Ride With Me (Paige and Jace) novel 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.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify