Ride With Me

PAIGE’S POV The shrill sound of my alarm dragged me out of sleep long before the sun had even decided to climb over the rooftop. I reached across the bed and slammed my hand down on top of it before it could start ringing again. I lay there for a few seconds while staring at the cracked ceiling above me. The apartment wasn’t much, but it was mine. It sat directly above Lawson Customs Bikes, and although the place was old enough to complain every time I walked across the timber floors, it had become home surprisingly quickly. The walls needed repainting, the kitchen was barely large enough for one person, and the furniture had all been second-hand when Uncle Will bought it years ago. But everything was clean and everything worked, and every corner reminded me of him. That was enough. I climbed out of bed and stretched for a second before I headed into the tiny bathroom. The hot shower helped wake me up properly, and after brushing my teeth, I pulled on my usual work clothes. My faded blue jeans that already had permanent grease stains around the knees and the old AC/DC shirt hanging in my wardrobe that had survived more engine rebuilds than I could count. Mechanics didn’t wear designer clothes. We wore evidence. The kitchen cupboards weren’t exactly overflowing either. But I stared inside for a moment before grabbing a load of bread. “Toast again,” I muttered. The coffee maker spluttered noisily while the bread toasted, and I stood by the window watching the quiet street below. The faded Lawson Customs sign hung proudly above the workshop. One day I’d replace it, I’d repaint the building, and I’d buy better equipment. One day. But right now I just needed customers. I finished my breakfast, rinsed my mug, grabbed my keys and headed downstairs. The familiar scent of oil, rubber and steel greeted me the moment I unlocked the workshop. Most people probably hated the smell, but not me. I loved it. It smelled like hard work, like home. I switched on the lights and walked into the office before stopping in my tracks. A pile of envelopes on the desk hadn’t magically disappeared overnight. Power, water, insurance, mortgage. I picked up the mortgage statement and slowly exhaled. Another payment was due in less than three weeks. Business had improved slightly since I’d taken over, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. I rested my hand on the desk and looked around the workshop. “I promised you I’d keep it going. I’m trying, Uncle Will,” I whispered. The bell above the office door jingled, and I looked up just as Tyler Montgomery walked inside. His polished shoes looked completely out of place on my workshop floor, and his eyes travelled slowly around the garage before settling on me. “I still can’t believe you’re actually living above this place,” Tyler said, and I leaned against the doorway. “It saves on the morning commute,” I said, but he ignored the joke. “This place is filthy,” he said. “It gets cleaned every day,” I said. “It still smells,” he said. “I’d rather smell engine oil than fake smiles,” I said, and his jaw tightened. “Your parents are worried,” he said, and I folded my arms. “They’ve got an interesting way of showing it,” I said. “They’re embarrassed,” he said. “There it is. The actual truth,” I said. “You walked away from everything,” he said. “I walked away from constantly being blamed for everything,” I said. He sighed heavily as though I were the difficult one. “You embarrassed both families,” he said. “I think they’ll survive,” I said. “You had everything,” he said. “No, Charlotte had everything,” I said. “That’s not fair.” He frowned, and I laughed quietly. “That’s rich coming from you. She managed to take you away from me,” I said, and he shook his head. “You’ve become impossible to talk to,” he said. “I’ve become honest,” I said, and his eyes wandered around the workshop again. “You seriously think this garage is your future?” he asked. “I know it is,” I said. “It barely stays open,” he said. “It stays open because I work for it,” I snapped. “You don’t belong here,” he said. “I belong exactly where I chose to be,” I said, and he took another step closer. “Charlotte would’ve handled this differently,” he said, and I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure she’d have hired someone else to do the work while she took the credit,” I said. “Why do you always have to insult her?” he asked. “Because she keeps earning it,” I said. “She’s successful,” he said. “So am I,” I said. “She has respect,” he said. “From people she’s manipulated into thinking she’s a nice person,” I said. “She has ambition,” he said. “I own a business,” I said. “A failing business,” he said. The words landed harder than I expected, and he noticed. His expression softened for barely a second before hardening again. “You’ll never make enough money to keep this place,” he said. “I will,” I said. “You’ll never succeed,” he said. “I disagree,” I said. “Charlotte is everything you’re not,” he said. I looked at him for several long seconds before pointing toward the workshop entrance. “You should leave,” I said. “I’m trying to help,” he said. “No. You’re trying to turn me into someone I’m not,” I said. “You’ve thrown your future away,” he said. “I built myself a new one,” I said, and his face reddened with frustration. “This place will bankrupt you,” he said. “Maybe,” I said. “You’ll regret leaving,” he said. “I already regret not asking you to leave five minutes ago,” I said. Before he could answer, the deep rumble of approaching motorcycles echoed through the workshop. One engine, then another, and then several more. Tyler turned toward the open roller door as six motorcycles rolled into the yard, and the conversations between the waiting customers immediately stopped. Leather cuts, heavy boots and powerful machines. The words Iron Vipers MC stretched across the backs of every vest. The rider leading the group removed his helmet before walking toward me. He looked to be around thirty with dark hair, calm blue eyes and the sort of confidence that didn’t need to announce itself. And he stopped a comfortable distance away. “You Paige Lawson?” he asked. “I might be,” I said. “I’m Jace Ryder,” he said, and I nodded. “What can I do for you?” I asked. “We heard you’re the best mechanic around,” he said. “You heard wrong,” I said, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think we did,” he said. “I don’t work on club motorcycles,” I said. “We’ve got six,” he said. “I’m sure another workshop would love the business,” I said. “We’ve already tried the others,” he said. “Keep trying.” I shrugged, but he didn’t move. “I’ll pay double,” he said. “No,” I said, shaking my head. Then the men behind him exchanged glances without saying anything, and Jace studied me for another moment. “Triple,” he said. My eyes drifted toward the office desk where the unpaid bills still waited. Every envelope suddenly seemed impossible to ignore, and I looked back at him. “I don’t like biker clubs,” I said. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I don’t need trouble,” I said. “You need work,” he said. He wasn’t wrong, and I hated that he wasn’t wrong. So I let out a slow breath before nodding. “Triple the rate,” I said. “Agreed,” he said. “And you pay half before I touch a single bolt,” I said, and his smile grew slightly. “Done,” he said, and Tyler stared at me in disbelief. “You’re actually doing business with them?” Tyler asked, and I turned to look at him. “I’m actually paying my bills,” I said, and he threw his arms up in the air. “I can’t watch this,” he said. “Nobody asked you to,” I said. “You’ve completely lost your mind,” he said. “I found my mind the day I moved out,” I said. He shook his head before storming toward the door without another word. The workshop fell quiet again after he disappeared, and the Iron Vipers wheeled their motorcycles inside one by one. I walked over to the first bike. “Start it,” I said. The rider turned the key, and the engine came to life. I closed my eyes for a few seconds before raising my hand. “You can switch it off,” I said. The rider looked confused but did exactly what I said, and I pointed toward the engine. “The primary chain needs adjusting, your rear cylinder isn’t firing evenly, you’ve got a worn bearing starting to fail, and someone ignored the valve clearance,” I explained, and the rider stared at me. “You didn’t even touch it,” he said. “I didn’t need to,” I said, and I moved to the next motorbike. He started it for a few seconds before I told him to turn it off. “This one has a warped front brake rotor, the clutch cable is nearly finished, and your rear suspension bushings are worn,” I said. Another stunned silence, and I continued down the line of motorcycles that were waiting. “Electrical fault… fuel delivery problem… cracked exhaust mount,” I said, going from bike to bike. I finally stopped beside the last motorcycle and listened carefully. “This one needs a top-end rebuild before it leaves you stranded on the side of the highway,” I said. Every member of the Iron Vipers looked from me to the motorcycles and then back again. Nobody laughed or questioned me, and Jace slipped his hands into his pockets as a small smile crossed his face. It seemed the rumors about Paige Lawson hadn’t been exaggerated after all. And I had a feeling Jace was testing me to see if I did actually know what I was talking about.