“😍Click to continue reading<Ride With Me>💔
I caught my sister in bed with my fiancé. So, drunk, I texted the president of the Iron Vipers MC—my shop’s biggest client. “I don’t want to service your bikes anymore. I want to service you.” He didn’t reply for a minute. Then my phone started blowing up. 200+ messages: “Where are you?” “Speak.” “I’m on my way.” “Don’t go to anyone else.” “Open the door.” “I swear, if you make me wait one more second, I’ll lock you to my bed. Forever.” The president of the most powerful club in the country was losing his mind—because I didn’t open the door fast enough! --- 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. II CHAPTER 2 The workshop was unusually quiet after Tyler stormed out. Not because the motorcycles had disappeared, but because every member of the Iron Vipers seemed to be watching me instead. But I ignored them. People stared all the time whenever they walked into Lawson Customs and found a blonde woman running the place. Some looked confused, others looked amused, and a few acted like I’d accidentally wandered into the wrong building. Most of them changed their minds once I started talking about engines. I walked over to the first motorcycle and wheeled my tool trolley beside it. “Who owns this one?” I asked, and a broad-shouldered biker with dark hair raised a hand. “Mine,” he said. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Hunter. Most people call me Wrench,” he said, and I smiled. “Ironic,” I said. “Why?” He frowned. “If you’re called Wrench, your mechanic should’ve been called Disaster,” I said, and a few men chuckled while Hunter laughed. “That bad?” he asked. I crouched beside the motorcycle and looked over the engine. “Who worked on this last?” I asked. “Garage two towns over,” he said. “I’d ask for a refund,” I said, and Hunter blinked. “You haven’t even taken anything apart,” he said. “I don’t need to,” I said. I reached over and lightly tapped the engine casing. “The primary chain is loose, your rear cylinder isn’t firing evenly, and someone replaced your spark plugs without checking the leads,” I said, and he stared at me, stunned. “You can tell all that already?” he asked. “I can tell more if you stop distracting me,” I said. That earned another laugh from the men, and I grabbed a socket wrench and removed the side cover. Less than a minute later, I held up a badly worn chain tensioner. “This should’ve been replaced months ago,” I said, and Hunter scratched the back of his neck. “So… you weren’t guessing,” he said. “No,” I said, and he grinned. “I’m starting to like you,” he said. “I wouldn’t get carried away,” I said, and the men laughed again. I moved to the next motorcycle, and the owner was a mountain of a man with tattoos climbing up both arms. “I’m Derek. They call me Razor,” he said. I looked at his bike before looking back at him. “Fitting,” I said. “Why’s that?” he asked. “Because whoever serviced this nearly murdered it,” I said, and his eyebrows lifted. “I serviced it,” he said, and I smiled. “My condolences,” I said, and the guys snickered behind him as Derek folded his arms. “I think you’re bluffing,” he said. “I think you’re about to owe your motorcycle an apology,” I said, so he leaned against the workbench. “Go on, then,” he said. I crouched beside the bike, ran my fingers over the brake rotor, and spun the front wheel. “You’ve overtightened the axle. The front rotor is warped. The rear brake pads are almost gone. And…” I said, pointing to the chain as his smile disappeared. “…you’ve adjusted that far too tight,” I finished. “Impossible,” Derek said, shaking his head, so I handed him the spanner. “Loosen it,” I said. He hesitated before doing exactly that, and the wheel spun freely. His expression changed immediately. “Huh,” he said, and I smiled. “Huh indeed,” I said, and Hunter burst out laughing. “Told you she wasn’t bluffing,” he said, and Derek looked down at his motorcycle again before slowly nodding. “I’ll admit it. I was wrong,” Derek said. “I’ll mark today on the calendar,” Hunter said, and the men laughed again. The atmosphere inside the garage relaxed considerably after that. One by one, each motorcycle rolled into my work bay. I worked steadily, explaining every issue as I found it. I didn’t need computers, and I didn’t need expensive scanners. Years of listening to engines had taught me more than any diagnostic mechanic ever could. By lunchtime, every member of the Iron Vipers had gathered around while I worked. Some asked questions, and others simply watched. “This one’s running rich,” I said, pointing toward another engine. “How can you tell?” Hunter asked. “The exhaust note,” I said. “You heard that?” he asked. “I also heard your bearing complaining,” I said, and he laughed. “I didn’t know bearings could complain,” he said. “They complain loudly. You just haven’t learned to listen,” I said. Jace hadn’t spoken much, and he stood slightly away from the others with his arms folded, quietly observing everything. And it was starting to bother me. Most people either talked too much or not enough. He definitely belonged in the second group, and eventually I looked at him. “You’re awfully quiet,” I said. “I prefer listening,” he said. “Why?” I asked. “You learn more,” he said, and I narrowed my eyes. “That’s suspicious,” I said, and his mouth twitched. “So I’ve been told,” he said. I looked away first because there was something about him that made me feel like he noticed everything. People like that usually made me nervous, so I returned my attention to the next motorcycle. “This one has been abused worse than a supermarket shopping trolley,” I said, and the workshop erupted with laughter. Hunter pointed toward another member. “I told you to stop jumping gutters,” Hunter said. “It wasn’t a gutter,” the guy said. “It absolutely was,” Hunter said. “It was a drain,” the guy said. “It was a terrible decision,” Hunter said, and I shook my head. “I don’t even want to know,” I said, and Hunter grinned. “You probably don’t,” Hunter said. An hour later, every motorcycle had been inspected, and I wiped my hands on a rag while Mia wasn’t there to complain because, of course, I hadn’t hired her yet. Jace stepped forward. “How long?” Jace asked. “A week,” I said. “A week?” Hunter said. “You brought me six motorcycles,” I said. “We were hoping for magic,” Hunter said. “I’m a mechanic. Not a wizard,” I said. “Fair enough,” he nodded. Without another word, Jace reached into his jacket and placed a thick envelope on the workbench. “Half now. The rest when they’re finished,” he said. “I haven’t even started yet,” I frowned. “You’ve already earned it,” Jace said. I opened the envelope, and my stomach nearly dropped. There was more money inside than I’d expected. Much more. I quickly counted it before looking back at him. “This is way more than half,” I said. “It covers the parts,” he said. “I haven’t ordered them yet,” I said. “You will,” he said. I stared at the money again, and the overdue power bill sitting on the desk suddenly didn’t seem so impossible. Neither did the insurance payment or next week’s mortgage. For the first time in months, I could breathe. I carefully put the envelope inside the office safe before locking it. “Thanks,” I said, and Jace gave me a small nod. “We’ll be back in a week,” he said. The club climbed onto their motorcycles and rode away, leaving the workshop strangely quiet again. I stood in the middle of the garage for a long moment, and then I smiled. It wasn’t a huge smile, just enough to remind myself what hope felt like. The rest of the afternoon disappeared into work. And then I swept the floor, organized tools, placed parts orders, and checked tomorrow’s bookings. By the time the roller door came down, the sky outside had already turned orange. My shoulders ached, and my hands were covered in grease. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. Upstairs, dinner consisted of instant noodles and another mug of coffee. It wasn’t glamorous, but it filled the hole in my stomach. After washing the bowl, I opened the old wooden chest Uncle Will had kept beside the sofa. Inside were dozens of photos. I smiled as I picked one up where I couldn’t have been older than ten. I was sitting on the bonnet of an old pickup truck, holding a wrench almost as long as my arm. Uncle Will stood beside me, smiling proudly, and another photo showed us rebuilding an old Harley together. I laughed quietly. “You’ve got to listen. The engine tells you what’s wrong if you stop trying to talk over it.” His voice echoed in my memory as clearly as if he were sitting beside me. “I don’t hear anything.” Twelve-year-old me had complained. “You will,” he said. “How?” I asked. “You keep listening,” he said. He’d been right. Eventually, every rattle, every knock, every vibration, and every tiny change became a language all its own. He hadn’t just taught me to fix motorcycles; he’d taught me patience, confidence, and independence. I carefully returned the photos to the chest before switching off the lights. As I opened the apartment door to lock up for the night, something caught my eye. A paper grocery bag sat near my door, and I frowned. Slowly, I knelt down and looked inside. There was bread, milk, eggs, fresh fruit, and coffee. Enough food to last nearly a week. There wasn’t a note or a name. Someone had simply left the groceries there before disappearing. I looked down the empty staircase, but whoever had brought them was already gone. III CHAPTER 3 I stood in the apartment doorway with one hand resting on the grocery bag with all the food inside it, and even a packet of my favorite chocolate biscuits sat neatly tucked inside. For several long seconds, I simply stared because nobody had ever left groceries outside my door before. My first thought was that whoever lived nearby had accidentally left them outside the wrong apartment. It had to be a mistake. But that didn’t make any sense because they had to climb over a chain-link fence to get to my apartment and get onto the property around the garage. I knew one thing for sure. People didn’t just buy food for strangers. At least, nobody I knew ever had. I carried the bag inside anyway, mostly because I didn’t want someone stealing it before I found its owner. The apartment felt even smaller with the groceries sitting on the kitchen bench, and I unpacked everything carefully before stopping. There was no receipt, no note at the bottom of the bag, nothing. “This is weird.” I frowned. After making another cup of coffee, I spent nearly twenty minutes convincing myself the groceries couldn’t possibly be for me. There had to be another explanation. There always was. Growing up in the Lawson household had taught me one thing better than anything else. Nothing came without conditions. Every compliment came with criticism, every gift came with an expectation, every mistake somehow became my fault. Charlotte had learned that lesson differently. She’d figured out how to make every situation work in her favor. If she broke something, I’d somehow end up apologising. If she lied, my parents believed her before I ever had the chance to explain myself. If she wanted something I owned, my mother would smile sweetly and tell me sharing built character. It never seemed to build Charlotte’s. Only mine. I remembered one birthday when Uncle Will had spent weeks rebuilding an old minibike for me. It wasn’t expensive, but it was beautiful. Charlotte had decided she wanted it the moment she saw it. And by dinner that night, she’d convinced our parents that I didn’t appreciate it enough. Three days later, the minibike sat in Charlotte’s room. Nobody asked how I felt or cared. Uncle Will had quietly taken me out for ice cream instead. “Sometimes people show you exactly who they are, kiddo. Believe me.” He smiled at me. I’d believed him, and that was why I was living above an old motorcycle workshop instead of inside a mansion. The apartment upstairs might have been tiny, but every single thing inside belonged to me. Nobody could take it away. The thought made me glance back toward the grocery bag. No. There had to be a catch. I locked the apartment and headed downstairs, and Lawson Customs was already busy. By mid-morning, I’d nearly forgotten about the groceries until Hunter wandered into the office carrying paperwork. “Wrench,” I said, and he grinned. “You remembered,” he said. “I remember everyone who brings me six motorcycles at once,” I said. “Fair,” he said, and he leaned against the counter. “So…” he said. “So?” I asked. “You like bananas?” he asked, and I looked at him, confused. “What?” I asked. “The bananas,” he said. “What bananas?” I asked. “The ones Jace bought,” he said, and I stared at him. “Excuse me,” I said, still confused. “You didn’t know?” Hunter frowned. “Know what?” I asked. He immediately realized he’d said something he probably shouldn’t have. “Oh,” he said. “Oh?” I asked, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought he told you,” Hunter said. “Told me what?” I asked, and Hunter smiled nervously. “I should probably go,” he said, and he disappeared before I could stop him. I stood frozen for a moment. Jace. Of course. I looked around the workshop before grabbing my keys. Ben wasn’t working yet, so locking up for half an hour wasn’t exactly difficult. The Iron Vipers’ clubhouse sat only fifteen minutes outside town. I parked outside the large timber building and looked around. It wasn’t anything like I’d imagined. There weren’t motorcycles scattered everywhere or men yelling at each other. Children were chasing footballs across a large grass area, and several women sat together on picnic blankets while chatting. Someone was cooking on a barbecue, and the smell of grilled sausages drifted across the yard. It looked… normal. A little girl noticed me first, and she couldn’t have been more than seven. She smiled brightly before running toward the building. “Paige’s here,” she sang out, and several heads turned. Great. Exactly the attention I’d been hoping to avoid. Wait. How did she know who I was? When I looked up, I saw Hunter coming outside first. “You found us,” he said. “I came to return something,” I said, and he smiled. “I figured,” he said. Jace walked out a few seconds later carrying a mug of coffee, and his expression remained as calm as ever. “You drove all this way?” Jace asked, and I held up the grocery bag. “You left these outside my apartment,” I said. “I did,” he said. “I think you’ve got the wrong address,” I said. “No. They’re yours,” he said. “I didn’t order groceries,” I said. “I know,” he said, and I held the bag toward him. “I’m giving them back,” I said. He looked at the bag but made no effort to take it. “They’re payment,” he said. “I already got paid,” I frowned. “You skipped lunch yesterday,” he said. “So?” I asked. “So mechanics need food,” he said. “I had coffee,” I said, and Hunter laughed. “I don’t think coffee counts as lunch,” Hunter said. “It did yesterday,” I said. Jace finally reached for the bag before setting it gently back on the picnic table. “They weren’t charity,” Jace said. “They certainly weren’t repairs,” I said. “They were thanks,” he said, and I folded my arms. “I don’t need people buying my groceries,” I said. “You needed groceries,” he said. “I could’ve bought my own,” I said, and his eyes briefly met mine. “Could you?” he asked. The question stung because we both knew the answer. I couldn’t afford groceries until he’d paid me for the full repairs. But before I could reply, a woman with dark hair approached carrying a tray of drinks, and she smiled warmly. “You must be Paige,” she said. “I am,” I said. “I’m Emma,” she said as she offered me a glass of lemonade, and I accepted it automatically. “Thanks,” I said. “My husband talks about motorcycles almost as much as these lot. Since yesterday, all they’ve talked about is the mechanic who embarrassed half the club,” she said, laughing softly, and Hunter called out from the barbecue. “Only Derek,” Hunter yelled. “I heard that,” Derek shouted back, and Emma smiled again before lowering her voice. “You don’t have to give the groceries back,” Emma said. “I can’t accept them,” I said. “Why?” she asked. “Because people don’t give away things for nothing,” I said, and Emma studied me for a moment. “They do sometimes,” she said. “Not where I come from,” I said. She looked toward Jace before returning her attention to me. “Sometimes people are simply kind,” she said. I wasn’t sure how to answer that. Kindness had always come with conditions in my family. Uncle Will had been the exception, but everyone else had expected something in return. I glanced around the clubhouse again, and the children were laughing while the wives were chatting and preparing salads. Several club members argued over who had burned the sausages, but nobody seemed nervous or looked frightened, and nobody treated me like an outsider. It was actually unsettling. “I should get back,” I finally said, and Emma nodded. “The groceries are still yours,” Emma said. “I…” I started, but she smiled back at me. I thanked her for the drink before walking back toward my truck. As I climbed inside, I looked once more at the clubhouse, and for the first time since leaving my parents’ house, I felt completely out of place. Not because people had been rude, but because they’d been nice. I wasn’t sure which feeling was more confusing, and by the time I drove away, laughter had already started behind me again. Hunter had slapped Jace lightly across the shoulder. “You bought groceries?” Hunter asked, and Jace didn’t even look embarrassed. “So?” Jace asked. “You’ve got it bad,” Hunter grinned. Several members laughed, and Derek shook his head. “I’ve never seen the boss buy fruit for anyone,” Derek said. “She skipped lunch,” Jace said, picking up his coffee. “Whatever helps you sleep,” Hunter smirked. The teasing continued long after my truck disappeared down the road. Meanwhile, back at Lawson Customs, a sleek black luxury car rolled slowly into the workshop yard. Charlotte Lawson climbed out wearing designer clothes that cost more than most people earned in a month. She looked around the quiet garage before a slow smile spread across her face. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” she murmured to herself. IV CHAPTER 4 The drive back from the Iron Vipers’ clubhouse gave me far too much time to think. Emma’s words kept replaying in my head. Sometimes people are simply kind. It sounded nice, and it almost sounded impossible. People always wanted something. That was how my world had worked for as long as I could remember. My parents expected perfection. Charlotte expected attention, and Tyler expected me to become someone I wasn’t. Even gifts from my parents had never really been gifts. They were rewards for behaving exactly how they wanted. The only person who had ever given me something without expecting anything in return had been Uncle Will. He never cared what I wore, who I spent time with, or whether I embarrassed the Lawson family name. He only cared whether I was happy and whether I remembered to tighten every bolt before starting an engine. I smiled despite myself. He would’ve laughed at me for driving across town just to return a bag of groceries. “You’ve always been stubborn, kiddo.” I could almost hear him saying. “I learned from the best,” I replied. The smile disappeared as Lawson Customs came into view. A sleek black Mercedes sat parked outside the workshop, and my stomach sank. I knew that car. Charlotte. I pulled into my usual parking space and climbed out of the truck. Charlotte stood near the office door with her designer handbag hanging from one shoulder. Her perfectly styled brunette hair didn’t seem bothered by the breeze, and her expensive cream blouse looked completely out of place against the stained ground and toolboxes. But she smiled the moment she saw me. “There you are,” she said as I got out and locked my truck before looking at her. “You’ve got five seconds to explain why you’re here,” I said, and she placed a hand dramatically over her chest. “Is that any way to greet your sister?” she asked. “I wasn’t aware we were greeting each other now,” I said. She ignored the comment and slowly looked around the workshop. “It’s… charming,” she said. That one word told me everything. Charlotte had never complimented anything in her life unless she could twist it into an insult. “It’s a workshop. It isn’t supposed to look like a luxury hotel,” I replied. “I know. I’ve just never seen someone quite so… rustic,” she said, stepping further inside, and I laughed quietly. “I think the word you were looking for is run-down,” I said, and she smiled sweetly. “I would never say that,” she said. “You wouldn’t have to,” I said. She walked around the workshop, lightly running her fingertips across one of the benches before immediately wiping them clean with a tissue. “I still don’t understand why you’d choose this,” she said. “I didn’t choose it. It was left to me,” I said. “You could have sold it,” she said. “I could’ve,” I said. “You still can,” she said, and I folded my arms. “I’m not going to,” I said. Charlotte sighed as though I were making life difficult for her personality. “You’ve always been sentimental,” she said. “I learned that from Uncle Will,” I said. “You also inherited his stubbornness,” she said. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. She stopped beside Uncle Will’s old workbench, and his favorite wrench still hung exactly where he’d always kept it. My chest tightened for a moment before Charlotte noticed where I was looking. “He really did love this place,” she said. “He did,” I said. “It’s a shame,” she said. “What is?” I frowned. “That it isn’t worth much,” she said, and I almost laughed. “There it is,” I said. “There what is?” she asked. “The real reason you’re here,” I said, and she smiled innocently. “I was actually hoping to help,” she said. “Help?” I asked, and she nodded. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Dangerous hobby,” I said. “I could buy the garage from you,” she said, and I raised my eyebrows. “You?” I asked. “Why not?” she asked. “Because you’ve never changed your own tyre,” I said. “I wouldn’t need to. I’d hire someone,” she said, smiling again, and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “You think that’s funny?” she asked. “I think it’s hilarious,” I said, and her expression hardened slightly. “I’m making you a serious offer,” she said. “So am I. I’m not selling,” I said, making her frown. “You haven’t even heard my price,” she said. “I don’t need to,” I said. “You could move back to the city,” she said. “I’m happy here,” I said. “You could have a proper apartment,” she said. “I already do,” I said. “You could stop worrying about money,” she said. I looked around the workshop: old tool cabinets, shelves full of spare parts, the faded Lawson Customs design visible through the open roller door, and every memory I had of Uncle Will lived inside these walls. No amount of money could replace that. “This garage isn’t for sale,” I said, and Charlotte’s smile became noticeably tighter. “You’ve always been emotional,” she said. “No. I’ve just got a memory,” I said, and she slowly crossed her arms. “You really think Dad is going to let this go?” she asked, which caused my attention to sharpen. “What do you mean?” I asked, and she looked almost amused. “He wasn’t exactly thrilled when Uncle Will left everything to you.” “I know,” I said. “He believes the estate should’ve stayed in the family,” she said. “It did stay in the family,” I said. “You know what I mean,” she said. “I really don’t,” I said, and Charlotte took another slow step towards me. “I’d think very carefully before spending too much money on this place,” she said, and a knot formed in my stomach. “Why?” I asked. “Oh… Dad has been talking to lawyers,” she shrugged casually, and I held her gaze without blinking. “And?” I asked. “I’d hate to see you pour everything into a garage you might not get to keep,” she said, tilting her head. I refused to give her the reaction she was clearly hoping for. “If Dad had something to say, he knows where to find me,” I said. Charlotte studied me for several seconds, almost disappointed that I hadn’t panicked. Then another smile spread across her face, and a smile like that never meant anything good. “I’ll let him know you said that,” she said. V CHAPTER 5 I had barely slept ever since Charlotte’s visit. Her words kept replaying in my head, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw that smug smile she wore when she’d mentioned lawyers. She had always smiled like that when she knew something I didn’t. Growing up, it usually meant she’d already convinced our parents that whatever had happened was something my fault. This felt exactly the same. Only now it wasn’t about a broken vase or a failed school project. It was about Lawson Customs. It was about Uncle Will, and I refused to lose either of them. The alarm sounded just after six, and I dragged myself out of bed before heading into the shower. By the time I brushed my teeth and pulled on another pair of well-worn jeans and a faded band T-shirt, I’d almost convinced myself Charlotte had been bluffing. Almost. I unlocked the workshop and opened the roller door. Morning sunlight poured across the ground floor, and for a few precious minutes, everything felt normal again. I made coffee in the tiny office while I sorted through the day’s bookings and tried not to look at the lawyer’s letter still sitting on the desk. Eventually, I picked it up. It had been sitting there since Charlotte was here almost a week ago. There was no point pretending it didn’t exist. So I locked the workshop for an hour, climbed into my truck and drove across town to the address printed at the bottom of the letter. The law office couldn’t have looked more different from Lawson Customs. Everything was polished, and everything matched. The reception area smelled faintly of fresh flowers instead of engine oil. I suddenly felt very aware of the grease stain on my jeans, but the receptionist smiled warmly. “You must be Paige Lawson,” she said. “I am,” I said. “Ms. Hart will see you now,” she said. She led me down a quiet hallway before opening a large office. A woman in her late thirties stood as I entered. She had dark brown hair pulled into a neat bun, glasses resting on her nose and a firm but reassuring smile. “You must be Paige. Olivia Hart,” she said as I took her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” I said. “Please, have a seat,” she said. I settled into the chair opposite her desk while she opened a thick folder. “I’ve reviewed everything your uncle left behind,” she said, and my stomach tightened. “And?” I asked as Olivia smiled. “And I think you can finally breathe,” she said. “That’s not what I expected you to say.” I frowned, and she slid several documents across the desk. “William Lawson was incredibly thorough. He updated his will several times over the years. He also documented exactly why he wanted Lawson Customs left to you,” she explained as I looked up. “He wrote that?” I asked. “He wrote a lot. He included photos of the property over the years, records showing you worked in the workshop from childhood, written statements from neighbours confirming you helped him run the business and financial records showing your involvement long before his passing,” she explained as I stared at her. “I didn’t know he’d done all that,” I said. “He clearly anticipated this challenge,” she said, and my chest tightened. “He knew my parents would contest it,” I said, looking down at the paperwork again. Even after his death, Uncle Will was still protecting me, and Olivia folded her hands on the desk. “I believe he suspected they might. Your father’s solicitor has lodged an application questioning the distribution of the estate,” she said. “So Charlotte wasn’t bluffing,” I said. “No,” she said. “But…” I said as my shoulders sagged, but Olivia smiled again. “I don’t believe they’ll succeed,” she said. “What?” I asked, confused. “The paperwork is exceptionally strong. Your uncle was of sound mind, and he followed every legal requirement, and he clearly explained his wishes. He documented his reasoning, and in my professional opinion, this is one of the strongest wills I’ve seen,” she explained. The knot that had been sitting in my stomach since I saw Charlotte finally began to loosen. “So…” I said. “So I wouldn’t lose sleep over it,” she said, and I laughed quietly. “I already have,” I said. “Then I’d suggest getting some tonight,” she said. For the first time since Charlotte had walked into my workshop, I felt something close to relief. So Olivia gathered the paperwork back together. “I’ll handle all communication from this point forward. You don’t need to speak with your father’s lawyers unless I advise you to. Focus on running your business,” she said. “I can do that,” I said. “I thought you might,” she said. She stood and walked me to the door. “Your uncle believed in you,” she said, and I smiled. “He was one of the few who did,” I said, and she gently shook her head. “I have a feeling he won’t be the last,” she said. By the time I stepped outside, the weight pressing on my shoulders didn’t feel quite as heavy. The drive back to Lawson Customs felt shorter than the drive there. For the first time in days, I caught myself humming along with the radio. Charlotte had wanted me worried, but instead she’d accidentally reminded me how much Uncle Will had believed in me. That thought alone made me smile as I turned into the workshop driveway. Then I saw six familiar faces outside the garage. The Iron Vipers had returned. I parked my truck and climbed out just as Hunter spotted me. “There she is,” Hunter called out with a grin, and the rest of the club turned toward me while I unlocked the workshop. “You boys are early,” I said. “We’ve been impatient all morning,” Hunter admitted. I couldn’t help smiling as I rolled the first motorcycle out into the sunlight. “Go on. It’s all yours,” I said. Hunter climbed onto the bike and started the engine. The familiar rumble filled the yard, but this time it was smooth and even. He eased out the clutch, rode slowly around the block and returned less than two minutes later, wearing an expression somewhere between disbelief and excitement. “I swear it never rode this well when it was brand new,” Hunter said. The other members laughed before wheeling their own motorcycles forward. One after another, they took them for short rides, and every one of them came back smiling. Derek climbed off his bike and shook his head. “I honestly thought you were full of yourself the other day,” Derek said. “And now?” I asked. “Now I’m wondering what kind of witchcraft you used,” he said. “It’s called doing the job properly,” I said. The club chuckled while I handed over a folder containing the service reports. “I replaced everything that needed replacing, adjusted what could be saved and made notes for anything you’ll eventually need to keep an eye on,” I explained. Jace quietly looked through the paperwork before pulling an envelope from his jacket and placing it on the workbench. “The final payment,” he said, and I opened it and immediately frowned. “There is too much here,” I said. “It covers the work,” he said. “It covers a lot more than work. You’ve overpaid me,” I said as I counted it again before looking back at him. “You earned it,” he shrugged. I pulled several notes from the envelope and held them out. “I’m giving this back,” I said, but he made no move to take them. “No,” he said. “I’m serious,” I said. “So am I,” he said, and I sighed. “I don’t take charity,” I said, and his expression remained calm. “It isn’t charity. It’s appreciation,” he said. For a long moment, neither of us moved, and finally I put the money back into the envelope, although I wasn’t entirely happy about it. “Would you be interested in maintaining every motorcycle the Iron Vipers own?” Jace asked after watching me for another second. I was shocked by the offer because I remembered when I went to the clubhouse. There were a lot more than six bikes. VI CHAPTER 6 I stared at Jace for a few seconds, convinced I’d heard him wrong. “Every motorcycle?” I asked. “The whole club,” he said, giving me a small nod. I glanced past him toward the row of motorcycles lined up outside the workshop. There were six parked in the yard today, but I knew that wasn’t the full number. “How many bikes are we talking about?” I asked. “Twenty-three at the moment,” he said. “Twenty-three?” I asked, and Hunter grinned. “Some of us collect them,” Hunter said. “I’m beginning to think some of you have a problem,” I said, and Derek folded his arms. “We prefer the word hobby,” Derek said. “I prefer the word expensive,” I said, and Hunter laughed. “You’ll fit in around here just fine,” Hunter said. I rested both hands on the workbench while my brain tried to process what Jace had just offered. Twenty-three motorcycles. Regular servicing, repairs, tyres, brake work and engine rebuilds. Instead of wondering whether customers would come through the roller door each week, I’d actually know work was waiting for me. It almost sounded too good to be true. “How would this work?” I finally asked, and Jace stepped closer and laid a folder on the counter. “We’d like a monthly maintenance contract,” he said, and I opened the folder. Everything had already been typed up. Routine services, emergency repairs, priority callouts and replacement parts billed separately. I slowly turned each page while trying not to let my excitement show. The figures printed at the bottom almost made me read them twice. That amount would comfortably cover the mortgage. It would pay the electricity and keep food in the cupboards. For the first time since Uncle Will died, Lawson Customs wouldn’t simply survive. It could actually grow, and I looked up at Jace. “You’ve already had this drawn up,” I said. “We wanted to make sure you were interested first,” he said, and Hunter scratched the back of his neck. “We’ve spent more money fixing the same bikes twice than we’d like to admit,” Hunter said, and Derek nodded. “You’re the first mechanic who’s actually fixed the problems instead of hiding them,” Derek said, and I closed the folder. “I told you that I hated clubs,” I said, and Hunter laughed. “Yeah. But we’ve grown on you,” Hunter said. “When do you want me to start?” I asked, and a small smile appeared on Jace’s face. “Monday,” he said. “I’ll need a service schedule,” I said. “We’ll bring every bike through over the month,” he said. “I’ll also need complete maintenance records,” I said, and Hunter winced. “Those might be… incomplete,” Hunter said, and I sighed dramatically. “Fantastic,” I said. “We’re getting organized,” he said. “You own twenty-three motorcycles and none of you thought paperwork might be useful?” I asked, and Hunter looked genuinely thoughtful. “When you put it like that…” Hunter said, and I pointed toward the office. “You’re all hopeless,” I said, and Derek laughed. “You still taking the job?” Derek asked. “I like impossible projects,” I said. “Good,” he said. “I never said you lot weren’t going to drive me insane,” I said. The club chuckled while Jace reached across the counter and we shook hands. The agreement felt surprisingly simple. No lawyers and no hidden conditions. Just two people agreeing to do business. After the Iron Vipers rode away, I carried the folder into the office and sat behind Uncle Will’s old desk. I looked at the monthly payment again, and then I looked at the mortgage statement pinned to the noticeboard, and a smile slowly spread across my face. “You’d be laughing right now,” I whispered. I could almost picture Uncle Will leaning against the office doorway with grease on his hands and that familiar grin on his face. “Told you people would figure out how good you are.” The rest of the afternoon disappeared into work, and for the first time in weeks, every service bay stayed full. George Miller arrived with his vintage Triumph just before lunch. He climbed off the motorcycle and took one look at the empty parking space where the Iron Vipers had been standing and raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been hearing rumours,” George said. “Oh?” I asked. “You’ve become biker approved,” he said. I laughed while rolling his motorcycle onto the lift. “Is that supposed to be an official title?” I asked. “I reckon it should be,” he said. “I was hoping for Queen of England,” I said, and George chuckled. “I think biker approved suits you better,” he said. “That sounds significantly less glamorous,” I said. “It probably pays better,” he said, and I couldn’t argue with that. While I serviced George’s motorcycle, three local riders arrived wanting quotes for repairs. One admitted he’d heard the Iron Vipers were bringing all their motorcycles to Lawson Customs. “If they’re trusting you, then you must know what you’re doing,” he said. By the end of the afternoon, my booking diary was fuller than it had been since taking over the garage. For the first time, I caught myself looking forward instead of constantly worrying about what I might lose. Lawson Customs was finally beginning to feel alive again. The following week settled into a routine I hadn’t expected. Every morning began with coffee, opening the roller door and wondering which members of the Iron Vipers would arrive first. Some came because their motorcycles genuinely needed servicing. Others seemed to invent reasons, and Hunter claimed his brakes sounded different. They didn’t. Derek insisted his engine ‘felt grumpy’. I informed him engines didn’t have emotions, although riders often did. Even Jace stopped by more often than necessary, and sometimes he didn’t bring a motorcycle at all. He would quietly lean against the workshop wall while I worked, ask how business was going and leave twenty minutes later after drinking one terrible cup of coffee from the office. I finally looked up from an engine one afternoon and sighed dramatically. “You lot do realize this isn’t a social club,” I said, and Hunter grinned. “We know,” Hunter said. “It’s a workshop,” I said. “We know,” he repeated. “You keep hanging around anyway,” I said, and Hunter shrugged. “It’s comfortable here,” he said, and I pointed a spanner at him. “I should start charging an hourly babysitting fee,” I said. “You’d probably make a fortune,” he said. “I probably would,” I said. Despite my complaints, the workshop felt different now. There was laughter where silence used to live. The office no longer felt lonely, and the days passed much faster than they ever had before. Even George Miller noticed. He wandered in to collect his Triumph, looking around at the familiar leather-clad figures drinking coffee near the roller door, and chuckled. “You’ve accidentally adopted a motorcycle club,” he said. “I was aiming for a quiet life,” I said. “That ship sailed,” he said. “It exploded, sank and took my peace and quiet with it,” I said. George laughed as he climbed onto his motorcycle. “I’ve never seen you smile this much, Paige,” George said. I opened my mouth to deny it, but the smile that was already sitting on my face gave me away. Before I could answer, the bell above the office door chimed, and I turned toward the entrance. Tyler walked into the office carrying a large bouquet of flowers, and every conversation inside the workshop immediately stopped. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
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