Page 28 of Raziel

“Of course.” He smiled at her, but his eyes flicked to me as he walked her over.

She threw a leg over it.

I scanned the bike. At first glance, it looked fine. But something was off.

Maya was already on it, fingers curling around the grips like she’d been waiting for this her whole life.

I stepped closer, eyes scanning the frame.

The seller gave me a nervous smile. His hands fluttered, like he was trying to distract me.

I caught it in seconds—the engine casing had been welded shut. No way to check the internals without cutting it open.

I looked for a VIN stamp. There wasn’t one.

The bike was either stolen—or worse—a Frankenstein job.

I grabbed Maya by the waist and hauled her off before she could kick-start it.

“What the hell?” she snapped.

I didn’t answer. Just turned to the seller and slammed him against the nearest wall.

“You’re selling fucking trash.”

His eyes went wide. “I don’t know what you’re—”

I twisted his arm behind his back until he whimpered. “Tell her what’s wrong.”

He swallowed hard. “Okay, okay! The engine’s from a wreck. Frame’s legit, but the guts are—look, it’ll run for a few weeks before it seizes, okay?”

Maya’s face fell. “Are you serious?”

I shoved the guy away. He scrambled off, muttering curses, and disappeared behind one of the warehouses.

She kicked the bike once, then again, until it tipped over.

“Goddammit. I really wanted this. I need transportation.”

“You don’t need it bad enough to jump on. You could’ve died,” I snapped. “You didn’t even look at it before throwing a leg over. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I was being irrational—but she could’ve gotten hurt.

She threw her hands up. “I did look at it!”

“You didn’t. I was right there. And if you did, in the three seconds before mounting it? Then why didn’t you see the welds? The fucking missing VIN?”

“I don’t know shit about bikes, alright? I just want to rid—”

“That’s exactly the problem, Maya.” My voice came out colder than I meant. “You don’t know, so you ask. You don’t just—”

“Shut up,” she shouted, flipping me off. Then she turned and stormed back to the truck.

I stood there for a second, the anger still hot under my skin. Then the guilt crept in. I’d been too harsh.

By the time I got to the car, she was already in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring straight ahead.

“Maya—”