Chapter 21 Slade
Slade
Stepping into the shop is like stepping back in time.
There’s the same smell of rubber and oil in the air; all the inventory and supplies are neatly stocked on the long row of shelves.
Music blares, and the welder is fired up.
A burly man in a gray tank-top, with tattooed arms and shoulders, wears a well-worn cut and is fabricating some custom exhaust. The face shield of Badger’s welding helmet is pulled down as he works, and sparks fly and die out as they hit the concrete floor.
As if he has a sixth sense that someone has entered his domain, he shuts off the welder and turns toward us.
His body goes stiff, then he pushes his helmet up to reveal his face.
The lines are more deeply carved than the last time I saw him and gray peppers his beard.
His left eye is mangled with a scar and sealed shut, but I was never scared of him.
He was my dad’s best friend, and I always felt safe… safer with him than with my own father.
“Kid,” his voice comes out hoarse and raw. “Jesus Christ, kid.”
He pushes his helmet fully off his head, puts down the welding gun, and turns down the music before striding over to Army and me. He stops just short of touching me, even though I can tell he wants to pull me into a bear hug.
“I see you’re still as ugly as ever, Badge,” I say to break the tension.
He chokes on a laugh and drags his hand over his cheek, smearing some grease and welding ash right below his scarred eye. “And you… Let me get a good look at you… Yep, still as beautiful as ever.”
I avert my gaze, trying to avoid him studying me too intently, and scan around the shop at the various bikes sitting there. “Got anything I can work on?”
Lots of the members maintain and repair their own bikes, but some prefer Badger to do it as he is the best there is, especially for the custom exhaust like he was building.
“Bike or a cage?” he asks.
“Whatever you got.”
“Your…ah…” He glances at Army. “Your car isn’t here.”
“I know.” I sigh. “It’s been chopped up already?”
Badger rubs his beard, studying me. “Yeah.”
Army walks around the shop, leaving Badger to contemplate me in silence.
“Spit it out, Badge,” I say softly.
“I hoped that the rumors and what your brothers had told me…” Pain and sadness flash over his face. “Well, I was hoping they all were exaggerating.”
“This is me.” I spread my arms, then let them fall. “Take it or leave it. But know, I’m not here to discuss where I’ve been or anything to do with my so-called father.”
His lips press together, and at first, I think he’s going to argue or at least push against my terms, but he finally nods. “You still know your way around the wrenches?”
“Bitch…come on.”
He grins, which makes his scar bunch up. “Well, that bike isn’t gonna change its own oil, is it?” He gestures toward a scarlet-red Harley, its tank emblazoned with the Havoc Guardians logo—a skull with a halo, pierced through by a trident.
“Whose bike is this?” I ask, walking around it.
“Tats.”
“He’ll be okay with someone like me working on his ride?”
Badger comes to stand beside me, and I see the difference between us in the reflection of the scarlet-red paint—him a burly man with a scarred, mangled face, and a heart of pure gold, and me a small-framed, short, dark-haired young woman with a heart she’s unsure still lives in her chest.
I blink and turn away to look at him.
Again, it looks like he wants to bear hug me and protect me from the world. “Everyone knows I protect their babies like I would my own.”
His double meaning isn’t lost on me. Badger will be another one in the crosshairs if the Vanderalls discover it was me who killed their precious son and spilled his dirty, vile secrets to the world.
The urgency to leave here hits me again, but I push it down because I need to figure out a different plan rather than trying to convince them to let me leave.
Badger walks to the shelves and grabs containers of oil and a new filter. I grab an oil filter wrench and socket set from the toolbox, then head to the shelves for a drain pan, funnel, and some shop rags.
“Fire her up and let her idle for a bit to warm up the oil.” Badger motions to the bike.
As I do that, I watch Army walk out of the shop, leaving me with Badger. The rumble of the bike fills the cavernous space, and once I turn it off, Badger turns up the music, and we work without talking.
Once we’re ready to bleed the lines, I ask, “Ready for me to start the engine?”
“Hit it.”
The rumble of the bike drowns out the music again as I let it idle until the clean oil runs through the lines into the drain pan. I shut off the engine, and Badger holds the bike steady while I reattach the lines, making sure everything is secure and properly in place.
When I stand back up, I realize my brothers are now in the shop with Tats, a broad-chested guy who has more tattoos than normal—including his bald head—even for a biker.
He grins, looking between Badger and me. “Just like old times, yeah?” He ruffles my hair. “Anytime you want some ink, you come see Old Tats, got it?”
‘Old’ is a stretch since he’s roughly the same age as Bane, Ash, and the rest of the Council, but he swings his leg over the seat and fires up his bike before I can retort.
As he drives out, my brothers approach, and Badger stands beside me. He pats my back, and I try not to jerk away, but thankfully, he wasn’t touching the thick, long scar. “Just like riding a bike. You did good, kid.”
Tyr regards me as if he hadn’t missed my reaction when Badger touched my back, but he remains silent.
“Good to see you back in the shop,” Sten says with a soft smile. Of my brothers, he has always been the one to wear his heart on his sleeve. “It’s like you never left.”
Jaarl points over his shoulder at the bikes waiting to be serviced. “You in?”
“It’s not like I have anything else to do.”
Badger looks like a kid on Christmas morning with a wide grin cutting across his face.
Tyr picks up the oil filter wrench from the cart where I had set it and tosses it to me. “Get to work, little sis.”