6. Eden
CHAPTER SIX
EDEN
The only way to survive is to get control of the chaos. It’s my unofficial motto by the third day at the Boneyard Garage, and it turns out I’m damn good at it.
Plus, all the hard work has given me something else to concentrate on besides how Bones makes me feel.
By Wednesday, the office no longer looks like a pipe bomb made of paper went off in it.
The “system” has started to bend to my will.
There are color-coded folders in the rack by my elbow, each one a different shade of neon.
Blue folders hold customer information. Red means vendors.
Yellow contains internal documents. Green houses all the weird shit I haven’t figured out yet.
My laptop hums, the ancient hard drive churning through old work orders as I scan and upload every page to a cloud drive I set up from scratch.
No more lost invoices. No more frantic dumpster-diving for a customer’s repair history.
I’m not just surviving. I’m thriving. And I freaking love this job.
After a morning spent triaging a delivery disaster—our supplier shipped us parts intended for the Porsche Dealership across town—I lean back in the creaky desk chair and survey my kingdom.
The office hums with order. My color-coded system glows under the ugly fluorescent lights, and the little potted plant I salvaged from my last apartment has a real shot at making it.
That’s when I spot Bones through the glass, out in the garage bay.
He’s got the hood up on an ancient Cadillac, hands deep in the guts of the engine, talking in low tones to a customer who was already old when he drove the thing off the lot brand new.
The man is clearly stressed, wringing his hat in his hands like it’s the neck of a chicken.
Bones listens, arms folded over his chest, and I can practically see the tension rolling off the old guy in waves.
Then Bones does something that doesn’t fit the script.
He leans down, wipes his hands on a shop rag tucked in his back pocket, and gives the man a soft clap on the shoulder that seems to transfer some invisible strength between them.
Reassuring. Gentle. Not what you’d expect from a six-foot-three, tattooed biker with a voice that rumbles like an earthquake.
They talk for another minute, Bones pointing out something under the hood and then explaining it with a patience I didn’t know he had. The old guy laughs, tension bleeding out of him, and it’s obvious that whatever was about to be a disaster is now just another fixable problem.
My eyes drift to watch Bones’s strong hands moving with surgical precision over the engine block.
For a second, I’m lost, watching the way his whole crew subconsciously orbits him.
When he speaks, they listen. When he moves, they move.
Even Jax, who could bench press a truck, looks to him for approval.
And when Bones glances up and catches me staring, he winks at me, causing my pulse to jolt so hard I nearly knock my coffee off the desk.
He holds my gaze for half a second, just enough to let that slow, dangerous half-smile curl up at the corner of his mouth. I jerk my head down, cheeks on fire, and pretend to be fascinated by the screen on my laptop. Christ, Eden. Get a grip.
I bury myself in work, but the image lingers.
Those hands moving with precision over metal.
That smile catching the edge of his mouth.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him there, watching me watch him.
Worse, every time I drift off at night, he’s there in my dreams, walking into my office and shutting the door behind him.
Some nights, he doesn’t bother with the door.
So much for taking things slow. My heart, soul, and body already belong to him.
I make it through the day by treating every job as a logic puzzle. There are new parts to order, vendors to wrangle, mechanics to placate, and an ongoing arms race with Chris over the office label maker. I win the afternoon round by hiding it in my bottom drawer.
The next time I look up, Diesel’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed like he’s built out of concrete and bad decisions.
He doesn’t come in. He just leans against the frame, jaw locked, tattoos on full display.
The man is basically a walking “Do Not Fuck With Me” sign, and his eyes flick over my folders like he’s scanning for explosives.
“Need something?” I ask, keeping my voice perfectly bland. I have no interest in playing mind games with this guy, even if he looks like he could bench-press a dump truck.
He stares at my labeling system for a full ten seconds before he finally speaks, voice gravel-rough. “Bones wants the Webber invoices organized for Friday. You finish that yet?”
“Done. Top left.” I point to the blue folder and try not to flinch when he comes closer, looming over my desk like a security breach in human form.
Diesel grabs the folder, scans the tabs, and grunts. Not a thank you, not a nod, just that guttural sound. Then he spins and walks away, boots thundering on the tile. No “nice job,” no banter, not even the smallest hint of warmth.
I stare after him, half-amused, half-annoyed.
The day is almost over when the side door slams, rattling the whole office. Bones walks in, dirt-smudged and sweat-slick, but as controlled as ever. He props himself against the frame of my door, arms crossed, blocking out the rest of the world.
“Good work today,” he says, and I feel it everywhere.
“Thank you, boss,” I answer, but I can’t look him in the eye. Not after last night, not after the way he kissed me and left me reeling.
Bones lingers a second longer, then lets the silence spool out until it’s almost too much. He finally walks over to my desk and leans over to give me a soft kiss on my lips. The kiss turns heated fast.
His hand tangles in my hair, and just like that, I’m gone. I don’t try to pretend I’m immune. I melt, full body, into the taste of him, the slow slide of his tongue, the rough scrape of stubble against my chin. My brain liquefies on contact, turning all my so-called logic into Jello.
For a split second, it’s just us. There’s only Bones’ mouth and the way he cages me in at my desk, nothing but tension and full-body heat between us.
Holy hell. My fingers clutch at his shirt, holding on while he deepens the kiss, all possessive and greedy like he’s been starving for me.
His hands are as big and warm as I remember, palms bracketing my jaw like he owns it.
It should be infuriating that he acts like I belong to him, but all it does is turn every cell in my body to absolute goo.
I can feel him everywhere. He manages to short out every one of my neurons as he kisses me like he’s marking territory, slow and deep and without an ounce of hesitation.
I whimper into his mouth when he drags his lips along my jaw, then down to my neck. I dig deep and manage to pull back. “Wow,” I mutter past my tingling lips.
“You can say that again.” He smirks down at me.
I’m tempted to invite him up to my apartment, but I’m just not ready to make that move. “I’m going to head out,” I say instead.
Bones looks like he’s about to argue, and I know I’ll cave. He stares down into my eyes for a few moments then steps back. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”
“I’ll be here,” I barely manage to respond since my mind is pretty much goo. He looks like he wants to say something else, and I hold my breath, waiting. But one of the mechanics shouts from the garage and Bones grumbles under his breath and jerks around to go see what’s happening.
As I walk to the apartment, I catch a glimpse of Bones in the lot, locking up for the night.
The temptation to stand at the window and watch him is downright pathetic, but here I am, hiding behind the curtain like a silly teenager.
He moves through the twilight, broad shoulders lit up in the glow of the security lights.
After he hops on his bike and drives away, I force myself to get a grip and change into my ancient pajamas. My brain is still whirring from the way Bones looked at me when he pressed that kiss to my mouth before walking out.
My hands actually shake as I open my laptop. I try to update tomorrow’s intake schedule, but it’s pointless. My head won’t stop spinning. I can’t stop replaying everything that’s happened since I met him.
Less than a week ago, I had a job that made me want to go into witness protection and a boss who thought sexual harassment was a management style.
Now, I’m drowning in the attention of a six-foot-plus biker who treats me like I’m spun glass.
My body clearly doesn’t care about my survival instincts because every time Bones gets within three yards of me, I want to throw caution to the wind and jump his bones. No pun intended.
I close the laptop, flop back on the couch, and stare at the ceiling like it holds the secrets of my future.
At some point, I end up falling asleep because the next thing I know, my alarm is blaring through the tiny apartment.
Friday is supposed to be the finish line, but today feels like crossing a marathon and immediately being asked to run another. I’m standing in the center of my new office, arms folded, proud of what I accomplished in my first week. Damn, I actually tamed the beast. The chaos is under control.
It’s nearly 4 when I slide the last customer file into its proper spot, then I save my work and turn off my computer. I take a step back. It’s almost clinical, but I don’t even care.
It’s my new favorite time of day. All of the shop crew has already bounced, off to weekend plans or whatever poor decision-making they get up to at night.
Even Diesel is gone, off to “decompress,” which is probably code for something not remotely relaxing.
Only Bones is still around, somewhere in the back bay, finishing up for the day.
I’m searching for my freaking cellphone when a deep rumble shakes the glass wall that faces the parking lot. It’s a sound I’ve come to recognize. I glance out the window to see three big and mean motorcycles pulling up.
Steel Sinners MC, in the flesh.
The guys who climb off the bikes look like a casting call for “Intimidating Dudes with Beards.” All three are wearing heavy black cuts, big white patches, and riding boots. They head straight for the shop bay, not even glancing at the office.
The door to the shop is half-open, and the noise inside shifts from idle talk to low voices, a short bark of laughter, then silence.
I see Bones through the window, standing tall in front of the other guys, arms folded, face unreadable.
One of the bikers is talking with his hands, gesturing at something on the lot.
After a few minutes, the tall, skinny one gives Bones a hard pat on the shoulder, says something, and the three bikers head back to their machines. Bones stands there a moment longer, hands on his hips, watching them go.
I try not to stare as the MC guys peel out of the lot, engines screaming. But I fail. Hard.
I’m still staring when Bones appears in my doorway, blocking out the last of the Friday sunlight.
He surveys the office with a slow, deliberate sweep. “Damn,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d get it all done in a week.”
I shrug, trying not to preen. “What can I say? I’m a miracle worker.”
His eyes narrow, but he’s fighting a smile.
“I knew you could do it, sweetheart.” He steps inside, fills the whole doorframe, and rests his hands on the top of my now immaculate filing cabinet.
For a second, it’s just him and me. As the temperature in the room spikes several degrees, I fight the urge to fan myself.
Honestly, it’s a miracle my ovaries don’t explode on the spot. I try to look casual, but if there’s any air left in my lungs, it’s only because Bones hasn’t stolen it with that stare yet.
“So,” I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Were those your MC brothers?”
He grunts, the sound vibrating all the way through me. I swear my knees wobble, which is just embarrassing. Bones takes another step closer, so now he’s basically looming over the desk, arms braced on either side, crowding me on purpose.
“Yep. They wanted to know why I haven’t been around.” He shrugs, all nonchalant badass, but his eyes are locked on my lips like he’s deciding exactly how hard to kiss me next.
Relief cuts through me. I haven’t been letting myself think about him and his club. And the things that happen in MCs. As he stares at me, curiosity gets the best of me. “Why haven’t you?”
Bones’ grin is slow and wicked, like he’s about to eat me for dessert.
“Told them I had more important things to do.” He leans in, words warm against my burning cheeks.
“Said I got a woman to woo.” Holy shit. My brain short-circuits.
“Speaking of which.” Bones leans over and places a soft kiss on the pulse pounding at the base of my neck.
“Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
I take a breath, try not to overthink it, and say, “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Bones’s smile is slow, satisfied. “Why don’t you run up to the apartment and change into something comfortable while I close up. Then I’ll take you to my place for dinner.”
His place? My ovaries practically short-circuit at the words.
I stare at Bones and realize I want it. Not just dinner.
I want all of it. The man, the chaos, the rough hands, and the velvet kisses that scramble my brain.
My body’s been setting off five-alarm fires every time he’s within ten feet, and now I’ve completely lost my mind because all I can think of is him.
I try to play it cool, but when I meet his eyes, there’s no mistaking the heat in them. He looks hungry. For me. Every part of my body wakes up and goes on high alert.
“Yeah,” I breathe, my voice way too soft. “I’d like that.”
Bones grunts, looking satisfied, and the sound shudders right through me. “Go get ready, sweetheart. And pack a bag for the weekend.”