Rev (Redline Kings MC #9)

Chapter 1

DELANEY

Human hair was a fascinating historical textile, even if most people found it creepy.

Earlier in my studies, it had taken some adjustment to get past being a little disturbed about working with a stranger's hair. Especially knowing they’d passed away.

But now, I saw it as a historical material like silk or leather.

And I was in awe of how artists had woven it into intricate designs, like the wreath on the antique Victorian mourning brooch I was restoring.

Adjusting the lamp, I was careful to keep my hands steady as I used compressed air to clean the microscopic debris from a crevice in the back.

The piece needed to be properly cleaned before it could be restored, and I had to be careful not to introduce moisture that could seep past the gold and destroy the hair and foil-backed gems used as decoration.

The reflective metal behind the jewels enhanced their brilliance but made cleaning more complicated.

The brooch was so delicate that I couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Nothing else existed for me until I finally finished the cleaning. Leaning back, I smiled, filled with the satisfaction of coaxing something broken back toward beauty.

I had been so lucky to get a coveted spot in the accelerated art conservation track. In large part because it offered the opportunity as a restoration apprentice with the museum and university preservation partnership. The lab was quite prestigious, so the competition was fierce.

I was thrilled I’d been chosen since this was where I felt most alive—bringing the past back to life, one careful stroke at a time.

My phone lit up on the corner of the worktable, the soft vibration pulling a smile from me as soon as I saw the name on the notification. I peeled off one glove and swiped the screen.

Mom

Still at the lab? It’s getting late. Dad is being grumpy about his deadline and asked me to remind you that even brilliant restorers need food.

I huffed a quiet laugh, my thumbs flying over the keyboard.

Me

Almost done cleaning the mourning brooch. I’m packing up soon.

Mom

That’s my girl. We’re so proud of you, honey.

I grinned at my screen.

Me

Thanks. Tell Dad I’ll be equally proud when he kicks his deadline’s butt.

Having a sci-fi author for a father had been interesting growing up. His schedule varied from being available to spend lots of time with me to disappearing into his office for weeks on end when he had a book due to his editor. Luckily, my mom’s hours at the library were very regular.

I got my love of books from them at an early age, which helped tremendously with my studies. And helped me snag my scholarship.

But it was the time I’d spent with the stacks of old books my mom let me “fix” as a kid that had really helped me discover my passion for preservation. Dad spinning wild stories about ancient artifacts and lost civilizations hadn’t hurt, either.

While other girls were out at parties, I was happiest with a pair of tweezers and something fragile that needed my patience. Even now, social events and academic mixers drained me, but the conservation lab was my happy place.

My mom sent me a laughing emoji, and I replied with a heart before setting the phone down again and reaching for my gloves. I’d just slipped the left one back on when the quiet scrape of a shoe behind me made me jump.

I spun on my stool, my pulse quickening.

Dr. Magnus Kinghorn stood just inside the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, watching me with an unnerving stillness that people said came from being so brilliant. He wore his usual tailored jacket, silver threading through his dark hair, every inch the respected art historian.

I really hoped he hadn’t seen me on my phone. As the lead of the entire partnership between the museum and my university, the fate of my career was literally in his hands.

“Dr. Kinghorn.” I pressed a hand to my chest with a breathless laugh. “You startled me. I didn’t hear you come down.”

“My apologies, Delaney. I thought you might still be here.” He moved closer, stopping beside the worktable. His gaze dropped to the mourning brooch under the lamp. “How is our little Victorian lady progressing?”

I relaxed a fraction, happy to talk about the work and not me being on my cell phone. “The crack is almost ready for repair now. One more round of cleaning should do it.”

Using my gloved hand, I turned the piece so he could see better.

“Hmm.” He leaned in, studying the brooch with clinical appreciation. “Yes, I concur.”

I took a deep, satisfied breath. “Thank you.”

“Preservation is really just deciding what deserves to survive,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Some things should be kept exactly as they are before the world ruins them.”

I nodded, charmed despite the odd phrasing. “That’s beautiful. And exactly why I love this work. Giving broken things another chance.”

“Indeed.” He straightened, and his gaze lifted to my face, lingering for a moment. “You have a remarkable touch, Delaney. Rare in someone so young.”

Heat rose in my cheeks at the compliment.

I admired him as an academic, so it meant a lot coming from him.

He wasn’t warm in the way my parents were, but professionally, he was brilliant.

But I always got the sense there was something artificial about him, so I was never quite certain where I stood with him.

“Thank you.” I flashed him a genuine smile. “I’m lucky to learn from you.”

He dipped his chin before glancing at the clock on the wall. “Don’t stay too late, Delaney. The world is rough on beautiful things that aren’t properly protected.”

His choice of wording was a little odd, but I felt a flush of appreciation that he’d bothered to check on me at all.

“I won’t,” I promised with a soft laugh. “I’m almost done. I’ll clean up and head out soon.”

“Very good.” He lingered another moment, his gaze drifting once more over the brooch in my hand before he finally turned toward the door. “Good night, Delaney.”

“Good night, Dr. Kinghorn.”

His footsteps faded up the stairs, and the basement fell quiet again. I let out a slow breath and shook my head, rolling my eyes at my own jumpiness.

Since we worked with light-sensitive artifacts down here, the lab was fairly dim.

Alone again, the shadows between the storage cases seemed to stretch longer under the preservation lights.

I rubbed my arms, trying to shake off the faint prickle that crawled across the back of my neck.

It felt like someone was watching me, but there was nobody else in the lab.

Still, I glanced over my shoulder once before turning back to the brooch. “Just you and me and the ghosts tonight, huh?”

The joke helped. I finished the final round of cleaning, then sat back and studied my work under the lamp.

My earlier uneasiness was replaced with satisfaction for a job well done.

This was only the first step in the process, but I could already see how beautiful the brooch was going to be once the restoration was complete.

I loved taking something damaged and giving it new life.

I switched off the task lamp, covered the brooch with its protective cloth, and began cleaning my tools with the same gentle precision I used on every artifact.

Then everything went back into its exact place in my kit.

Mom always teased me about how obsessive I was, but these tools were extensions of my hands. They deserved care too.

Once everything was packed, I slung my bag over my shoulder, double-checked that the climate controls were stable, and headed for the door. The emergency strips along the baseboards provided a dim glow in the hallway outside the lab, and my footsteps echoed softly on the old tile.

I reached for the last light switch, my fingers hovering for just a second before I flipped it.

I was already thinking about the leftover Thai in my fridge and the call I’d make to my parents tomorrow as darkness swallowed the lab behind me.

I moved through the quiet corridors, staying alert as I made my way toward the employee exit.

It was late at night, but a guard was posted at the exit, and the parking structure was well lit.

As I dug for my keys, a shadow shifted behind me.

Before I could turn, a strong arm wrapped around my chest, and a cloth slammed over my mouth and nose.

The sharp, sickly-sweet smell flooded my senses.

I jerked hard, panic exploding through me as I tried to twist away.

My bag dropped to the ground with a thud.

I clawed at the arm, my heart hammering wildly. The world tilted, and my limbs grew heavy, refusing to obey. My terror grew right before everything faded to black.