I don’t slow down.
At the end of Main, we turn back toward the garage. Blaze pulls up beside me at the stop sign on Mill Street and lifts his chin.
"Motor lodge cleared out," he says. He's been on his phone between passes. "Stone's guy at the front desk says they checked out twenty minutes ago."
"Good."
"Didn't even finish breakfast." He grins. That grin. "God, I love this town."
Back at the garage, Judge gives us five minutes of debrief and then disperses. Stone heads to loop in the sheriff—a courtesy the club extends to keep the peace between us and local law. Gear goes straight back under the Sportster like nothing happened. Blaze parks his bike, pulls off his helmet, and shakes out his hair with the satisfaction of a man who considers a two-block intimidation ride a genuinely good morning.
"That's what I'm talking about," he says to no one, grinning at the sky.
I hang my helmet on the handlebars and walk back to my workbench.
"You see the new PT in the diner window?" Blaze asks, already knowing the answer.
"No."
He waits exactly one beat. "She was watching you the whole second pass."
I pick up a wrench. "Drop it, Blaze."
He raises both hands, still grinning, and mercifully goes back to his work.
I spend the rest of the afternoon with my head down and the engine in front of me, not thinking about dark eyes tracking my bike down Main Street.
Not thinking about it at all.
I stand alone in the garage, grease on my hands, the echo of engines still ringing, and I don’t think about her at the counter with her coffee and those eyes that track everything.
I pick up my wrench and get back to work.
Chapter 5 – Harper
Dr. Meyers drops the file on my desk at eight-fifteen on Wednesday morning like it's a grenade she's tired of holding.
"Knox Sullivan," she says. "Road name Gear. Iron Havoc MC. Referred to us six weeks ago for a hand injury, two fractured metacarpals, improperly healed, needs structured rehabilitation or he'll lose forty percent grip strength in that hand permanently." She pauses. "He has missed every single appointment."
I open the file. "Every one?"
"Called once to reschedule. Didn't show for that either." She gives me the look she reserves for problems she's delegating. "He works at the club garage on Mill Street. I'd like you to go introduce yourself in person. Sometimes they respond better to a face."
I close the file. "I'll go this morning."
She nods and leaves, and Rosa appears in the doorway approximately four seconds later, because Rosa has the situational awareness of a woman who listens at walls.
"You're going to the Iron Havoc garage," she says.
"I am."
She leans against the doorframe. "Gear is grumpy. Stone will stare at you. Blaze will flirt with you." She holds up a finger. "And Ronan will pretend you don't exist."
I pick up my jacket. "Helpful. Thank you, Rosa."
"I try," she calls after me.
The garage doors are already rolled up when I get there, the morning air carrying the smell of motor oil and metal half a block before I arrive. Two bikes are up on lifts. Classic rock comes from a speaker somewhere inside. I step into the entrance and let my eyes adjust.
