Ride With Me (Paige and Jace) novel Chapter 67

CHAPTER 40

By the time I finished locking away the last toolbox, my shoulders felt every minute of the day. Saturday had been relentless.

Motorcycles had rolled into Lawson Customs from the moment I opened the roller door that morning, customers had kept Ben running between service bays, Mia had answered what felt like a hundred phone calls, and I hadn’t stopped moving long enough to think about anything except the

next repair.

Busy was good. Busy meant the garage was healthy. Busy also meant I was exhausted.

I switched off the workshop lights one row at a time before lowering the roller door until only a narrow strip remained open. The evening air drifted inside carrying the scent of rain that hadn’t

quite arrived yet.

Across the street, the bakery had already closed, and the café owner was stacking chairs inside.

The town was settling down for the night. I checked the locks twice out of habit before climbing

the staircase to the apartment above the garage.

Normally I would’ve headed to the clubhouse after work. Tonight I wanted ten quiet minutes. Nothing more. Nothing less. The apartment welcomed me with familiar silence.

I dropped my keys into the bowl beside the front door, kicked off my boots and stretched the stiffness from my back before heading for the bathroom.

A hot shower washed away the layer of grease and dust that had followed me through another

long day. Steam filled the small room while I stood beneath the water longer than I probably

should have.

It wasn’t laziness. It was recovery. Some people relaxed with books. Others watched television.

Mechanics stood under hot water until their shoulders remembered how to unclench.

Twenty minutes later I pulled on comfortable jeans, a dark T-shirt and an old flannel shirt before

tying my damp hair into a loose ponytail.

I wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and immediately remembered I hadn’t bought

groceries. Again.

“You’re hopeless.” I muttered to myself.

The refrigerator offered half a carton of milk, butter and a bottle of barbecue sauce that somehow seemed determined to survive every clean-out so I closed the door.

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CHAPTER 40

“Takeaway it is.” I said.

۷۸

+25 Point

had barely reached for my phone when a dull metallic sound drifted up through the floor. Clang. And I froze. The noise wasn’t loud or dramatic. It sounded almost accidental. Almost.

Lawson Customs settled at night. Metal expanded and contracted. Old buildings creaked. I knew every ordinary sound the garage made. That wasn’t one of them. Another noise followed. This time it sounded like someone brushing against the roller door.

My heartbeat slowed instead of speeding up. Uncle Will used to tell me that panic narrowed your thinking. Calm kept your options open. I crossed the apartment quietly and switched off the kitchen light.

The darkness gave me a better view through the front window. Nothing and the parking lot looked empty. Another faint scrape echoed from below. Not the front. The yard. Behind the workshop.

I slipped my boots back on without making unnecessary noise and quietly unlocked the apartment door. Every step down the staircase was deliberate.

The garage below remained dark except for the security light spilling through the small office window. I didn’t switch on the workshop lights.

Instead, I moved between familiar workbenches using the shadows that I knew better than

anyone. Years of working there had taught me exactly where every tool cabinet, engine stand, and

motorcycle lift stood.

The garage wasn’t just my workplace. It was terrain I understood instinctively. And there was

another scrape. Closer now.

Someone whispered outside. The back gate rattled once. Then stopped and my stomach.

tightened. Not with fear. With certainty. Someone was out there.

I quietly reached beneath the main workbench and pressed a hidden latch concealed beneath the

timber edge.

The mechanism clicked softly. A narrow compartment slid open inside the cabinet. Uncle Will had

built it years ago. He’d called it insurance.

Inside sat a compact pistol locked inside a biometric safe.

He’d insisted that if I was ever forced to keep a firearm, it would stay secured until the exact

moment I genuinely needed it.

Not before and never carelessly. Never casually. My thumb rested against the scanner.

The lock released with a quiet click. I removed the pistol, checked it by instinct rather than habit

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CHAPTER 40

and slipped it behind my back beneath my shirt where it remained hidden but accessible.

+25 Points

Another crash echoed outside. This one was louder. The back gate burst inward hard enough to slam against the fence. Heavy footsteps entered the yard. Several pairs. Too many. I moved silently toward the rear workshop door.

Through the small reinforced window I caught movement. Dark clothing, leather cuts, Black Reapers. Five.

No. Six.

One pointed toward the workshop while another gestured toward the apartment staircase. They weren’t wandering. They knew exactly where they were going.

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