by Nicole Fox
“You never let me help out with anything fun,” I complained, not caring how young and bratty I sounded. No matter how many times I insisted on helping him out with designs, he never changed his mind on this point, and he always relegated the most menial tasks to me. I wasn't sure how to make him see that I had grown up, and that I kind of knew what I was doing by now. Except …
“The University of Knightsbridge thinks I have some talent anyway,” I told him, pulling the letter out of my pocket. This wasn't how I had pictured telling him about my acceptance into college, and I was definitely leaving him in the lurch now that I knew exactly how huge the new project was (especially if J.T. wanted everything ready to ride by the start of July, which was practically right around the corner!). But at the same time, maybe this would make him see that I could be trusted around the shop every once in a while.
“What is this?” Dad asked, opening the letter.
I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “I've finally decided to go back to school, like you keep telling me to do,” I told him. “I know that it's expensive, but I figure that I can live at home and keep working around the shop on the weekends. And-”
“What are you going to study?” Dad interrupted.
I took a deep breath—here was the moment of truth. “Automotive engineering,” I informed him. “Knightsbridge has a great program for it, and I'm really excited to learn more about all of this stuff. Anyway, they had me submit some of my designs as part of my application, and they really seemed to like them. I talked to this guy who will be my advisor there, and he's really interested in helping me get started in the business. I mean, not that I really need to get started in the business since I already kind of have my foot in the door, thanks to you. But this would be more of a formal education, more-”
“I'm not paying for you to study automotive engineering,” he said, scowling at me. “Jessi, we've been over this a thousand times. I want you to do something more with yourself—something better than what your old man did. You're so smart, and I'd hate to see all of that wasted with you tinkering on bikes for the rest of your life. You could really be out there making a difference in the world.”
“But, Dad, this is what I want to do,” I argued. “I don't think I could do anything better than this. This is what I'm passionate about and what I've always dreamed of doing. You know that.”
“You can't just do this because it seems like the easy way out,” Dad told me, and I felt my anger bubble up even more at that.
“You think that's what I'm doing?” I snapped. “Come with me.” I stormed out into the main part of the shop, to the place where I always left my bag when I was working with him. Angrily, I pulled out my sketchbook and whirled around to hand it to him. “Look at those designs,” I told him. “You think I'm taking the easy way out? I'm good at this, Dad. You've raised me to be good at this. I've had an eye for bikes ever since I was a teenager because I've been helping you out around here for years now, remember? And remember all those bike shows that we've gone to? I can-”
Dad held up a hand, and I trailed off. Despite our disagreements, I still loved and respected him. He was looking with interest at some of the designs, and I could practically see the gears turning in his head. This is it, I thought. This is the moment where he agrees to let me work on designs alongside him.
But instead he shook his head again. “Jessi, some of these designs are ...interesting,” he reluctantly admitted. “But there's just no way that you're going to be able to go to school this summer. Maybe in the fall, when things have settled down a little. But definitely not this summer. Besides J.T.'s new bike, there's-”
“I know we're slammed at the moment,” I sighed. “I'm the one who keeps track of the scheduling and the books, remember?” I smiled a little at him. “But there must be some way for us to figure things out, right? Anyway, it's not really ...” I took another deep breath, because here was the second moment of truth. “It's not really up for debate,” I told him. “I've already paid for the summer session.”
He blinked at me, looking shocked and then resigned. “Of course you have,” he muttered. “I should have known you'd do something like this.”
“I didn't realize I was going to be leaving you in such a lurch,” I told him honestly. “I mean, I thought that if I worked here on the weekends, things would be a bit difficult and there would be long hours, but I didn't expect you to pick up such a huge new project—I'm happy for you, of course, but I-”
“But you shouldn't have to delay going back to school just because I have work that needs to be done,” Dad said, already looking tired. He rubbed at his temples.
“What if you-” I began, but he was shaking his head before I could even finish that thought.
“I'm not hiring someone else,” he said grimly. “This is a family business and always has been. I'll just have to work something out with J.T. We can build his bike for a meet-up later in the year.”
I winced a little because I knew what that meant to him. That could cost us a lot of business, business that we could really use. We both knew that the Fourth of July meet-up was one of the hottest events of the summer, with literally thousands of bikers pouring in from all over the country for a long-distance ride down the coast. Still, I didn't see any way for him to both finish out our current contracts and finish out this new contract on time. And I knew that I wasn't going to be able to convince him to hire someone else.
Best to fight a different battle for now, until I thought up a better idea. “And my designs?” I pressed. “Like I said, I'm not saying you have to use my designs in full, but I really think that given the opportunity to do a little of the design on my own-”
“Jessi,” Dad groaned. “Look, you know I support you going back to school. I'm not sure I support the field that you're going into, but I guess we'll see how that turns out for you. But if I hear one more word about your designs today ...” He trailed off, grimacing a little, and seemed to realize that he sounded like a jerk. ”I need to do this project myself,” he said. “And that's the final word on that matter. I will consider letting you work some of your designs on future projects—smaller projects. But not on J.T.'s bike.”
“Fine,” I finally agreed sullenly. At least it was something. Of course, we'd see if he ever actually let me design anything for the shop, but at least I had a better shot at that now than I had had half an hour ago.
“And you'll be working evenings, but also some weekends, as your schedule permits,” Dad continued. “It's going to be all hands on deck for the next few months, and even then … well, I'll have to talk to J.T.”
It wasn't ideal, but at least he hadn't freaked out about the whole college thing. We'd figure it out. I went back to work with a smile on my face.
Chapter Three
Mick
I had to admit that I was a bit nervous to be calling up J.T. Williams, the regional president of the Hounds of Hades motorcycle club. I'd always kind of dabbled in the biker culture since getting my first bike at seventeen, but I'd never been part of a gang, and especially not the type of gritty, semi-illegal gang that he ran. Of course, I didn't know any of the specifics about what his bikers did, but I could guess that they were up to no good. They had obscene amounts of money to splash on their bikes, which was part of what made them some of my best customers. But it went beyond that.
I could just tell from the way that they held themselves—from the way Rip and the rest of them walked into my shop like they owned the world—that they were up to no good when they weren't hanging around my shop trying to get into Jessi's pants.
Because, yes, I'd noticed that they were interested in her whenever they came by. Even if she was nowhere to be seen when they got there, they were always asking after her. And I'd seen those longing looks. I'm a man. I knew what they meant. And Jessi's a cute girl, especially given that she knows her way around a bike and appreciates some good metal music.
I never wanted her to have any part in this sort
of life. In fact, I'd been pushing for her to go off to college and get out of my shop for years now. But she hadn't listened.
I sighed and scrubbed my hands off on a rag. I'd put this off for long enough, and I was pretty sure I knew what I had to say to J.T.
So I dialed the number that we had on record for him and waited for him to answer.
“Hey, J.T.,” I said when I heard him on the other end of the line. “This is Mick Ford, the Owner of Greyhound Custom Motorcycles. I spoke with Rip the other day about your new bike. First of all, I just wanted to tell you how flattered I am that you-”
“What's the problem?” J.T. interrupted. As always, he was no-nonsense and ready to get down to business. “If you're looking to get a higher price for it-”
“It's not that,” I quickly assured him, because the price he was paying was more than fair, and the last thing I wanted was for him to take his business elsewhere. “Just, there's been a bit of a ...setback.”
“You can't have started working on the thing already,” J.T. scoffed.
“No, it's not that,” I told him. “But the thing is, when I agreed to the contract, I didn't know that Jessi was planning on taking summer courses over at the university.” There was silence on the other end of the line and that gave me the courage to continue speaking. “Of course, I'm really happy that she's going to be going back to school, but she does a lot of the work around the shop—especially managing the books, plus helping out with the odd paint job and organizational tasks. With her gone during the week, it's going to be a bit tight trying to make that July deadline that you were looking at.”
I waited with baited breath for him to respond to that, but he continued to listen, as though he expected me to say something else. So I scrambled for something to say, because this was J.T. Williams that I was talking to. “I think I can get her done before the big Labor Day ride,” I told him. “But I don't think I can get it done any sooner than that.”
I could tell that J.T. was frowning from the way that his tone sounded when he spoke again. “That won't work for me,” he told me. “But perhaps I have a solution that would benefit both of us.”
I frowned as well, wondering what sort of solution he thought that he might have. I was certain that I had thought of every potential solution to the problem—otherwise, I wouldn't have been calling him—but there was a drawback to every one of the solutions. As I had told Jessi, I didn't want to hire someone else into the family business, especially not since I knew what that would do to the shop's monthly profits.
“What do you think of Rip?” J.T. asked me.
I shook my head, even though I knew that J.T. couldn't see it over the phone. “What about him?” I asked.
“He's a very good worker,” J.T. informed me. “He-”
“I'm not interested in hiring another worker,” I interrupted.
“Mick, I'm not interested in having a bike by Labor Day,” J.T. said. “I want it by the Fourth of July, or I don't want it at all. Better yet, I want it by the Fourth of July, or I may have to take my business elsewhere. And I think we both know what happens to Greyhound Custom Motorcycles if the Hounds of Hades no longer look to you for most of their fix-ups.”
I made a face, frustrated by how placid his voice sounded while he was threatening me. The thing was, I knew the fate of the shop was in his hands, just like everything else in the town. He basically owned the place; he could have whatever he wanted. Jessi and I would just have to find a way to manage and to get his new bike done for him—even if it meant we were working all hours of the day and night.
I still doubted our ability to get the project done while meeting all our other deadlines.
I leaned back in my chair and propped my feet up on the desk, trying to reason with the man. “In order for it to be the bike that you really want, I need to have until the end of the summer at least,” I told him. “I mean, even in terms of getting parts delivered, we're going to have a bit of a crunch if you want the thing done within a couple months—and it'll take longer to get the parts we need if Jessi isn't around to do the ordering. She's my main point of contact with my suppliers at this point, and has been for years.”
“Which is all the more reason for Rip to come over and help you guys out,” J.T. argued. “You probably have noticed that Rip never brings in his own bikes for you to work on—that's because he does all the work on them himself. He isn't a designer, but he can get things done right. Not only could he help you with little things like paint jobs, but he could also handle your inventory and books, just like Jessi has been doing. I guarantee it. He probably personally knows all of your suppliers already; he's very good at networking.”
I frowned into the phone and twirled a pen around my fingers. “I don't really want Rip around the shop when Jessi's around,” I admitted frankly to him. “I know-”
“Rip's a good guy,” J.T. snapped, and I could hear the growl of protective loyalty to his words. “He wouldn't do anything to Jessi that she didn't want him to do.”
“I don't doubt that,” I told him, horrified that I might have offended the man. Who knew what that might mean for ...everything. “But Jess is young and ...” I trailed off, not wanting to think about the heated looks I had caught her and Rip exchanging—the looks that I pretended I hadn't seen. I was sure that I had raised Jessi better than that, but there was a reason I wanted her to be off at college as soon as possible …
“Make Rip your office manager,” J.T. pressed. “He's already got some experience in that field. He does a lot for the motorcycle club as well, under a similar job title. And like I said, he knows his way around a bike. I bet he'd be a great asset for your business. I'm not saying that you need to keep him on forever, and you wouldn't need to pay him better than minimum wage. He owes me a favor, that's all. And if you get me the bike delivered by the Fourth of July, then I'll consider things even and make sure everyone knows whose bike it is I'm riding up to the parade ...”
It was the same threat, but told in different words. I had to accept the fact that none of this was in my control anymore—which I should have known from the moment that Rip waltzed through the doors of the shop. Or rather, which I should have known from the moment that the Hounds of Hades became my main clients.
“All right,” I conceded. “Rip can take over as office manager for now, and we'll work to have your bike done by the Fourth of July ride. But I make no promises.”
There was a long silence, and I sat there picturing all the things that J.T. or his guys could do to me if I didn't get the bike finished on time. It would be worse than just destroying my business. I was sure. J.T. wasn't the type of guy that you fucked around with.
Finally, though, he answered me. “All right,” he said simply. “I look forward to seeing what you build for me.” Then there was a click, and I was left with a dead line.
Chapter Four
Rip
I was hanging around the clubhouse with a bunch of the guys when J.T. came up to me. I arched an eyebrow and nudged a seat towards him with my foot, wondering if he'd changed his mind about the new bike or something. J.T. was a great guy and there was no one else who would be better able to lead the Hounds, but I kind of resented being treated like his errand boy so often. I got that the guy had better things to do than talk to Mick Ford, but so did I.
J.T. put his hands on the back of the chair but didn't sit down. “Need to talk to you, kid,” he told me, and everyone else started getting up from the table. That was J.T.'s code for wanting some privacy.
It wasn’t something to do with the bike, then I growled a little at the 'kid' part. Sure, the guy was old enough to be my father, but I wasn't that young. I knew it was just J.T. being J.T., but it never ceased to bother me when he said things like that. So I reached out and snagged the hand of the whore who was currently sitting beside me, giving me a handjob under the table, and I forced her to stay where she was. She looked uncertainly between me and J.T., but she was the club bitch, so it wasn't like s
he had much of a choice. If someone wanted her for something, she had to be there.
J.T. gave me a bit of a disapproving look, no doubt wanting to say something about my antics, but he clearly decided that he had more important things he wanted to talk about. Finally, he dropped into the seat across from me.
“You owe me a favor or two,” he said to me, steepling his fingers in front of his face.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “How do you figure?” I asked.
J.T. raised his eyes incredulously at me. “How do I figure,” he said flatly. He leaned forwards, pointing a sharp finger at me. “You're going to have to start watching your attitude around here, Rip Harris,” he told me.
“Or you'll what?” I snapped. “Kick me out of the club?”
There must be something seriously bothering the man, or else he wouldn't be this sharp with me. But I wasn't about to ask what it was. Let J.T. tell me if that's what he wanted to do. We weren't there to play Twenty Questions.
