28. Rowan
28
ROWAN
“Chain’s getting loose,” I mutter, crouching beside my bike in the diner’s back lot. It still feels surreal that they gave me this—customized it for me, even—when I’m the one who destroyed their rides in the first place.
“I can take a look at it after closing,” Ryder says from behind me, his voice making me jump. I hadn’t heard him approach, but that’s typical Ryder—silent until he chooses not to be.
I stand, trying not to wince at the lingering soreness between my legs—particularly the deeper, more intimate ache that reminds me exactly what Brick did to me two nights ago. The memory makes heat flush through me despite the discomfort.
“It’s not urgent. Still rides fine,” I say, brushing dust from my jeans.
“For now.” His eyes drift over the bike with a professional assessment. “But neglect it, and you’ll be stranded somewhere.”
The double meaning isn’t lost on me. There are a lot of things I’ve been neglecting lately.
“Follow me to the garage after your shift,” he says. It’s not quite a question, not quite an order. “I’ll tighten it up for you.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, as another wave of awareness ripples through me. Every time I move a certain way, I feel the ghost of Brick’s possession—how he claimed me so thoroughly, took me in ways I’d never experienced before. The marks he left are fading, but the memory remains vivid.
Inside, the diner is quiet—that mid-afternoon lull between lunch and dinner. All the stolen items have been replaced, and the broken equipment fixed. It’s almost like the break-in was nothing but a fever dream.
But I know better than to ask too many questions. So when Ryder said they took care of it and caught the thief, I left it like that. Scenarios like this are common in the MC world.
I wipe down tables, my mind wandering. In less than two weeks, my debt to the brothers will be paid. The thought should bring relief, but instead, it brings a hollow feeling I’m not ready to examine.
“You’re distracted today,” Ryder observes, appearing beside me again with that uncanny silence.
I jump, nearly knocking over a saltshaker. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
I hesitate, then decide that honesty is easier than creating another lie to keep track of. “My time here is almost up. In less than a week, my debt will be paid in full.”
“Have you decided what you’ll do after?” He leans against the booth, arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark gaze steady on mine.
“That’s the problem,” I admit. “I had two whole months to figure out what I wanted, and somehow time just…flew past.”
“Because you were occupied,” he says simply. “Working. Learning the town. Getting…” He pauses, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Acquainted.”
Heat crawls up my neck at the gentle reminder of everything that’s happened between us. Between me and all of them.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Ryder continues, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “Your position here will always be open. You can keep working until you get your footing.”
The offer touches something deep inside me—a longing for stability and belonging that I’ve denied myself since leaving San Francisco.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
He nods, then moves away, and the conversation finishes as abruptly as it begins. Typical Ryder.
I follow his bike through town as dusk settles over Wolf Pike. Every bump in the road sends a jolt of awareness through my body—the lingering tenderness from Brick’s rough attention.
He bent me over and took me from behind with a dominance that still makes me shiver to recall. I’d never been touched there before, never felt that particular blend of pain and pleasure that had me screaming into his sheets.
And yet, despite the discomfort, I still crave more. Still imagine what it would feel like to have all three of them at once. The thought disgusts me, but it also makes heat pool between my thighs and makes my grip tighten on the handlebars.
I’m losing my mind. That’s the only explanation. No sane woman would want what I want, would do what I’ve done.
Black Dog Garage appears, its neon sign glowing in the deepening twilight. Ryder pulls around back, leading me into the large service bay usually reserved for custom work. The space echoes with our engines, then falls silent as we cut the power.
“Won’t take long,” Ryder says, already moving toward his tools with purpose.
I watch as he works, his movements efficient and precise. There’s something hypnotic about the way his muscles shift beneath his T-shirt, the way his hands handle tools with such confidence. Those same hands touched every inch of me in that pantry and made me fall apart under his skilled attention.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking up.
I flush, caught. “Just appreciating your technique.”
Now he does look up, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Which one?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with meaning. My pulse quickens as his dark, knowing eyes hold mine.
“The mechanical one,” I say, but we both know I’m lying.
He finishes with the chain, checking the tension once more before standing. “Good as new.”
“Thank you.” My voice comes out huskier than I intended.
“Want to see upstairs?” he asks abruptly. “The apartment above the garage. Sometimes we stay there when it gets late.”
I know I should say no. Should get on my bike and head home, away from temptation. Away from the pull I feel whenever any one of the Kane brothers is near.
“Yes,” I say instead.
The apartment is surprisingly spacious—an open floor plan with industrial touches that somehow feel warm rather than cold. Large windows overlook Main Street, and a worn leather couch faces a TV that looks barely used.
“Not what I expected,” I admit, running my fingers along a bookshelf filled with manuals and novels alike.
“What did you expect?” Ryder moves closer, his heat at my back, making my skin prickle with awareness.
“I don’t know. Something more…” I search for the word.
“Masculine?” His breath stirs my hair. “Spartan?”
“Temporary,” I settle on finally. “This feels like a home.”
“It was, for a while.” His hands settle on my hips, light enough that I could step away if I wanted to. “After we first came back to town.”
I don’t step away. Instead, I lean back slightly, letting my body make contact with his. His sharp intake of breath is the only indication that he’s affected.
“Ryder…” I begin, not sure what I’m going to say.
He doesn’t let me finish. His lips find the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, and rational thought dissolves. His kisses are soft at first, almost reverent, nothing like the desperate hunger of our first encounter.
I turn in his arms, needing to see his face, needing more. Our lips meet, and the gentleness evaporates. He tastes like coffee and desire, his tongue sliding against mine with the same precision he brings to everything.
His hands slip under my shirt, calloused palms hot against my skin as they slide upward. I gasp when he reaches my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples through the thin fabric of my bra.
“Last time,” he murmurs against my mouth, “we rushed. This time, I want to take my time with you.”