Chapter Four
Eli
I’ve been sitting in the garage for hours, and no one’s shown. I don’t even know when to expect the new owner. Patrick didn’t leave me any way to contact him, and he’s not answering my texts.
I sigh and grab a notepad. I’m not sitting here all day. I’ll tape the note to the door with my contact information.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
I jump and look up. A big man stands in the doorway, arms folded, face set like he’d rather be anywhere else. My heart races, but my body doesn’t seem to be on the verge of fainting.
“I…uh…work here?” I say. The words sound smaller than I feel. “Can I help you?”
“You must be that man Skip was talkin’ about,” he says, exhaling like this is already a hassle.
“If it was up to me, I’d kick your ass to the curb right now.
Heard you don’t know shit about working on bikes.
But I promised the asshat I’d give you a shot.
You’ve got one month, kid. That’s it. One screwup and your ass is gone. Got it?”
“Umm…yeah. Got it.”
I don’t tell him that sometimes I can’t keep myself upright. Not today. Not to this guy.
“Good. Name’s Knuckles. Show me around and let me see what needs upgrading.”
“Most of it.” I step around the desk and gesture him forward. “This place is old and in need of a good shine.”
I try to hide my disappointment as we walk, that this broody man is the one who showed up, and not the guy from yesterday. Did Knuckles just say his name was Skip? That’s a weird name… even for a biker.
“This dump ain’t worth half what we paid for it,” Knuckles says when we finish the tour. He rubs a hand over his jaw. “Alright, kid, hope you’re ready for hard labor. I want these hunks of metal out on the lot so they can go to the scrap yard.”
My stomach drops. I’m not built for that kind of work. My body won’t let me do that much physical labor. But I keep my mouth shut. I need this job. No one else will give me a chance. I can’t afford to blow it on day one by sounding like I’m making excuses.
I keep thinking about the guy from yesterday who caught me when I fell. He already knows a little because of that. Maybe he’ll show up tomorrow. Maybe he won’t. Maybe I’ll make it through the first day without passing out.
If I don’t, I promise myself I’ll at least try to collapse somewhere out of Knuckles’ line of sight. It usually only takes a minute for me to come back. Hopefully, that minute will be enough.
***
I made it… barely. Every muscle in my body aches, and I can feel my body wanting to shut down. But I fight it…which always ends up making it worse. Once the adrenaline rush drops, that’s when I’ll be out. Hopefully, I’ll be home by then.
“You’re not used to hard work, are ya, boy?” Knuckles says, tone sharp enough to cut. “No wonder you’re fat.”
The words sting, but before I can react, another voice cuts through the garage…cold and lethal.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
I turn, heart skipping. Skip’s standing in the doorway, hands clenched at his sides, eyes locked on Knuckles like he’s one breath away from losing it.
“He won’t last a week, let alone a month,” Knuckles says. “Fucking waste of space if you ask me.”
The words don’t bother me. It’s nothing I haven’t heard a few dozen times before. It’s the way he says them that makes me step back.
Knuckles has been cold to me since the moment he walked through the door, and I’ve barely said more than a handful of words to him. But every time his eyes land on me, he sighs or rolls them like I’m a burden just for breathing. Now, his voice is different. Flat. Empty. Cruel.
I shake my head, trying to clear it, but the edges of my vision start to darken.
“I’m gonna lower you to the floor, sweetheart,” Skip’s voice says softly, close to my ear. When did he get so close? “We’ll talk about this little habit you’ve got with fainting every time you see me once you’re back on two feet.”
“Don’t worry,” I mumble as he helps me down to the grimy floor. “Normal.”
“I had a feeling,” he chuckles, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other shoves something under it for support. “Don’t move, Eli. I mean it.”
“Going under,” I manage as everything starts to fade.
“Told you he was fucking useless,” Knuckles sneers.
Something soft brushes my cheek…then it’s gone.
The next sound I hear is chaos. Grunts, fists connecting, something heavy crashing to the floor.
Then, nothing.
***Skip***
“You broke my fucking nose,” Knuckles spits as Tank holds me back.
“You’re lucky that’s the only thing I broke,” I snap. “How dare you treat him like that.”
“Do you not see him?” Knuckles sneers, gesturing at the man passed out on the floor. “He can’t even handle a day’s work. He’s useless. He means nothing to this club. Fuck his ass and get rid of him.”
Tank’s arms are iron. That’s why he’s the one holding me while Bones, Maverick, Foster, Max, Spike, and Crusher watch from the sidelines. But the rage in my chest isn’t something even Tank can hold forever. With one hard shove, I break free, and I’m on Knuckles.
“Skip,” Spike says…voice too calm for the moment. “Stop before you kill him.”
His tone of voice hits me like a cold bucket of water. I laugh, half-crazed, half-relieved. Spike isn’t telling me to stop because he doesn’t feel it…he’s pissed too. He’s telling me to stop because you don’t kill your brothers unless they’ve done the club or its members wrong. Not ever.
“Dammit,” Knuckles grunts, clutching his hand. “I think you broke it. How the hell am I supposed to build shit now?” He glares up at me, eyes full of disbelief. “Fuck, Skip. That man means nothing to this club. You don’t even know him, and you attack your brother over him? That’s fucked up, man.”
“Thin…fucking…ice,” I warn.
I stare down at him, chest still heaving. There was a time I would’ve agreed with him…that brothers came first, no matter what. But the look in his eyes now… there’s nothing brotherly left. Hell, there’s nothing human left.
“You really don’t hear yourself, do you?” I ask quietly. “You’ve been different for months, Knucks. Angry. Mean. But tonight…” I shake my head. “That wasn’t just rage. It’s like there’s nothing inside you anymore. No emotion. No hate. No hope. Just… empty.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even blink. Just stares back with those dead, hollow eyes that make my skin crawl.
Spike steps between us, breaking the moment. “Enough. This shit ends now.”
Knuckles glares once before Tank hauls him up, muttering under his breath as they walk out.
When the room’s finally quiet, Spike looks at me. “You good?”
“No,” I say, voice rough. “Something’s off with him, Spike. Real off. That wasn’t anger. It was the absence of everything else. Like he’s gone, and we’re just talking to what’s left.”
Spike’s jaw tightens. “Yeah. I’ve seen it too. Keep your distance for now. I’ll talk to him.”
I nod, but I don’t believe for a second that talking’s going to fix whatever the hell that was.
When I turn toward Eli, the tension in my shoulders eases just a fraction. He’s still out cold, pale but breathing steadily. I kneel beside him, brushing a finger down his soft cheek.
“You sure know how to make an entrance, sweetheart,” I murmur. “One day here and you’ve already started a war.”
He doesn’t stir, but the faint rise and fall of his chest is enough. For now.
I can’t explain it, and I don’t care to understand the reasoning behind it, but if Knuckles says one more fucking bad thing about this man… I’ll kill him.
Brother or not.
Spike doesn’t say anything at first. Just studies me with that sharp, calculating stare he’s perfected over the years. The one that sees right through bullshit.
“You good?” he finally asks.
“Not even close,” I bite out, my hands still shaking from holding back. “You saw it too, didn’t you? That look in his eyes? There’s nothing there anymore, Spike. No fire. No brotherhood. Just… nothingness.”
Spike exhales slowly, glancing toward the door Knuckles stormed out of. “Yeah. I saw it.” He rubs his jaw, voice low. “And I don’t like what it means.”
For a moment, neither of us speak. The only sound is the faint hum of the old fluorescent light above and the drip of oil somewhere deeper in the garage.
Then I look down. Eli’s still on the floor…pale, sweating, limp. Something in my chest twists. Without thinking, I kneel beside him and slide an arm under his shoulders, another beneath his knees.
He’s heavier than he looks, solid in a way that shouldn’t surprise me but does. It doesn’t bother me, though. If anything, it settles me. Grounds me. The weight reminds me he’s real. That I’m real.
“Got him?” Spike asks quietly.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out softer than normal. “He’s fine. Just needs a minute.”
“I see a couch in there.” Spike nods toward the small office off to the side.
I carry Eli inside, careful not to jostle him. The room smells like dust and oil. There’s a couch pushed against the wall, worn but solid. I ease him down onto it, tucking the small pillow under his head.
Spike lingers in the doorway, arms crossed. “You really attacked a brother over this man?”
I look back at him. “And, I’ll do it again if Knuckles says one more fucking negative thing about him.”
He studies me for a long beat, then nods once. “Then I’ll stand with you. But if Knuckles keeps spiraling, we might be looking at more than attitude problems.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, brushing a smear of grease from Eli’s temple with my thumb. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
Eli shifts slightly, a quiet sound slipping from his lips, and that’s all it takes to make the rest of the world fade.
I settle onto the edge of the couch beside him, elbows on my knees. “You’re all right, sweetheart,” I murmur, low and steady. “You just worked yourself to the floor, and that prick with the big mouth pushed you over the edge. Take your time getting back.”
“He okay?” Bones asks from the doorway.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Pretty sure he’s got some kind of medical condition. I’ve met the man twice, and both times he’s fainted.”