26. Levi
Chapter 26
Levi
T he numbers glare back at me from the desk like a loaded gun.
All I’d have to do is pull the trigger and we’d get two million dollars. Split clean down the middle.
Enough to wipe the slate clean. Enough to build a new life for Carter, Theo, Josie and I without the late nights, the payroll stress, the duct tape solutions holding this place together.
Enough to quit fighting every damn day of my life.
But when I close my eyes, all I see is this garage and the seared skid mark in the bay, the smell of motor oil and burning metal, the echoes of laughter and cussing and hard work to a soundtrack of K-pop.
The crew. The soul of this place. They haven’t been with me the whole time, but the ones that are here are the ones that are for reasons other than fame and notoriety.
Selling SKC would be like carving out my own goddamn heart.
I push the papers aside and scrub a hand down my face.
We’re getting better. Business is up. The crew’s firing on all cylinders again.
But it’s not fast enough. Not deep enough.The debt we dragged behind us for years still weighs heavy. Still threatens to drown us if we stop swimming for even half a second.
I need a hail mary.
A sharp knock at the office door drags me out of my spiral.
Before I can answer, it creaks open and Sienna’s red head peeks around the frame.
"Hey," she says, almost shyly. "Got a minute?"
For her? Always.
"Yeah," I grunt, pushing back from the desk. "What’s up?"
She bounces on the balls of her feet, nervous energy rolling off her.
"Um... it’s easier if I just show you. Can you come out to the bay?"
I raise a brow, but stand anyway.
"Bring everyone," Sienna adds quickly. "Crew meeting."
Crew meeting?
I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but at least someone around here is excited. “Crew meeting!” I call out as I walk out of my office.
Ghost pokes his head around the corner like I just spoke a different language. Kick yells for Joey, and within minutes, the whole gang is trailing behind me into the open bay.
And that’s when I see it.
At the center of the garage, Sienna’s set up a huge whiteboard covered in diagrams, bullet points, and bold letters that read:
OPERATION: KICK SERIOUS ASS
And in smaller letters… specifically Grayson Holt’s.
A table next to it holds printed flyers, competition rules, a project timeline, and what looks suspiciously like color-coded spreadsheets as I walk by.
Sienna clasps her hands behind her back, cheeks pink.
"I, uh... might’ve... entered us into the National Custom Build Competition."
The shop goes dead silent.
Then Gramps whistles low, “Wonder where you’d get such an idea, Miss Riley?”
Kick raises an eyebrow suspiciously at the older man. Joey looks around like maybe it’s a prank.
I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for an explanation.
Sienna sucks in a breath like she’s about to give a whole TED Talk.
"Before you say anything, I know I probably should’ve asked first," she rushes out, speaking directly to me. "But entries were closing, and I figured… why not take a shot? Plus, I put together a plan—" she gestures wildly to the board— "and did some research, and found out this year's theme is legacy builds. So I thought... what better way to honor our roots than a tribute bike?"
She flips to the next page on a mounted poster board and it’s a rough sketch of a low-slung chopper, sleek and dark, draped in deep blues and silver chrome, with a military insignia theme woven through the design.
"To honor soldiers," she says softer now. "People like you, and Brody. People who laid it all down when duty called."
I can tell she’s about to launch into a whole speech. Her fingers are trembling, her eyes darting from face to face, searching for any sign that maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this whole idea is just trash.
But she doesn’t have to convince me. Not even a little. I asked for a hail mary, and this angel just drops into my lap with the answer.
I step forward, jaw tight for a whole different reason now. Pride. Raw and brutal and so fucking strong it’s a wonder I don’t drop right to my knees in front of her.
"We’re doing it," I say, cutting her off before she can spiral.
Sienna blinks.
"Wait… what? Really?"
I nod. "Really."
The crew stirs around me, a ripple of murmured excitement and cautious questioning.
Kick crosses her arms. "It’s a hell of a tight deadline, Sienna. We’re talking six days from now."
“I think we can do it,” Skid says, pure confidence. “You don’t believe we can do it?”
"No one’s saying that," Kick says, but her tone is gentler than usual. "We just need to be smart about it. Divide and conquer."
Ghost steps forward, tapping the board with the end of a socket wrench.
"If we’re gonna do it, we do it the right way. No half-assed builds." His voice is deep and thick and so unfamiliar given that he never says a word. He just works.
Gramps chuckles, clapping Ghost on the back. "Finally. Someone speaking my language."
Sienna’s whole face lights up like a sunrise.
"We can do it," she says, voice fierce and sure now that she has the crew’s blessing. "I know we can."
And for the first time in months—maybe even years—I believe we can too.
We circle around, hashing out assignments. Ghost handling the frame. Kick on custom fabrications. Skid will be doing the paint job and Gramps on engine tuning. Me and Sienna will be coordinating the whole damn circus.
According to the rules, each build team will start with the same base bike. We won’t know what it is until the day of the competition so that nobody can pre-fabricate pieces.
It’ll be a live build done over the span of a weekend. We’ll have two days. And by the end of day two, the country will vote on which crew will receive the honor of Grand Champion and receive the half million dollar grand prize.
It's chaos already and it’s perfect.
As the crew breaks up into assignments to start gathering supplies, I hang back.
Sienna’s wiping down the whiteboard, cheeks flushed, but eyes bright. She turns and catches me staring.
"Hey," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You’re not mad I didn’t ask?"
I step in closer, close enough to smell the shampoo she uses—something wildly sexy and fresh and so damn her it makes my chest ache.
"No," I say roughly. "I’m proud as hell."
Her lips part slightly, and for one reckless heartbeat, all I want to do is grab her by the hips, haul her against me, and kiss her until the world falls away.
But the crew’s watching and the walls have eyes.
So instead, I give her a look I hope says everything I can’t.
Soon.
Her cheeks turn pinker, and she smiles, small and discreet.
And just for me.