by Lane Hart
Before I can answer, Mr. Aikens interrupts us. “You guys can talk more while you’re working. Sasha, you’ve had a chance to talk to your classmates. You can pick two at a time to work with you, we’ll rotate around so everyone gets to be a part of the project. Who do you want to start with?”
Every guy in the class gets quiet as Mr. Aikens makes this announcement, practically holding their breath to see who will be the first to get to worship this angel. I don’t realize I’m doing the same, right up until Sasha nods at me.
“Let me get this one, and his friend, Robbie, over there, to help me get started.”
“All right, Chase, you and Robbie use your time today to go over the car with Sasha and let her give you an overview of the work it’s going to need. Then we’ll have a lesson for the entire class about the tools you’ll use, and…”
Mr. Aikens’s words are drowned out by my pulse thundering in my ears as Sasha walks past me to her car. She’s tall, just a few inches shorter than I am, and when I breathe in her sweet apple scent, I feel an electric surge throughout my body, a jolt so powerful I visibly twitch. With a shudder, I get control of myself and turn to follow her.
Her Mustang is parked over our pit, which Robbie has already climbed down into. “I’m going to check out the undercarriage and try to see what kind of work we’ll need to do!” he calls up to us.
“Where do you want to start?” Sasha asks me as she climbs into the driver’s seat, then pops the hood.
“Well, let’s take a look at…good Lord,” I gasp, lifting the hood.
Sasha grabs a spotlight from the toolbox, then comes around to stand beside me. “Yeah,” she agrees solemnly. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Chase, you gotta check this thing out!” Robbie calls from under our feet. “The axles are new, and so is the transmission. This thing is beautiful!”
“You should take a look at the engine!” I yell down to him. “That is not a stock motor,” I tell Sasha, looking over to see her smiling at my reaction.
“It most certainly is not,” she agrees. “That’s a 475-horsepower coyote crate engine my dad bought me for my seventeenth birthday. I installed the supercharger, right there.” She shines the spotlight across the engine. “I mean, I had to get some help at my dad’s garage to do the whole installation with the new transmission, but it’s coming along well. My dad had the idea of bringing it down to the school to complete the body work. He thought it would be a good way to break the ice since I’m new around here.”
“Who are you?” I ask, even more amazed by this angelic woman.
“I told you, goofball, my name is Sasha Sheridan,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
“I got that part,” I chuckle. “I mean, tell me about yourself. Look around, there are no women in the automotive technology program here. You should be, ah, I don’t know, like a fish out of water. But you, you’re a straight-up killer, a shark among goldfish. This car is damn impressive!”
“What can I say? I love Mustangs,” she tells me, blushing and turning her head. “My dad owns a bunch of Ford dealerships up the East Coast. He moved down here a couple of months ago to set up a new location, and the rest of my family followed him over the Christmas holiday. My dad and I both love cars. He’s done a few restoration projects in the past. This one is for me. We used the garages at his dealerships to do a lot of the initial work and get this baby running, but it still needs a ton of body work. So, like I said, my dad thought it would be a good idea to bring it over here and use it as a conversation starter, help me meet people.”
“I’m not sure if your daddy is going to like the kind of people this hot rod will attract,” I observe.
“People like you?” Sasha teases.
“Oh, god no,” I protest, watching her smile slip slightly at the rejection. “Your parents would love me to death,” I add, immediately bringing back her blush. “I am, after all, a perfect gentleman.”
“Yeah, right.” She snorts out a laugh, then immediately covers her mouth in embarrassment.
“Shine your light over here a moment, please,” I tell Sasha as I notice something down in the engine compartment. “Has she been vibrating some when you open her up, or cruising on the highway?”
“Yeah, actually. When I get it up to speed, it’s like trying to drive a bull,” she says, leaning in with the spotlight.
“See that slight cracking right there?” I tell her, pointing down the side of the engine compartment.
Sasha steps closer to me, trying to see, then passes me the spotlight and leans over to get a better look. When she does, her sweater presses against my bare arm, and I realize her breast is resting on the back of my hand. I jerk my arm back as if it burned me.
“Shit, sorry,” I blurt out.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she replies with a laugh, the curse word falling from her mouth so naturally that I just stare at her in shock. She grabs my hand and pulls me back towards the car. “Stop acting like you’ve never seen a woman before and show me what’s wrong with the freakin’ car.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” I mumble, before shining the light back down into the engine compartment. “That crack right down there? The engine mount is broken. That’s causing the vibration. Probably just an age issue. All this power needs more support than this old frame can provide.”
“For now,” Sasha adds with a grin.
“For now,” I confirm. “I’ll start writing it up for the class. We can pull the engine and figure out what it will need to repair the body, then with some grinding, welding, and painting, you’ll be ready to take this monster down to the short track.”
“How long do you think it will take, overall?” Sasha asks me.
“Eh, with this bunch of yahoos? Probably a few weeks. Mr. Aikens will want to use every piece as a test, watch and see.”
“That’s fine. I would really like to have it done before the end of February, if possible. That’s when I turn eighteen, and having the Mustang finished has been my dream for a while. How about you?”
“You mean, how old am I? Or what car do I dream of? I just turned eighteen a week ago, right after Christmas. As to the second part, I use my dad’s old truck sometimes, but whenever it’s not freezing outside, I ride my bike,” I tell her with pride.
“What, like a ten-speed? You ride that all over town?”
I just stare at her for a long moment before I realize she’s not screwing with me, and that this is a serious question. “No, goofball,” I finally reply with a laugh, throwing the charming insult back at her. “My bike, my motorcycle. Do I look like the Lance Armstrong type?”
She steps back and puts her hands on her hips, looking me up and down. “Not really, no. You look like you’ve got all your parts.”
That makes me blush, because my first thought is that she’s referring to Armstrong only having one ball. Was she checking out my package? Is it that noticeable in my jeans? Without thinking, I blurt out, “Do you want to see it?”
Her mouth falls open in shock before she breaks into a huge grin. “Do you really think this is the best place for you to show off all your parts?”
“No, I meant my motorcycle!” I protest, certain now that she was checking me out. I’ve had girls flirt with me before, but none have ever left me so flustered and off-balance. “Come on, it’s just out back,” I tell her, hoping the cool morning air will clear my head a bit.
She follows me outside and down the stairs to where my bike is parked against the curb. I swing a leg over the seat and stand it up, then ask her, “What do you think?”
Instead of gushing over it, or saying anything at all, she walks a full circle around me and then kneels down by my leg. “I think that it’s unique, I’ll give you that. This wasn’t put together in any official Harley-Davidson factory, was it?”
I lean the bike back over before I dismount, then sigh in chagrin. “Is it that obvious? I couldn’t afford even a used one working part-time around here, so I salvage
d parts from all over to rebuild this thing. Tell me the truth, is it an embarrassment?”
“No, god no,” Sasha says as she stands up. “Are you kidding? I mean, yeah, it won’t win any awards for style, but mechanically, you did a great job. Did you do all this yourself, even painting the tanks and fenders?”
“Yeah, the club has a garage with all the equipment I needed, even an airbrush for the touch-up work.”
“The club?” Sasha asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, the motorcycle club I’m prospecting with,” I confirm, turning around to show her the ‘Prospect’ patch on the back of my vest. “The Savage Kings. They’ve got charters all up and down the East Coast, but the local group are the originals. My uncle is the president.”
“Your uncle…is his name Bishop or…?” Sasha asked.
“Deacon,” I reply with a laugh since her guess was also a church position. “Deacon Fury. He actually just invited me to prospect with them this morning. I’ve got to go out to meet with him later today.”
“Deacon! That was it! My dad was telling us about him over dinner the other night!” Sasha says, catching me by surprise.
“How does your dad know my uncle?” I ask her in confusion.
“My dad was down here getting ready for the opening of his new dealership, when a group of guys on motorcycles roared onto the lot. He said they made him nervous at first, but that a man named Deacon introduced himself as the president and wanted to welcome him to the neighborhood. My dad thought it was going to be an extortion racket or something, but he told us the bikers were actually cool and invited him to set up a booth at a charity event they have coming up, so he could show off some cars. They also told him about the towing company and salvage yard they run nearby,” she explains. “My dad liked the guys so much, he signed contracts to let them handle any towing and repossessions he needs done out here.”
I snort at that. “Well, if he needs those services around here, he probably didn’t have much choice. The club has a bit of a monopoly in the area for that kind of work.”
“At least they were nice about it!” Sasha laughs, picking up the helmet I left hanging on the handlebar. “So, when are you going to take me for a ride?” she asks, plopping the helmet on her head.
I walk around to her and gently lift the helmet back off of her. “I’ve never had anyone ride with me before,” I admit. “I don’t even have an extra helmet. Would you really want to risk riding with someone like me?”
“I don’t know the risk,” she says with a mischievous grin. “Because I don’t know anyone like you. I tell you what, let me hold your phone and I’ll give you my number. That is, if you want to hang out sometime and let me learn more about how ‘risky’ you are.”
“I’d like that,” I tell her. God, if the club could see me fawning over this woman like a damned fool, they’d revoke my offer to prospect. I hand her the flip phone I carry around, and she quickly punches in her name and number.
“When should I expect a call?” Sasha asks. “I’m new here, and with all the attention I’ve been getting…” She trails off as her phone begins to chime in her pocket.
She pulls the phone out of the butt pocket of the tight jeans she was wearing, her forehead crinkling as she stares at the unknown number on the screen. Then, looking up and noticing that I’m still holding my phone open in my hand, she smiles and answers the call with a flourish. “Hello there, this is Sasha speaking,” she drawls, her voice echoing back from the speaker in my hand.
“Hi Sasha, this is Chase,” I reply, stepping closer to her. We’re so close our toes are almost touching, and our two phones begin to break up in static. “I was just calling to see if you would be interested in going for a ride with me tomorrow. I’ll need time to get you a decent helmet, but assuming this weather holds, tomorrow should be a good day for it.”
“Then it’s a date,” Sasha responds with a smile, ending the call and sliding her phone back into her pocket. “It will be good to get to know each other outside of class. I’m going to try to be all business in there while we’re working on my baby. Come on, let’s get back in there and get our plan written up for Mr. Aikens. You seem like you know what you’re doing, Chase Fury, and together, I think we can make something beautiful.”
“I hope so,” I tell her as I linger a moment, letting her get ahead of me. I watch her walk up the stairs before I draw out a cigarette, needing a smoke to help calm my nerves. I’ve hung out with my Uncle Deacon at his clubhouse and seen the kinds of women the Savage Kings keep around. None of them have ever made me feel a fraction of what Sasha has in only these few moments. “We’re not just going to make something beautiful,” I vow to myself. “We’re going to make something eternal.”
Chapter Four
Sasha and I can’t help but flirt with each other throughout the morning. We’re separated all too soon as first period ends, and it turns out we don’t have any afternoon classes together. I don’t see her as I walk across the campus to get to my bike, so with a tinge of regret, I pull out of the lot and try to clear my head as I ride to the Savage Kings’ clubhouse. It will be my first time showing up as an official prospect, not just a hang-around, and I need to make sure I’m on top of my game.
When I rumble into the parking lot, I can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. My Uncle Deacon’s truck is here, along with a couple of other vehicles, but only one motorcycle. A lot of guys ‘winterize’ their bikes, pulling out the batteries and putting them on trickle chargers, or even leaving them up on jacks so the tires don’t get flat spots. I’m still self-conscious about my franken-bike, and the thought of putting it in line with the kinds of rides my brothers own has me sweating bullets.
I pull in beside the new Dyna Glide low rider sitting near the door, taking a moment to eye it enviously. I haven’t seen the bike before, but I haven’t been around the clubhouse enough to even meet all the members, much less get familiar with all their bikes. Hanging up my helmet and sunglasses, I walk to the front door inlaid with the Savage Kings logo, then with a deep steadying breath, step inside.
The front room is huge, spotted with tables for playing cards and drinking. Two pool tables dominate the center, while the bar itself runs along the back of the room. A couple of men I don’t know are playing darts, while my Uncle Deacon is sitting beside one of the club members at a table, looking at something on a laptop. I think the woman behind the bar is Lori, one of the girls who hangs around the club frequently. She’s trimmed her blonde hair into a short pixie cut since the last time I saw her, so it takes me a moment to recognize her. When she spots me standing in the doorway, she puts down the case of beer she was carrying and runs towards me with a squeal.
“Chase, oh my god, look at you in your cut! Deacon said you were starting today as a prospect! I’m so excited!” she gushes as she wraps me in a hug.
“Thanks, Lori,” I tell her, while scowling over her shoulder. This isn’t how I wanted to make my first entrance to the clubhouse. I hug her back, and when she pulls away, I smile at her. She’s been hanging around the club for over a year, and when Deacon first started letting me come over and shoot pool, Lori was very…welcoming.
“I know you’ve probably got stuff to do on your first day, but when you get done, come back later and we’ll celebrate together,” Lori says. Then, leaning over to press her tits into my arm, she whispers, “We’re going to make your first day unforgettable, baby.”
She lifts her head to try and kiss me, but fortunately, Deacon intervenes at that exact moment. “Hey Lori, let me get one for the road before Chase and I head out, will you?”
“Sure thing, Deacon!” she replies, before turning back to me and mouthing, “Later, baby.”
Once she goes back behind the bar, I walk over and take a seat with Deacon and the other club member, who I recognize as Reese, a former soldier who just earned his cut recently.
“You remember Reese, don’t you, Chase?” Deacon says by way of introduction.
“Yeah, we’ve played pool a couple of times while he was prospecting,” I confirm.
Reese doesn’t look up from whatever he’s doing on his laptop, but does give a nod of his head, which I assume is a greeting from the normally quiet man.
“Reese only got his top rocker recently, so he’s going to be working with you during your prospecting period. You’ll meet up with him at the scrapyard later this evening, after Turtle brings you back from a run. Turtle and Eddie have been out doing some repossessions today, but they’ve got one they saved so you could ride along.”
“That sounds good to me. What will I be doing day-to-day while I’m prospecting, exactly? I mean, you know I’ve still got school most of the day. You want me to ride out here every afternoon?”
“Nah, that won’t be necessary,” Deacon tells me. “Most days after school, you can head over to the scrapyard to meet up with Turtle and Eddie. They’re going to show you the ins and outs of some of our businesses. Reese will meet you out there most days for other kinds of training. I wanted you to come out here today so I could show you around the members-only areas of the clubhouse.” Turning to Reese, Deacon asks, “You got him all set up in our system?”
Reese nods to Deacon, then turns to speak to me. “You should be getting a text,” he says cryptically.
My phone vibrates instantly, so I flip it open to see a short text with a four-digit code. “What’s this for?” I ask Reese.
“That’s the passcode to the basement areas, the part of the club that is off-limits to the general public,” Deacon replies. Reese is already packing up his laptop, and as he stands from the table, Deacon continues, “He’s probably going back to his room, so come on, and I’ll show you the downstairs area. You’ll have a room down there, if you ever need a place to crash.”
