tight, and make myself a promise. No more visits. No more smiles. No more letting them get close.
Distance is safety.
And if it hurts to say it, I’ll just pretend it doesn’t.