Page 28 of Tinsel & Chrome

Tex

The garage is alive with the growl of engines and the sharp scent of oil and gasoline. Dawn’s pale light seeps through the clouds, but the cold doesn’t bite like it should. Not with the promise of violence in the air.

I straddle my Harley, the rumble of the engine vibrating through me, settling deep into my bones. Around me, the brothers of The Merciless Few are gearing up, the tension crackling like a live wire. Cyclops stands by the garage entrance, his one good eye sharp as a hawk’s. He doesn’t say much — doesn’t need to. His presence alone is enough to keep everyone in line.

I glance to my left. Larissa’s there, strapping on a black leather vest over her thermal shirt, her fingers steady, her eyes sharp and cold. The bruises on her face are fading, but the fury in her gaze is still fresh. She slides her gun into the holster on her thigh, movements practiced and precise.

Fuck, if that doesn’t make me want to throw her over my bike and take her right here. But now’s not the time.

“You ready, princess?”

I ask, my voice low.

She gives me a look that could freeze hell.

“Stop calling me that.”

I smirk.

“You love it.”

Her lips curl into a grin that’s more dangerous than any weapon in her arsenal.

“Keep talking and I’ll make you eat that grin, Tex.”

“I’d rather eat you.”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t back down. That’s one of the things I love about her — the fire, the fight, the refusal to be anything less than herself.

Cyclops’s voice cuts through the air.

“Mount up!”

Engines roar to life, the thunder of power shaking the walls. I pull on my helmet and watch Larissa do the same. She swings a leg over her bike, sleek and black like a panther ready to pounce. Her eyes meet mine through the visor, and for a moment, everything else falls away.

We’re in this together.

Cyclops takes the lead, Mace close behind. I keep Larissa in my sights, her taillight burning red against the gray morning. The roar of our convoy is a promise, a warning that death rides with us today.

We hit the road, snowflakes biting at our cheeks like tiny needles. The cold air whips past, but the heat of the ride, the purpose, keeps me warm. We’re heading toward the edge of town, where the Hell Reapers have been sniffing around our territory, thinking they can move in while we’re distracted.

They thought wrong.

The convoy snakes through the outskirts, a blur of black leather and chrome. My pulse pounds in time with the engine, every muscle taut, ready for the clash that’s coming. I glance at Larissa again, her eyes locked on the road, determination etched into every line of her face. Pride swells in my chest. She belongs here — with us, with me.

We pull into an abandoned truck yard, the place deserted except for the swirling snow and rusting machinery. Cyclops kills his engine, and the rest of us follow suit. Silence settles, thick and heavy.

We wait.

The Hell Reapers aren’t smart, but they’re predictable. They’ll show. And when they do, we’ll remind them who the fuck they’re dealing with.

A crunch of tires breaks the stillness. My hand tightens on my Glock, the cold metal biting into my palm. Larissa’s beside me, her breath steady, eyes locked on the approaching vehicles.

Three black SUVs roll in, engines snarling. The Reapers spill out, their cuts marking them as enemies. I count a dozen of them. Not enough to take us, but enough to make things messy.

Their leader, a wiry bastard with a snake tattoo winding up his neck, steps forward, a cocky grin on his face. “Cyclops,”

he sneers.

“Didn’t think you’d show up to play.”

Cyclops doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.

“You’ve been sniffing where you shouldn’t, Viper.”

Viper’s grin widens.

“Territory’s just a word, old man. And you’re getting too soft to protect yours.”

Larissa steps forward before I can stop her, her voice like a whip.

“The only thing soft around here is your dick, Viper.”

A ripple of laughter spreads through our ranks. Viper’s eyes narrow, his gaze locking on Larissa.

“Well, if it isn’t Cyclops’ little princess. Didn’t know you let your bitches fight for you now.”

A snarl tears from my throat, but before I can move, Larissa’s already there. She lunges, her fist connecting with Viper’s jaw with a crack that echoes through the yard. He stumbles back, eyes wide with shock and fury.

“You fucking cunt—”

The yard erupts in chaos.

Guns fire, fists fly, and the roar of rage fills the air. I lose sight of Larissa for a second, my blood running cold, but then I see her — a blur of black and silver, a knife in her hand, moving like she was born to spill blood.

I focus on the Reaper in front of me, a beefy asshole swinging a tire iron. He charges, and I sidestep, slamming the butt of my gun into his temple. He crumples, but there’s no time to celebrate. Another comes at me, a blade flashing. I block, twist his wrist until the knife clatters to the ground, and put a bullet in his knee. He screams, falling to the snow-streaked dirt.

I spin, searching for Larissa.

She’s locked in a grapple with Viper, his hand tangled in her hair, a knife at her throat. My heart stops.

“Tex!”

she grits out, her eyes blazing.

I don’t hesitate. I raise my gun, my finger steady on the trigger.

“Let her go, Viper.”

He grins, his teeth red with blood. “Make me.”

His mistake.

I fire.

The bullet punches through his shoulder, and he howls, dropping the knife. Larissa breaks free, spins, and buries her own blade into his thigh. He collapses, screaming.

The fight is over. The Reapers are either dead, wounded, or running.

Larissa straightens, chest heaving, her eyes finding mine. Blood stains her cheek, but she’s grinning like a devil.

I close the distance between us, cupping her face.

“You okay?”

She nods, breathless.

“I told you I could handle it.”

I pull her close, my forehead resting against hers.

“And I told you I’d save you anyway.”

Her lips crash against mine, hard and desperate, and I know one thing for certain:

This war isn’t over.

But neither are we.