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Ashe’s smile wavered and he cleared his throat, stepping forward to help me with the helmet. I watched his face as he did it, and I could’ve sworn his cheeks turned a little pink.

Music played quietly inside of what I could now see was a small pub. The parking lot was littered with a few old utes, and also a few extra bikes.

Holy shit.

I likedthisRedliner. But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to meet more of them.

Ashe seemed to notice my hesitation, and he held out a hand.

“There’s only two of them here. We don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to.”

I nodded, and would be lying if my mind didn’t immediately wander towards the fact that maybe I would be able to get some useful information for my brother out of this encounter.

Maybe this could’ve been my chance to prove myself useful in some way to my family.

Ashe pushed the door open, holding it for me as I stepped through.

The classic Aussie rock grew louder once I was inside, and my ears instantly recognised the tune of ‘Working Class Man’, which ironically was my father’s favourite song—even though I don’t believe he’d actually completed a singular day of real work in his life.

The whole dank bar smelled like any other pub, a mixture of tobacco and beer, with a musk of all the men who gathered after long days of manual labour.

Ashe’s hand was at the small of my back, leading me quickly towards a booth before too many people would notice me standing there. I was definitely the odd one out, and the fact that I was not their usual clientele was obvious immediately by all the curious eyes on me.

My eyes scanned the faces of the people inside, wondering which ones were Redliners and which ones were just innocent bystanders. Most of the men inside were middle aged if not older, and the one woman behind the bar looked tired of every single one of them.

I slid into the sticky leather seat of the booth and Ashe disappeared towards the bar once I was sat down. He leaned over the counter, speaking with the tired woman, and she nodded once, eyes flickering to me once quickly before she produced two drinks.

Ashe placed a red drink in front of me, and returned with his own schooner of some type of beer.

“So this is where you hang out?” I arched an eyebrow at him.

It did not feel like his scene.

Ashe was young enough.

And for the most part, he seemed pretty cool. So why the fuck was he hanging out in this den of fucking mid-life-crises?

He answered with a shrug. “Sometimes.”

I nodded slowly, still looking around.

“You have some pretty deep daddy issues, huh?” I sipped at my drink, which I discovered was a poorly made vodka cranberry.

Ashe didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

“It’s okay.” It was my turn to shrug. “I have daddyandmummy issues, so you’re fine.”

That broke him. His serious demeanour shifted into an unwilling chuckle, and I smiled.

It was quickly becoming a fun game to me, seeing just how easily I could break whatever tough-guy act that Ashe was so desperate to maintain.

“Daddy issues, you say?” another man, probably around Ashe’s age, slipped into the seat next to me in the booth with a smirk.

I considered him, eyeing him up and down.

Ashe ran a hand down his face and groaned.