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“Good. It’s coming along well. I was gonna go pick up a part for the bike soon.”
“Isn’t it new?”
“Yeah, but I mostly wanted it for the shell, if that makes sense. I always fiddle with the guts of a bike to make everything a little better. I’m overhauling this one to really open it up.”
I nod along with him, even though I’m only sort of following what he means. “Ah, right. That makes sense.”
Ransom grins, seeing right through me. “Do you wanna come along for the ride?” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
“Yes,” I say immediately. It’s been a while since I’ve been on the back of a bike with Ransom, and it’s one of my favorite things in the world.
He flicks his tongue piercing between his teeth as he grins wider, clearly pleased with that response. “Cool. When we get back, I’ll show you how to install the part.”
“I like the sound of that.”
He puts away his tools and closes up the panel in the bike he had opened, then swings his leg over the seat. He pats the spot behind him.
“Hop on, angel.”
A flutter of excitement fills my stomach as I climb onto the motorcycle, wrapping my arms around his waist. Ransom revs the bike a few times and then peels out of the garage, taking us out onto the road.
I’m sure no one who lives in this section of the city is used to motorcycles tearing down the road, but Ransom doesn’t seem to care. He speeds along, and the wind rushing by feels amazing, whipping my hair around my face. It takes me back to the first time he took me out, after I showed up at their warehouse late one night. I was so nervous about it then, but the exhilaration won me over.
We don’t head to an auto parts shop, but instead go farther into the city, closer to where the guys used to live. We pull up to an old, worn looking garage, and Ransom cuts the engine and helps me off the bike.
“Stick close,” he murmurs to me.
I was already planning on it, but I take a step even closer, and he wraps an arm around me, tugging me against his side. As soon as we walk in, it’s clear that the people who hang around this place know Ransom well.
“Voronin. Haven’t seen you around here in a while,” a burly man in his mid-forties says, shoving back his shoulder length hair as he strides over. “You been getting parts from somewhere else?”
Ransom snorts. “Never, Luis. We’ve just been busy. Haven’t been doing much bodywork or chopping lately.”
Luis grunts in response. His gaze flicks to me, but it darts away when Ransom stiffens slightly, his arm tightening around me in a possessive gesture. It’s clear he’s staked his claim, and Luis clearly doesn’t want to piss him off, because he doesn’t look at me again as the two of them talk shop.
“I’m working on a new Ducati, and I need some forks,” Ransom says. “I’m going for high-performance, so I need something with adjustable damping and preload settings. What’ve you got for me?”
Everything he said sounded like gibberish to me, but Luis nods. “Yeah, I think I can help you with that. We’ve got some new forks we pulled off a shiny red thing we brought in last week.” He brings us into the back of the shop, where he digs out a few parts and shows them to Ransom. “Will those do the trick?”
Ransom nods. “Yeah, this’ll be great. How much?”
They haggle over the price, going back and forth. It’s not heated, but it’s clear both of them know what they’re doing and what they’re willing to give.
“Deal,” Luis finally says. He holds out a hand, and instead of shaking it, Ransom finally releases his hold on me long enough to pull out several large bills and slap them into Luis’s palm.
“A pleasure as always,” Ransom tells the man with a nod. “Come on, angel.”
He takes the parts the man offers him, then jerks his head toward the door, and we head out.
“That was… interesting,” I tell him as we go.
He snorts. “That’s business. Well, business on this side of the tracks, at least. Luis gets parts in from chop shops—or wherever, really—and then he sells them for his own prices. Or trades them for other things. We worked with him a lot, back in the day. But he’s right. It’s been a while.”
He leads the way back to his bike, popping open the under-seat storage compartment so he can stow the parts he just bought. Off to the side of the garage, I hear several men laughing, followed by the sound of shattering glass. It makes me jump, and I half turn to see if I can figure out where the noise is coming from.
Bang!
A loud shot rings out, and I feel something graze past my arm.
