Chapter 4 Shelter of Sins
FOUR
SHELTER OF SINS
ARIA
The wind has turned feral. Every gust claws at the walls like it wants in. The storm is louder now, a steady roar that drowns out thought. Steel stands by the door with his arms crossed, the lamplight catching the cut of his jaw. He hasn’t said a word since the last flicker of power.
“You’re not driving home in that,” he says finally. His tone leaves no room for argument.
“I’ve handled worse.”
His eyes glance toward the door where snow presses up against the glass. “Not tonight, you haven’t.”
I glance out the frosted window, watching the wind drag ribbons of white across the lot. He’s right, and that pisses me off. “So, what, I’m stuck here?”
He nods once, quiet, final. “Roads are closed. State cops already pulled the barricades.”
I frown. “How do you know?”
He wipes his hands on a rag, nodding toward the phone sitting on the bench. “Rock texted ten minutes before you showed. Said they shut down the county line, wreck on 127, whiteout conditions. Nobody’s getting in or out till morning.”
The way he says it, steady and certain, sounds less like a warning and more like a verdict.
I let out a sharp breath and start pacing. The shop feels smaller by the minute. The smell of grease, the hum of the heater, it’s all too much. “You’d rather freeze than owe anyone, huh?”
He glances over, mouth twitching. “You talking to me or yourself?”
That lands too close to home. I shoot him a look. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”
“I think you’re here, arguing about pride while a blizzard tries to bury us both.” He checks the old generator by the wall, tapping the side like it might wake up. It sputters, then dies completely. “Well. That’s shot.”
“Perfect,” I mutter.
He moves toward a cabinet, rummaging until he finds a small kerosene lamp. The glass is clouded, the wick half-burned. He lights it anyway, and the weak flame paints gold across the walls. The heater crackles, coughing once before giving up.
I glance toward the door, half-thinking maybe we could make a run for the clubhouse, but the window kills the thought fast. Snow’s already drifted halfway up the bay door, wind shoving it higher every minute.
Even the alley between the shop and the main building’s gone, buried under a solid wall of white.
The bikes out front look like headstones, the path erased.
We’re not going anywhere until the storm decides to let us.
The silence that follows hums in my bones. Snow whistles through cracks in the siding, but inside, it’s just the soft hiss of flame and the thud of my heartbeat.
Steel kneels beside the Harley, checking something just to stay busy. His hand is bleeding, a thick red line across his knuckles.
“You’re bleeding,” I say.
He doesn’t look up. “Occupational hazard.”
I grab the first aid kit from the shelf before I can talk myself out of it. “Sit.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you give orders?”
“Since you’re about to drip all over the bike you love more than people.”
He grumbles something under his breath but sits anyway. I find a clean rag, dampen it, and take his hand. The heat of his skin nearly derails me.
“Still play nurse when you’re pissed?” he mutters.
“Still act like pain makes you immortal?” I counter.
He doesn’t flinch when I clean the cut, but I can feel the tension in him coiled tight, full of electricity. My fingers brush the chain around his neck, and the ring catches the light. Tama’s ring. The air thickens with memory.
I swallow hard. “You kept it.” He doesn’t answer. His jaw flexes once, twice. “Steel…”
“Don’t,” he says quietly. “Not about him.”
That’s all it takes to light the fuse. “Why not? You talk about him like he’s still in the room.”
“Because he might as well be.” His voice sharpens. “You think taking his chair means the ghosts leave? You think it’s that easy?”
“I think you’re using him as a shield.”
His head snaps up, eyes dark. “And I think you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
I toss the bloody rag into the trash. “No? Because I was there, remember? I watched that man turn you into a weapon and call it leadership.”
He stands, taller, angrier. “He built this club. Built me.”
“Then maybe he should’ve built you a way out!” The words crack louder than the wind. “You’re turning into him, Steel.”
His stare cuts clean through me. “I don’t get to mourn like normal men, Aria.
” He steps closer, voice low, dangerous.
“I bury my grief under engines and blood because that’s what keeps my brothers alive.
Do you think I wanted this crown? You think I wanted to lose him, lose you, on the same goddamn day? ”
My breath catches. The heat in his voice burns hotter than the lamp between us. “I didn’t leave because I stopped caring,” I whisper. “I left because I couldn’t watch you drown.”
“You ran before I even fell.” His words are soft but lethal.
We stand there, the distance between us a single breath wide. The lamp crackles, the wind screams, and I don’t know if I want to fight him or fall apart.
Steel’s phone buzzes sharp and loud on the bench, slicing through the tension. He grabs it, glances at the screen, and answers.
“Crusher,” he says, voice suddenly flat. The sound of his brother’s voice is faint but familiar, distorted by static.
“Yeah,” Steel says. “I’m fine. Power’s out, but the generator’s toast. You?” He pauses, nodding. “Keep the prospects close. Roads are shut.”
There’s a muffled question on the other end. His gaze flips to me, then away.
“No,” he lies smoothly. “I’m alone.” Something in my chest twists.
I shouldn’t care, but I do. “Yeah. See you when it clears,” he finishes, hanging up and setting the phone facedown like it burned him.
The lie hangs in the air between us, thicker than the smoke.
I don’t ask why he said it. I already know.
The argument burns out the same way the fire does, slow, exhausted. I turn away first. “You make it impossible to stay angry.”
“Not trying to make it easy,” he says, voice calmer now.
The space between us hums again, different this time.
Less fire, more gravity. His shirt’s gone, tossed aside somewhere near the lift.
The lamplight dances over the ridges of his dark chest, sweat beading at his collarbone, and for one reckless heartbeat, I wonder what would happen if I stepped closer.
The thought hits like whiskey. Hot, stupid, and impossible to swallow.
I sit near the heater, hugging my knees, eyes fixed on the weak flame inside the barrel. The light flickers over the walls, tracing the scars in the wood, the dust on his tools, the lines on his face when he finally sits across from me.
The wind outside howls like it’s trying to warn us, but I can’t look away from him. Every inch of this place smells like him, oil, smoke, and something raw underneath it. Something that’s been haunting me since the day I left.
Silence stretches, soft now. The storm’s still howling outside, but it sounds far away.
I stare into the fire and say it before I lose the nerve. “I missed you.”
Steel doesn’t answer. He just looks at me like he’s trying to remember how to breathe.
The flame flickers between us, gold and alive. I realize too late that the only thing more dangerous than the storm outside… is what’s still burning in here. And in that moment, I almost forgive us both.