Chapter Eight #3
I crouch again and gesture toward the mount area.
“I’d want to check whether anything’s shifted slightly in the front-end setup—fork alignment, triple clamp torque, axle seating, even whether you’ve got a subtle mount stress issue that only starts translating once the bike’s been hammered for a while.
” I tilt my head, studying it. “Could also be compounding with heat in the tire if the setup’s already borderline, but I don’t think the tire’s the root problem.
I think it’s just exposing it honestly.”
Sayshen makes a quiet little mmhmm sound like the cocky asshole he is, but I ignore him too.
“If I’m right,” I go on, “I’ll strip it back enough to check front-end alignment, torque the clamps properly, make sure the axle isn’t sitting with even the tiniest bit of bind, then look at whether the current fork settings are compensating for a mechanical issue instead of actually solving it.”
Andre finally speaks. “And if you’re wrong?”
I straighten and look at him. “Then I’ll be embarrassed in front of your whole garage, and you, and Talon, can tell Sayshen ‘I told you so’ for the rest of the year.”
That actually gets a short huff of laughter out of him.
Good.
Then his expression resets to business.
“How long do you need?”
“Honestly, that depends how far off it is. If it’s what I think, not long to diagnose properly. But it will definitely take longer if someone’s been trying to tune around it instead of fixing it.”
Judging by Andre’s face, they absolutely have.
Sayshen cracks a grin. “Told you she was good.”
Andre points at him without looking. “Shut up or you'll be skipping the next heat.”
Then he looks back at me.
“All right,” he says. “Then get to work. I’ll check in in a bit.”
He starts to walk off, then pauses and glances over his shoulder. “And if you’re stripping anything, keep your hardware organized. I don’t tolerate chaos at my workstations.”
I glance around the garage. “I’ll keep it tidy.”
Andre just grunts and keeps walking.
The second he’s gone, Sayshen lets out a low breath and bumps his shoulder lightly against mine. “See? You’ve got him.”
“I haven’t even fixed anything yet.”
“Yeah, but now he wants to see if you can.”
“That is somehow more stressful.”
He smirks. “You’ll be fine.”
I glance over my shoulder toward Bay Two.
Talon’s back is to me now, but only technically. I can feel the irritation rolling off him from here. Not loud, or dramatic. Just fucking there. Thick in the air.
I turn back to the bike before I can overthink it.
Gloves on. Tools out. Breathing steadier now that my hands have something real to do.
This part I know.
Machines make more sense than people.
I’ve just started loosening the first set of bolts when footsteps sound at the bay entrance, followed by the familiar scrape of boots on concrete.
Then a voice I know way too well says, “What the fuck?”
I look up, and Draygon is standing just inside the bay door, helmet in one hand, dark eyes fixed on me like he’s trying to decide whether I’m real or if he’s somehow still half asleep, and judging by the way the entire room goes tight all over again?
Shit is about to really pop off, and just like that, every single nerve ending in my body lights up.
Because as much as I hate it, I knew coming here meant coming face to face with Draygon, Wolfe, and Thorne.
The Holy Trinity of my terrible judgment.
I lower my head over the engine a little farther like maybe I can disappear into it through sheer force of will and he stops dead, like someone pulled his power.
For one beautiful, terrible second, the whole garage goes weirdly quiet around us.
Then he says, “Ain’t no fucking way.”
Nobody answers.
Sayshen does eventually, because he’s apparently decided today is the day he becomes a martyr. “Sup bro. You’re fucking late.”
Draygon doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Wait. Baby Shaw, you said you were bringing your sister in this morning…Echo is your sister?”
“Yep. Wait, hold up. You know each other?"
He laughs once, sharp and disbelieving. “Sure, yeah you could say that.”
“Shit,” I say, tightening a bolt I no longer need to be tightening.
“Someone better fucking explain,” Sayshen says automatically.
Draygon points at him without looking away from me. “Chill a sec will you,”
Honestly? Fair.
He takes a step closer. “You made out with me in a bar bathroom. Text me for weeks,” His brow lifts. “And this somehow never came up? How long have you known I was your brother's team mate?”
I open my mouth.
Close it again.
Because okay, in my defense, I was dealing with approximately twelve emotional nuclear disasters at once.
But also, yeah, it sounds bad when he says it out loud.
Before I can answer, two more engines pull into the lot.
My soul leaves my body as Wolfe and Thorne walk in together.
Wolfe clocks me first. “Echo? What are you—?”
Then Draygon’s head snaps to Wolfe, just as Wolfe scans the room, clearly picking up on the thick as fuck tension.
He stops.
Thorne takes one more step before realizing Wolfe isn’t moving and follows his line of sight, but the second he sees me, his whole face changes.
Oh god.
It’s all there in one flash—shock, dread, humiliation, anger, the immediate instinct to armor up.
Draygon looks between them.
Then back to me.
Then at Wolfe.
Then Thorne.
Then understanding slams into him so hard I can actually see it happen.
“No,” he says.
Wolfe drags a hand over the back of his neck.
Thorne goes very, very still.
Draygon laughs once, sharp as broken glass. “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”
I consider faking my own death.
Again.
Wolfe’s eyes meet mine for the briefest second, and the bastard looks fucking amused.
Not cruel and smug. Just… like part of him can’t help appreciating the spectacular disaster of all this.
Draygon’s eyes narrow. “So that’s why you kept dodging me.”
“Kind of,” I look up. “And I was not dodging you.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fair fucking play,” Wolfe says under his breath.
I stare at him. “Fair play?”
He gives the tiniest shrug, like what else is there to call this?
Draygon points at him. “Don’t.”
Wolfe lifts both hands. “Chill dude, I mean if she had a cock we’d all be giving her props,”
“Bloody hell,” Thorne snaps. “She fucking played all of us?”
Everyone turns to Thorne who is clearly fucking hurt.
And there it is.
That sharp little ache in my chest I knew would come but I absolutely did not order with my coffee this morning.
Draygon looks at him. Then at me. Then back at him. “What do you mean all of us? You too?”
Thorne rounds on him so fast his helmet nearly slips from his grip. “What d’you mean, me too?”
“What the fuck do you think I mean?”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
Talon’s head whips toward me. “You do not get to ‘Jesus Christ’ this.”
“Actually, I kind of feel like I do.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Damn, you two really are related,” Revel says, strolling in from the back with a protein bar like he hasn’t just walked into the exact kind of mess he enjoys most.
Sayshen turns, already done with him. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
Revel just smirks and takes a lazy bite. “Oh, I’ve been here. Just hanging back, enjoying the show.” His eyes sweep the room, downright fucking gleeful. “This is gold. Wait till I tell Cece. Mami’s gonna lose her mind. This is her own private telenovela.”
Talon looks at him. “For fuck sakes, we’re not telling Cece, or anyone else.”
“Awh, come on, man, I was just messing around.”
“Say one more word and I’ll kick your ass for fun.”
Revel shuts up. Temporarily, anyway, but his smirk only gets bigger.
Draygon is still staring at me like I personally keyed his car. He’s in an all black tank, ink crawling up both arms and over his neck, shoulders thick under the garage lights, dark hair falling just messy enough over his forehead to make the whole pissed-off act even more offensive.
But under all that annoyance, there’s something else there too. Curiosity. Intrigue. Like this whole mess should’ve put him off, and instead it’s just making him look harder.
“I see how it is,” he says. “You had time for them, but not me, huh?”
I blink. “You know, I really don’t think that should be the takeaway here.”
“Oh, there’s plenty to take away from this shit,” he says, folding his arms. “That is absolutely one of them.”
Wolfe mutters, “I mean… he’s got a point.”
I swing toward him. “Whose side are you on?”
Wolfe looks genuinely confused. “Nobody’s. I’m just saying, from his perspective—”
“My perspective?” Draygon cuts in. “My perspective is I got bar-bathroomed and then ghosted while she was apparently off starting a side quest with you two.”
Revel makes a sound that’s suspiciously close to choking to death trying not to laugh, and Sayshen shoots him a death stare.
Thorne’s whole expression darkens. “Bloody hell, could you not call it that, mate?”
Draygon’s eyes narrow. “You want me to call it a betrayal instead?”
“Okay, betrayal is a bit dramatic,” Wolfe says. “Not like any of us has any claim to her, or asked her about her family, or life, did we? Can’t really be mad she played all of us.”
I put my wrench down before I throw it at somebody. “All right, enough. Nobody was played.”
Three male voices answer at once. “Wrong,”
Wolfe, still somehow the calmest person here, just says, “I will admit, it is a bit messy, but I mean, I’m always down for a bit of a mess.”
I point at him. “You’re loving this aren’t you.”
That almost gets a smile out of him.
Draygon folds his arms. “So what, then? You were just collecting teammates?”
Thorne finally looks straight at me, enough offence in his face to burn paint. “So you knew exactly who we all were, yeah?”
I hold his gaze.
“Yes.”
The hurt in his expression flashes before he buries it, and fuck me, that shit hurts more than I expect.
No one speaks.
His eyes move from me to Thorne to Wolfe and back again.
Talon explodes first.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I was gonna tell—”
“When?” he bites out. “After sleeping your way through the whole fucking team?”
The garage goes dead silent.