Page 37

“I’m going to look with her,” Kael announces, which nearly draws a groan and a hard protest from me, but Atlas comes up and drapes his arms around Willa’s waist. He kisses the side of her neck.

“I’ll help them look. Do the heavy lifting. Pretty sure that’s the only reason that Willa keeps me around.”

She swats his shoulder. “Babe. I keep telling you, that’s only part of it. It’s totally what you can do with your hands.”

Atlas is a good guy. Young, sometimes loud, a great mechanic.

I’m pretty sure that though he’s Hollywood gorgeous and a bit of a mama’s boy, a hometown hero because he was born and raised in Hart, that the currents of who he really is run quite deep.

He’s smart under that beautiful, easy going exterior—the kind of smart that has the wheels constantly churning.

He and Willa are a good match. She’s sassy and sweet, but you can just tell that she’d turn into a raging she-bear if anyone ever dared to hurt her man, and if anyone fucked with her, that would be the end of his easy going anything.

I give one of those manly nods to Atlas that also conveys my massive relief. “Watch out for rusty nails and stuff. They’re not wearing boots like we are.” Code for, thanks for keeping them both safe while I’m going to be inside and won’t be able to keep an eye out.

He nods. “Will do.”

“Rusty stuff is the best!” Willa squeals, rubbing her hands together in excitement. “And I always have a pair of gloves and a dust mask in the car at the ready.” She glances at Kael and then back at me. “We’ll be fine.”

I nod, trying to be casual about it while the rest of the guys move inside to check out Dominic’s shop and his work. The inside is so spacious that it doesn’t take long for the group to fan out.

Dominic stands near the back, by his workbench. I hang back with him.

“I didn’t make any promises,” he tells me under his breath. “About delivering work or making anything for the club.”

“I know. But Hart’s a big place and the Tyrant and Raiden both grew up there. Other guys too. They believe in making it a great place to live. A beautiful place. When I told them about your work, they thought it was a wonderful idea to purchase a few pieces for parks and for downtown.”

He blinks, his face purposely wiped clean of emotion. That’s a skill I never mastered, though Marcus was good at it. Most of the time, when it counted, we were so covered up in paint or masks or shielded by helmets and eyewear, that it didn’t matter anyway.

“I’m flattered,” he mumbles, but it sounds like the opposite. After a moment of silence, he shoots me an accusatory look. “I said I didn’t need help.”

“But you do have work for sale.”

“Yes, I do, but it’s not- I- this is half humiliating, having it happen like this.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “I knew you’d probably say that.

What’s the difference between selling to the club or to some rich fucking collector?

At least this way, your work will be seen, loved and adored, for years.

Some rich asshole is just going to come along and buy something for their damn garden or mansion, and no one will ever appreciate the mastery, time, and love that you poured into it. ”

“It’s because you know that I need money for my surgery.”

I shrug, prepared to be fully honest. “Yes. But it’s also what I said. Your work deserves to be treasured, not locked away. Giving the public access to art is important.”

“The bike you rode up on… Is that…” he trails off, trying to keep the hope and awe from flickering over his face.

“Is it yours? It is.”

“Can we go out and take a closer look?”

I raise my hand in a wave to catch attention. “Tyrant? We’re just going outside to see the bike, yeah?”

He’s near the back of the shop, talking something over with Raiden, but my voice carries easily. “Sounds good.”

Everyone here knows why we built that bike and they’re more than willing to give us this moment of privacy. I didn’t want to manufacture something private, and it happening naturally is the best thing.

The sun hits us full-on as we step outside. It’s early afternoon and it’s riding high up there, unobscured by the fluffy clouds that float around it. The shop isn’t dark by any means, but it still stings to step back out into daylight.

In the distance, over by the fence, three small figures bend and stand up, and bend again. Their voices carry across the yard as snippets of sound, but they’re too far to pick anything out.

I walk Dominic to the bike, unsure what to expect. I’m prepared for anything, including the sharp inhale and the broken, “fuck,” that pushes out after. He spans his left hand over the bridge of his nose, digging his fingers into his eyes.

I grasp his shoulder. “She’s a work of art. I think your family would be proud. Every single one of the guys at the club put some love into her.”

“I can’t believe that this bike was just a rusted old hulk. Not even a hulk. Scraps and pieces. It was nothing just a few weeks ago and now it’s a masterpiece. How did you find tires and parts and an engine?” His voice is thick as he struggles to contain his emotions.

It fucking makes me emotional right back.

I’ve never been one of those men who bottled shit up and locked it inside.

Instead, I turned to pretty much anything I could to fight off the demons.

I watched my father go down that road and it eventually killed him.

That said, I can put shit away when I have to, in a non-destructive way.

I’m more than secure enough in my masculinity to admit that my eyes are burning and there’s pressure building at the bridge of my nose and in the back of my throat.

“The guys at the club are bike enthusiasts. They know people who know people and sourcing parts or reproductions, even for a hundred and twenty year old bike, was hard, but not impossible for them. They called in favors, but there was also plenty of custom fabrication at the club’s garage.”

He swipes his hand over his eyes again and sighs. “This is fucking incredible. This is a masterpiece. It’s beyond anything my family could have dreamed of and fucking right they’d be proud. It makes me so damn happy to be here, alive, seeing it now. Thank you for this.”

I reach into my pocket and get out the key. It comes complete with a hammered metal skull keychain. Something badass for a badass bike.

Dominic stares at it. “I don’t ride.”

“That might not always be true.”

“My hand—”

“Doesn’t prevent you from transforming stone into living works of art. It might not always be that way. The body is a marvelous thing. It might just surprise you.”

“But that… I meant right now.”

“It’s yours, Dominic. I had the club restore it for you . It wouldn’t be right for me to keep it. This was your family’s dream. It belonged to them. It’s right where it belongs. This is home.”

“No!” He shakes his head but studies the bike and says more softly and far less forcefully. “No. Why would you do that? You don’t even know me. And why would they?”

“We’ve all been through hard shit, some of us more than others.

Pain in every form you can imagine. Some of us have been broken.

Some of us still are. The thing that unites the club isn’t truly just a love for bikes.

It’s brotherhood. It’s finding your family and knowing you can be who you are, even if that’s ugly and fucked up.

It’s finding goodness, acceptance, and even love.

The love of a brother who has your back no matter what life decides to beat you with. ”

Or the love of a good woman.

“You’re not a member, though.”

“Don’t have to be to know that. This place isn’t like any other on earth.

I can say that for certainty. It’s a family.

I’ve been here less than a month and it’s already made me want to be a part of it.

I had that once and never thought it would come around again.

It’s different. This is based on peace, not necessity. ”

“For some, it’s no doubt necessity.”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

Dominic tries to give me the key. “I can’t accept this.”

I step up, refusing to take it. “You can. Please. She was literally made for you. Even if you never ride her, this is where she came from, and she needed to come back to it.”

“Jesus Christ, Dravin,” Dominic curses. This time, he swipes his hand over his face roughly and then yanks his sweater up to dry what his hand couldn’t reach. “I don’t want your pity, your club, your business, or your bike.”

“I don’t doubt it. So, let me clarify. It’s not pity.

It’s an offer of brotherhood. You don’t have to be a part of the club to accept my friendship.

I know what it’s like to live isolated. I chose it, but some of us don’t.

I’ve known brotherhood and I’ve known loss.

There were days I thought I couldn’t pick myself up and put myself back together and there were days when I wondered why I even bothered.

We truly love your work, and I hope you’ll change your mind about accepting our business.

You might not want the bike, but it’s yours anyway.

” I dig the paperwork for the bike out of my back pocket.

I still have ways to go about finding just about anything I need to know about someone.

It’s made out in his name. “It always was.”

“Fucking Christ,” he hisses, sniffling loudly and clearing his throat roughly. “I haven’t cried for years. Not when that stone fell on me and not after, so thanks a lot for this, you bastard.”

“No problem.” I throw back my head and laugh.

Eventually, Dominic joins in. His hand curls around the key and the paperwork, crushing the immaculate pages.

“If you want some fucking sculptures, I guess I could sell you a few of my choosing.”

“Yeah? You’d do that?”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “You’ve twisted my arm.” He motions to the one that he can’t use properly. “Literally.”

It takes a damn big man with a huge spirit to be able to poke fun at himself or laugh about something so horrible. Sure, some can when it’s all past them, but this isn’t the past for Dominic. It’s still very much the present.

I wasn’t wrong about him. He’s the kind of person that the world should have kicked and ground into dust, but he’s still here, still fighting, still wearing his golden fucking heart on his sleeve and it’s motherfucking inspiring .

“I hope that if I stick around Hart, you’ll let me come hang out sometimes. Here, or if you want to come, we’d be happy to have you visit the clubhouse.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His face is all, not on your life, but he swallows hard and chokes out a laugh that turns into a shaky sigh. “I have a feeling that you won’t take no for an answer.”

“I’m not very good at that, am I?”

“You fucking suck at it.”

Of anything in the world, it’s not a bad thing to be terrible at.