Chapter 15
Jason
Walking into the bar the next morning feels different.
Maybe it's the mark on my neck, still tender and visible above my collar no matter how I try to adjust my shirt.
I'd spent ten minutes in Ash's bathroom mirror trying to find an angle where it didn't show, and then another five accepting that there isn't one.
The bruise is deep purple and red, the clear imprint of teeth visible if you look closely, and it throbs every time my collar shifts against it.
I love it. I love that it hurts. I love that everyone's going to see it.
Maybe it's the way Ash's hand rests on my lower back as we come through the door, possessive and easy, like he's been touching me this way for years instead of days.
Maybe it's the way he slept last night—actually slept, deep and still, no nightmares, no thrashing.
I'd woken up once around dawn and just watched him breathe, marveling at the peace on his face.
Maybe it's just that everything is different now, and everyone's about to know it.
Robin sees us first.
He's on the couch with a coffee cup from the place down the street, watching something on TV with the volume low. Killing time before work, probably.
His eyes go straight to my neck like he's got radar for it. They widen, and then his whole face splits into a grin so bright it's almost blinding.
"Holy shit."
I can't help it—I smile back, tilting my head to give him a better view. "I know, right?"
"Is that a—did he actually—" Robin's already off the couch, abandoning his coffee, crossing the room in three long strides. He grabs my chin and tilts my head, examining the mark like it's a piece of art. "Jesus Christ, Ash, you really went for it."
"Robin," Ash says, a warning note in his voice.
"What? I'm admiring your handiwork!" Robin traces the edge of the bruise with his finger and I shiver, the touch sending sparks down my spine. "This is serious. This isn't a hickey, this is a statement. This is a goddamn declaration."
"It's a claim," I say, still smiling so hard my face hurts. "A permanent one."
"I know what it is." Robin's eyes are bright, almost wet, and his voice goes softer. "I just didn't think my emotionally constipated brother had it in him. Thought he'd die alone surrounded by tactical gear and protein powder."
"Robin." Ash again, flatter this time.
"Fine, fine, I'll stop." But Robin's smiling as he lets go of my chin. "I'm happy for you. Both of you. Even if Ash is going to murder me with his eyes right now."
"I'm considering it."
Robin ignores him and hugs me instead, tight and quick, his arms wrapping around me and squeezing. "You deserve this," he says quietly, just for me, his mouth close to my ear. "Someone to want you that much. I'm happy for you."
"Thanks," I manage.
Knox is at the bar, coffee in hand, watching us with sharp eyes. He's got that alpha stillness about him, the kind that says he's tracking every movement, every word, cataloging it all. Toby's next to him, not even trying to hide his smile, practically bouncing on his stool.
Knox's gaze moves from the mark on my neck to Ash, assessing. The silence stretches, and I can feel Ash go still beside me, his hand pressing firmer against my back.
"You planning to hurt him?"
"No," Ash says. Flat. Direct. No hesitation.
"You sure? Because that mark's permanent. For us, a bite like that—it doesn't fade. It doesn't heal clean. He's going to carry that for the rest of his life."
"I know what it is. I know what it means." Ash doesn't flinch under Knox's stare. Doesn't look away, doesn't shift his weight, doesn't show a single sign of backing down. "I'm not going anywhere."
Knox holds his gaze for a long moment. The whole bar seems to hold its breath.
Then he nods once and goes back to his coffee.
That's it. That's the alpha checking and accepting. Ash passed whatever test that was, and the tension I'd been carrying without realizing releases all at once.
Toby breaks the silence by scrambling off his stool and throwing his arms around both of us. "I'm so happy for you guys," he says, muffled against Ash's shoulder because he's too short to reach much higher. "This is amazing. We should celebrate. Can we celebrate? Knox, can we have a party?"
"It's eight in the morning," Knox says.
"A breakfast party, then!"
"There's no such thing as a breakfast party."
"There is now. I'm making pancakes." Toby releases us and heads for the kitchen, already calling out toppings. "Jason, you want chocolate chips or blueberries?"
"Both," I call after him, and then turn to Ash. "I'm gonna go work on my bike. You want to—"
"I'll come."
The garage is my favorite place.
It's not fancy—just a big open space behind the bar with lifts and tool chests and the smell of oil and metal.
Concrete floor stained with decades of grease, fluorescent lights that buzz slightly when they warm up, a radio in the corner that only picks up two stations.
But it's mine, in a way. My space. Where I get to take things apart and put them back together and make them better than they were.
My lion calms when I'm here, content in a way he rarely is anywhere else. Something about working with my hands, about the focus required, about creating order out of mechanical chaos.
Ash takes a seat on a stool near the workbench, out of the way but present. Watching.
"You don't have to stay," I tell him, pulling the cover off my bike. "This is going to be boring."
"I like watching you work."
"You like watching me bend over."
"That too." He doesn't deny it, his eyes tracking me as I move around the bike. "But I also like seeing you in your element. You get this look on your face when you're focused. Like nothing else exists. Like the whole world narrows down to whatever's in your hands."
I duck my head, pleased despite myself, and get to work.
It's comfortable, having him there. He doesn't try to take over or tell me how he'd do it differently—doesn't do that thing some guys do where they hover and make it clear they think they could do it better.
Just sits and watches, occasionally commenting on what I'm doing.
He knows bikes as well as I do, probably better when it comes to the high-performance stuff, but he seems content to let me talk.
"You're quiet," I say when I'm adjusting the primary chain tension.
"I like hearing you explain things." He shrugs when I glance back at him. "I know what you're doing. I just like the way you talk about it. You get this tone in your voice, like every part matters."
"Every part does matter."
"I know. That's why I like listening."
I duck my head, pleased, and go back to work.
"I've been wanting to upgrade the exhaust system," I say, moving on to inspect the pipes. "The aftermarket one I have is good, but there's a full titanium system that would shave off weight and give me way better sound. Deeper, cleaner. You can hear the difference from a block away."
"How much?"
"Like twelve hundred bucks. I'll get there eventually, just takes a while when you're also paying rent and buying groceries and occasionally eating something that isn't ramen."
Ash already has his phone out.
"What are you doing?"
"What's the system called?"
"Ash."
"The exhaust system. What's it called? I'll order it."
"You don't have to do that."
He looks up at me, patient. Unruffled. Like this is the most obvious thing in the world. "I know I don't have to. I want to. What's it called?"
I hesitate. I don't need anyone to provide for me. I don't need—
But he's looking at me with those steady dark eyes, and I remember what he said about taking care of people. About how his brain works. About how loving someone, for him, means making sure they have what they need.
"Akrapovi? full titanium system," I say finally. "The slip-on, not the full system. Fits the Street Glide."
He types it in, taps a few times, and sets his phone down. "Done. Overnight shipping."
"That was fast."
"I'm efficient." He stands, crosses to where I'm working, and pulls me in by the hips. His hands are warm through my jeans, his thumbs rubbing small circles against my hipbones. "You need something, I get it for you. That's how this works."
"Is that how this works?"
"It's how it works with me." He kisses me, soft and brief, just a brush of lips. "Get used to being spoiled."
"I'm not good at being spoiled."
"Then learn." Another kiss, longer this time, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I open for him.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark. "Let me take care of you for once.
You take care of everyone else—you cook for the whole pack, you fix their bikes, you're always the one making sure everyone's fed and comfortable. Let someone do that for you."
My throat feels tight. "Ash..."
"It's an exhaust system, Jason. It's not a big deal."
But it is a big deal. It's a big deal because no one's ever just bought me something because I mentioned wanting it. No one's ever looked at me and said what do you need and then just... provided it. Without strings, without expectations, without keeping score.
"Thank you," I manage.
"You're welcome." He traces his thumb over the mark on my neck, pressing just enough to make it ache, and I shiver. "Mine."
"I'm a person, not a possession."
"I know." His mouth curves, just slightly. "But you're still mine. And I take care of what's mine."
I should probably object to being talked about like property. Instead, I pull him down for another kiss and let myself be taken care of.
---
The part arrives the next morning, delivered by a very confused UPS driver who clearly wasn't expecting to find a motorcycle garage behind a bar.
I install it that afternoon while Ash watches from his stool, handing me tools when I ask for them, asking questions about each step.
The old exhaust comes off in pieces, carefully labeled so I could reinstall it if needed.
The new one goes on smooth, the titanium gleaming under the garage lights, so much lighter than the old steel that I almost overbalance the first time I lift it.
When I finally fire up the engine, the sound that comes out is—
"Holy shit," Ash breathes.
It's deep and rich and clean, a purr that builds into a growl when I give it gas. The whole garage seems to vibrate with it, the sound rolling through me, and my lion rumbles in response, pleased.
"That's incredible," Ash says, coming to stand beside me. "That sounds like a completely different bike."
"It sounds like what she was always meant to sound like." I kill the engine, smiling so hard my face hurts. "Ash, this is—thank you. Seriously. This is amazing."
"Worth it," he says, and kisses me right there in the garage, tasting like coffee and satisfaction.