Chapter 2
CALLIE
SEVEN YEARS AGO…
I’d never been happier to slide into the back bay behind the Iron Vultures clubhouse than the day after Wade’s arrest.
Grease up to my elbows.
The smell of oil-soaked concrete and rubber filling my head. Heaven on earth.
Nothing mattered except the carburetor Hawk had pointed out this morning. “Fix it.” That was all he’d said. That was enough. I’d nodded, rolled up my sleeves, literally, and bent to the task.
Three weeks of grunt work under their close supervision as I went on fuel runs, parts pickups, and emergency roadside fixes had given me a chance to work the garage.
The actual clubhouse remained off limits until I’d proven myself.
Today might be that day.
It might not.
Didn’t matter.
It got me out of the stinking trailer and away from Mom’s crying.
I needed those miles between me and Wade’s empty bedroom and the notebook still wrapped in rubber bands in the bottom of my duffel.
No one would touch my stuff here.
I’d found that out the first day when a jackoff named Kurt had thought it would be funny to take my wrench.
Hawk put him in his place in a heartbeat, clocking Kurt with a right hook that knocked him flat on his ass.
That was all it took for Kurt to hand me the wrench and apologize.
I’d taken it as a sign and gotten a wrench tattooed below my right ear to commemorate the day.
The carburetor was a disaster, which told me everything I needed to know about who owned the bike and how seriously he took maintenance.
“Someone needs to gouge this motherfucker in the eye.” I muttered under my breath and worked my fingers deeper into the space.
The prospect in question stood near the open bay door, arms crossed and a sneer twisting his lips.
He’d been that way since I walked in, but other than giving me a once over that made my skin crawl, he kept his distance.
“You say something?” Dylan, the oh-so-helpful prospect assigned to ‘help’ me, leaned across my spine.
The pressure created a claustrophobic tightness in my chest. I shrugged and rolled my shoulders back, using the shift to push him away. “You’re holding the light wrong. Move it six inches to the left. Better yet, hang it on the fucking hook like I told you the first time.”
“Hawk told me to help.” Dylan shifted the light a full two inches…in the wrong direction.
I pinched my lips together and took a breath before I exploded.
I could do better than this.
None of them had the right to rattle me. “Your other left.”
“Sorry.” He bent closer, close enough the stench of cheap hair product cut through the smell of grease and turned my stomach. “You sure you know what you’re doing? I can call Diesel.”
“You call Diesel, and he’ll tell you to let me finish.” I set the nut on the cloth beside me and blew a strand of hair out of my face. “Then he’ll stand there and watch me finish, and we’ll be in this bay an extra thirty minutes because you had doubts.”
Dylan went silent as the grave and almost as pale as a corpse. He held up his empty hand and adjusted the light again.
I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand around so the light hit where I wanted. “Don’t move from that spot.”
He almost smiled but the expression turned sour when the prospect who’d almost ruined this bike sauntered over. “You going to take orders from someone like her?”
“Yeah?” Dylan almost shrugged but stopped when the light wavered. “She fixed Blaze’s bike in the dark. In like ten minutes. The fucking thing was coughing smoke in the middle of nowhere.” Dylan almost sounded awed by the reminder of what I could do. Almost.
I kept working.
Their chatter continued in the back of my head, but my entire focus held on the piece of machinery I intended to fix.
“How long you been working shop?” Dylan leaned close again, but this time I didn’t mind as much since it forced the douchebag back.
“Rebuilt my first carburetor at sixteen.” On a bet.
I’d won twenty bucks and a tank of gas. “Haven’t seen one this shitfaced in years.
The pilot jet is full of gunk. Could have starved out the engine on your next ride and been left stranded.
” I almost regretted having to save him the trouble, but it wasn’t the bike’s fault.
The thrum of bass mixed with laughter rolled out from the clubhouse when someone opened the door.
I ignored it the way I had this whole time.
Dylan stiffened behind me, and the other guy–I didn’t care enough to learn his name–cursed under his breath.
Something about it taking too damn long to let him in.
I cleaned and reassembled the carburetor, torqued everything down, and reconnected the fuel line. “Thanks, Dylan. You can turn off the light.”
“About time.” The prospect pushed in close and reached for the ignition.
I smacked his hand away and shoved him back a step. “Hands off until I say I’m done.”
He came after me, chin tucked and a growl baring his teeth. “Fuck off, bitch.”
“You want your bike fixed or you want to end up a greasy spot on the highway? Because right now, I have your life in my fucking hands. You almost ruined this bike, and you’re not touching it again until I’m satisfied.
” I held up my grease-stained palms and shoved him, planting double hand prints on his chest. “Get out of my way. Now.”
“Back off, man.” Dylan hooked the guy around the arm and urged him back. “She’s right. You wait till the wrench says it’s good. That’s the rule.”
Was it crazy that I loved the title? Wrench. It sounded close enough to wench that it had thrown me the first time I heard it, but not anymore.
I wiped my hands down my thighs, shifting the last of the grease from my hands to my jeans, and gave the bike one last examination.
Once I was satisfied, I turned the key.
The engine coughed, then caught, opening up into a hard, rolling growl that bounced off the bay and vibrated straight through my sternum.
Hell yeah. I left it running and wiped the bike down, removing any smudges or fingerprints I’d left behind.
The clubhouse door opened.
Hawk walked across the lot, his stride easy but the sheer amount of muscle on his body making every stride imposing.
He stopped at the open bay and leaned on the frame with his arms crossed, studying me and the bike for several seconds.
I held his gaze and waited.
He nodded once and dropped his arms. “Bring it inside. You’re cleared.”
The prospect’s eyebrows shot upward. He looked at me, mouth agape, like I’d pulled a rabbit out of my ass.
I grinned, because why the hell shouldn’t I be proud of myself, and rolled the bike off the rack to follow Hawk.
I’d come back for my tools.
After three long weeks of waiting and working toward this very goal, I wasn’t about to make him wait for me.
The clubhouse hit me all at once as I walked the bike through the door Hawk left open for me.
Too many bodies in too small a space put off waves of body heat that combined with a thick layer of beer and cigarette smoke and leather.
Music hammered out of a setup that must’ve cost them a hell of a lot more than the rent on the rough building.
Conversations stacked on top of each other, laughter cutting across in sharp, easy bursts.
I walked the bike to the corner Hawk pointed at and dropped the kickstand while killing the engine.
Exit behind me. Door across the room that looked like it led to a hallway.
Might be another exit.
Might be a deadend.
Another door to my right that overlooked the road.
I took in the space, sketching the layout in my head and marking the spaces to avoid getting trapped.
Diesel stood at the bar. I’d worked near him twice in the last few weeks, and the broad expanse of his back ran into long legs.
He kept his dark hair cut close, and when he looked over the room, he didn’t blink.
Not once.
A faint scar cut the edge of his lower lip, and he wore a dark hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off the sleeve of mechanical schematics and gear tattoos done blueprint style up his arm.
A glass sat next to his elbow, and he tracked me the instant I turned.
Hawk moved through the room without urgency, and the crowd shifted to accommodate him.
It happened automatically, like they sensed him and just…moved.
He stopped to speak to one man, clapped another on the shoulder, then turned and gestured toward me. “This is Callie.” He flicked his finger in my direction, prompting me to move toward him. “She’s cleared.”
Not she’s with us or she’s a friend or anything that softened my presence here. Hawk delivered my approval with that same nod from the bay.
Reactions around the room ranged from nods to a flat, assessing look from a man who went back to his drink with a shake of his head.
A woman near the pool table looked me over carefully.
No doubt she’d worked for her place in this room and wanted to make sure I didn’t uproot her.
I met her eyes and kept my chin up until she gave me a grin and resumed her game.
I could work with that.
“Make yourself at home.” Hawk’s voice carried, and I couldn’t help but think it was intentional. “It’s good to have you here, Callie. We’ve needed someone of your caliber for a long time.”
“Happy to help.” I managed to smile and not fall over at the compliment.
Diesel stared at me. Every step I took, the weight of that gaze settled on the nape of my neck.
I made my way over and hopped onto the nearest barstool. “Am I allowed to grab whatever?”
Diesel picked up his drink and tossed it back, his throat working in a deep swallow. “If you can reach it, you can have it.”
“Is that a short joke, because I’m not that short, and I’m not above climbing to get what I want.” Was I flirting with him? I hadn’t meant to. Sometimes my brain, my mouth, and my libido didn’t quite match up. This was one of those times.
His lips twitched. “I’d like to see that.”
I bet he would. I reached over the bar and grabbed a beer, cracking the cap with a quick twist and taking a sip and willing my nerves to settle. I’d done it.
I was part of the Iron Vultures.
It wasn’t guaranteed protection, but it would be a hell of a lot harder for Wade to get to me as long as I stayed with the gang.
Diesel shifted his weight to his off leg and pushed off from the bar, walking away without another word.
I saluted his back with my beer.
“Don’t take it personally.” A man with light brown hair and hazel eyes slid onto the stool beside me. “That’s just Diesel.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Colt.”
Colt. I’d heard his name a couple times but never seen him.
It took a second for me to place my hand in his.
His worn denim jeans had a rip at the knee, and he wore them with a vintage Metallica T-shirt ripped at the throat.
“Nice rings.” I dipped my beer toward the two rings on his fingers.
“Thanks.” He pressed his thumb against the ring on his forefinger and sent it spinning.
Red and black flashed as the diamonds and spades embedded against a silver band whirled past. A boyish smile put creases in his cheeks and brightened his eyes.
“Heard what you did with Blaze’s bike. Pretty impressive. ”
He emphasised pretty, or maybe my libido was already drunk and horny. At this point, I’d accept anything that took my mind off Wade. “I do my best.” I finished my beer and set it on the bar.
Colt didn’t move to give me more space, and I didn’t move away. We stared at each other, and a silent battle of wills pulsed through me. “Good thing I’m not trying to stare down Diesel. Pretty sure he should be like a world record holder or something.”
Colt blinked.
I laughed and grabbed another beer. “That was too easy.”
“Damn.” He chuckled and dragged a hand through his hair. “You’re good. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“What?”
He opened his beer and tapped the neck of the bottle against mine. “That.”
I had no idea what he meant, but the beer and the friendly conversation did wonders for me.
I picked at bits of grime around my nails and sipped my second beer. “What can I say? I’m an enigma.”