Chapter 13 #2
“I know,” Knox snaps. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “Gary is trying to talk him down, but Lane is a politician. He cares about the money, not the riders. He’d sacrifice every single one of us to save a sponsorship deal.”
“And Jack? What happens to him?”
“He’s gone,” Knox says, his voice grim. “Lane made that clear. He’s out. But the damage is done. The stain is on the whole sport now.”
The stress radiates off him in waves. He’s a rider. He needs the circuit like he needs air. Taking that away from him is like caging a wild animal.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Wait. Sit here and go crazy while they decide my fate.”
I look at him. I think about the fight at Clara Mae’s. The blood on my knuckles. The rumors about Saramaria.
We are both wound tight. Springs ready to snap.
“I punched a guy at Clara Mae’s today,” I say.
Knox stops pacing and looks at me. A slow grin spreads across his face, the first genuine emotion I’ve seen from him all day. “Yeah? Who?”
“Some loudmouth defending Jack. Saying Willa asked for it.”
“Good,” Knox says, the grin fading into something harder. “I wish I’d been there.”
“He said something else,” I add, keeping my voice casual. “He said the town thinks we’re all fucking Saramaria.”
Knox blinks. He looks taken aback. Then, he laughs. “Is that right?”
“Yeah. Said we’re being territorial. Guarding our... assets.”
Knox looks toward the direction of the ranch. “Huh.”
“Huh?” I repeat. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?” Knox asks, climbing into his truck. “It’s a stupid rumor. We’re not.”
“I know that,” I say. “But it’s out there.”
“Well, let them talk,” Knox says, starting the engine. The roar fills the parking lot. “It gives them something to do besides gossiping about Jack.”
He looks at me, a gleam in his eye that I recognize. It’s the look he gets before he climbs onto a bull. The look that says he’s looking for danger.
“Get in,” he says.
“Where are we going?”
“We need to blow off steam,” he says. “And I can’t ride Diablo without a chute operator. But there’s something else I’ve been wanting to check out.”
“Which is?”
“The motorbike shop over on Fourth,” he says. “I saw a custom build in the window last week. I want to see if it’s still there. I need to see something fast that isn’t a bull.”
I hesitate for a second. I have feed to unload. I have fences to check. I have a mess of paperwork waiting for Saramaria to discover.
But the truck is warm. And the prospect of sitting in the cabin alone with my thoughts is unbearable.
I open the door and climb in. “Fine. But if you buy another toy you can’t afford, I’m not helping you fix it.”
“I won’t buy it,” Knox says, throwing the truck into drive. “I just want to smell the gasoline.”
We drive across town. The motorbike shop is a large, metal warehouse on the edge of the industrial district. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of oil, rubber, and burnt clutch. It smells like speed.
Rows of bikes line the floor—sport bikes, cruisers, dirt bikes. Chrome gleams under the harsh fluorescent lights. It’s a temple to adrenaline.
Knox walks straight to the back, where a sleek black machine sits on a pedestal. It’s a custom build, low and mean, with an exposed engine and pipes that look like they could breathe fire.
“Look at that,” he says, circling the bike. He runs his hand over the gas tank, his fingers tracing the line of the seat. He’s practically vibrating.
“It’s nice,” I admit. “It looks dangerous.”
“That’s the point,” Knox says. He swings a leg over the bike, sitting on it even though the engine is cold. He grips the handlebars, leaning forward into the racing crouch. He closes his eyes for a second, imagining the road.
I watch him. This is his element. The risk, the power, the fine line between control and chaos. He needs this. The circuit limbo is killing him because it takes away his control.
“You think Lane will actually do it?” I ask, leaning against a nearby tool chest.
“Postpone?” Knox opens his eyes, staring at the concrete floor in front of the bike. “Yeah. I do. He’s a suit, Rhett. He doesn’t understand the ride. He doesn’t understand that we do this because we have to. If he shuts it down, he thinks he’s saving face. He doesn’t realize he’s killing us.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “If the circuit folds, we find another one. Or you start your own. You have the name. You have the talent.”
Knox looks up at me. “You think?”
“I know,” I say. “You’re the best rider I’ve ever seen. With or without APbrA.”
He nods, but the doubt doesn’t leave his eyes. He climbs off the bike, carefully setting the kickstand. He walks over to a rack of helmets and pulls one down. He tosses it to me.
“What’s this for?”
“Put it on,” he says. He grabs another one for himself. “The mechanic said I could take the demo for a spin if I was serious. Let’s go.”
I catch the helmet. It’s heavy in my hands. “You just said you can’t ride without a chute operator. This is the same thing.”
“No,” Knox says, grinning now. A real grin. “This is different. On a bull, you’re holding on for dear life. On a bike... you’re the one in control.”
He has a point. And the thought of the wind in my face, the engine roaring between my legs, drowning out the noise of the rumors and the scandals and the documents... it sounds like salvation.
I pull the helmet on and buckle the strap.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We walk the bikes out the back door. Knox kicks his engine to life first. It barks, a loud, aggressive sound that echoes off the brick walls of the alley. I follow suit.
The vibration travels up through my spine, settling in my chest. It feels good. It feels real.
Knox looks over at me, his face hidden behind the visor. He gives me a thumbs up.
We hit the road. We don’t go fast. The town speed limit is strictly enforced, and neither of us needs a ticket today. But as we ride out past the city limits, toward the open highway that leads to the mountains, I feel the tension start to bleed out of me.
I wonder what she’ll think when she sees the leases. I wonder if she’ll hate us more, or if she’ll finally understand that Anthony wasn’t just a stubborn old man, but someone who was trying to build something that lasted.
I think about the rumor—that we’re a pack.
That we’re together. It’s absurd. But as I ride behind Knox, watching him lean into a curve, I realize that in a way, we are.
We aren’t bonded by blood or bite marks.
We’re bonded by the land. By the ranch. And now, by the woman who wants to tear it all down.
We ride until the sky begins to darken. We don’t talk. There’s no need to. The roar of the engines is the only conversation we need.
We ride for so long that by the time we return the bikes and head back to the ranch, the sun is setting behind the mountains, the sky a bruise of purple and red.
“Thanks,” Knox says, running a hand through his hair. “I needed that.”
“Me too,” I admit.
“Think she’s looked at the papers yet?” Knox asks, looking toward the main house. The lights are on inside. I can see a shadow moving past the window.
“She’s looked at them,” I say. “And she’s probably plotting our murder right now.”
Knox laughs. “Good. Let her plot. It gives her something to do besides trying to sell the place.”
He heads toward his cabin, but I stand there for a moment longer. I look at the main house. I think about the fight, the blood, the rumors. I think about the way Saramaria looked at me when I handed her the documents.
I’m not sure what happens next. The circuit is in danger. The ranch is in limbo. And we’re right in the middle of it, caught between the past and a future that doesn’t want us.
I tighten the strap of my helmet and walk toward my cabin. Tomorrow is coming. We’ll face it when it gets here.