Gauge (Redline Kings MC #11)

Chapter 1

RILEY

When my mom warned me that my dedication to my job would be the death of me, she’d meant the hours I put in.

Not what I stumbled across tonight. But I really wished we were close enough that I hadn’t shrugged off her concern because then maybe I wouldn’t have accidentally discovered physical inventory shortages on high-value performance parts.

Wondering what the heck was going on, I headed to my boss’s office. When I found his son there instead, I almost changed my mind about saying anything. Shawn wasn’t my favorite person at the garage, but Tim had been giving him more responsibility over the past few months.

I’d been irritated by that decision because Shawn didn’t take his job very seriously. He was kicked back in his dad’s chair like he already owned the place, scrolling on his phone.

He didn’t even bother to look up as he murmured, “What do you need?”

“For you to do your job,” I muttered.

His head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you complaining about?”

I strode forward, stopping behind one of the chairs in front of the desk. “When your dad handled the inventory, there weren’t huge mistakes like this.”

His gaze zeroed in on the clipboard I was holding. “You shouldn’t poke around where you don’t belong.”

“I belong here more than you do,” I shot back. “Customers ask for me by name. I’ve been building bikes and tuning cars since I was eighteen. You just sign the checks your daddy gives you.”

His grin faltered, but that didn’t stop him from blustering. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

I dropped the paperwork onto the desk. “The wiring harness this shows for the Conrad job I did last week is wrong. Same with the dog-box transmission. The parts listed are half the cost of what I actually used.”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

“Wrong?” I echoed, my eyes widening. “That’s not possible. I selected each part and installed it myself.”

Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not what the records show.”

“Only because you messed up.” A horrible possibility crossed my mind. “Please tell me you didn’t charge them for the cheaper parts listed. That’d mean we lost sixty thousand on the job instead of making a healthy profit.”

“That’s none of your damn business,” he growled. “You’re a performance technician. Focus on the cars. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Your dad—”

Slamming his hands on top of the desk, Shawn stood. “Leave my father out of this.”

“But he—”

“Won’t believe a word you say.” He flashed me a smug smile. “I’m his son. The one he trusts to run this place.”

“And you’re already proving he shouldn’t have if you’re making giant mistakes like this.”

“It’s a good thing you’re good with engines because you’re not as smart as you think you are.” Something ugly flashed in his eyes. “Go running to my dad, and you’ll find your name all over this shit.”

My head reared back. “What?”

“I’ve been planning for this, sweetheart. Paper trail’s already pointing straight at you. Parts signed out under your login. Deposits that look like you were skimming. Hell, I even made a couple of transfers from an account with your name on it.”

This was even worse than I’d thought. None of this was a mistake. Shawn was embezzling from his own father’s business. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” He circled the desk. “You say one word to my old man or the cops, and you’re the one going down.

I’ll make sure of it. And trust me—you really don’t want to get tangled up with the people I’ve been paying off with that money.

Those guys don’t play nice. They make problems disappear. Permanently.”

The threat landed how he wanted. Racing shops attracted all kinds, and some of them had dangerous connections that went way beyond the track. “You’re a piece of crap, Shawn.”

He smirked. “Maybe. But I’m a piece of shit who’s covered his ass. Run along, Riley. Keep your mouth shut, and maybe I’ll let you keep your job. Or don’t. Either way, you’re fucked.”

I turned and walked out, my mind racing faster than any car on the dyno.

I had one chance to get out before everything I’d built went up in flames.

Heading straight to the bay next to mine, I plugged the USB drive I kept on my keychain for diagnostics into the workstation's computer.

It was mainly used to look up OEM or aftermarket technical manuals, wiring diagrams, and parts specs.

But there was access to other systems too, so I copied every suspicious file I could find and yanked the drive out before Shawn realized what I was doing.

My hands didn’t shake as I grabbed my best tools from my bay and some stuff from my locker.

Then I slipped out the back door where my car waited in the employee lot.

I popped the trunk and loaded everything inside.

After a quick stop at my apartment, I hit the nearest ATM to pull out as much cash as I could.

Even using the app to increase my daily withdrawal limit, I could only pull out a few thousand dollars, but it was enough to disappear for a little while.

My mom had just left for a transatlantic cruise to Portugal a few days ago, and she planned to travel around Europe for a few weeks before returning to Jacksonville.

I’d been a little worried about her being alone for such a long trip, but the timing worked in my favor now because Shawn’s goons wouldn’t be able to easily find her.

I didn’t have time for goodbyes. My honorary uncles who taught me to rebuild engines at twelve and tune bikes at fifteen would worry, but reaching out would only paint targets on their backs. I couldn’t do that to them.

My 1990 Mustang LX 5.0 Notchback didn’t have GPS, so they couldn’t use it to track me that way.

When the engine rumbled to life, the familiar growl made my throat tight. I’d poured so much of myself into this world, and all of it was gone in one conversation with a smug jerk.

I drove east through the dark, my eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few miles. No headlights stayed with me, but Shawn’s warning about the kind of guys he was involved with kept looping in my head.

By the time I crossed into Baker County, exhaustion was pulling at me.

I’d had no idea where I was headed when I took off, but then I remembered the campsite my dad had taken me to when I was little.

It seemed like the perfect spot for tonight even though I’d have to rough it in my car.

But nobody would ever think to look for me there, and that was all that mattered.

An hour after I drove away from my apartment, at a primitive site in the national forest, I used my flashlight and my tools to unclip the side stoppers of the glove box and zip-tie the USB to the stamped sheet-metal dashboard framing system.

Then I curled up in the back seat, where sleep came in fragments, haunted by the ghost of my dad’s voice telling me I was tougher than any engine I’d ever rebuilt.

Forty-eight hours later, I was convinced my dad had been wrong. Being on the run had already left me hollow-eyed and in desperate need of the coffee I was chugging down at a roadside diner.

I sat in a corner booth, my back to the wall so I could watch the door, picking at a burger that tasted like cardboard. My stomach was too twisted to enjoy it, but I needed the calories.

The bell over the door jingled. I tensed, tracking the new customer out of habit. Just an old man in a trucker hat. I exhaled and went back to my burger, forcing down the last bite.

I dropped a crumpled twenty on the table and headed back to the no-name motel I’d checked into this afternoon because I desperately needed a shower and a real bed.

I still had no real plan as I pulled into the parking lot and backed the Mustang into the spot in front of my room, scanning every shadow before killing the engine. Something felt off, but I’d been paranoid since I left Jacksonville, so I tried to shake it off.

But when I opened the door, I found the dresser drawers yanked out and dumped. Even worse, the safe in the closet hung crooked, the door pried open. All of the cash I’d taken out except the few hundred still in my purse was gone.

I stood frozen, my eyes darting around the wreckage. They’d been thorough, but the USB was still safe behind the Mustang’s glove box. If that was even who’d tossed my room since nobody was waiting for me when I got back.

Telling myself I was just unlucky and had been randomly robbed, I wedged the rickety wooden chair under the doorknob, checked the window lock, and dragged the nightstand in front of it for good measure.

The wrench Dad had given me when I was nine went under the pillow.

I lay fully clothed on the ruined mattress, staring at the water-stained ceiling while every noise outside made me jolt.

Sleep came in jagged pieces. By the time the weak morning light crept through the curtains, I felt more exhausted than when I’d arrived.

I loaded my meager belongings back into the Mustang and drove with no real direction, just following the highway signs and trying to outrun the fear that lived inside me now.