Chapter 4

I woke up before the sun rose. The clubhouse hadn't even opened yet. A thin line of sunlight cracked through the small spaces, lighting the dust that hung in the loft like smoke. Something felt off and I felt danger was looming around the corner waiting for something to happen.

The moment I sat up, my eyes fell on an envelope which was pushed halfway under the door. But I hadn't heard any footsteps on the stairs so I couldn't help but wonder how it got there. Whoever brought it knew how to move quietly.

I picked it up, tore it open and took a seat. Inside was a single spark plug and a note and absolutely nothing else. I held the clean sparkling plug wondering what the hell was going on. My fingers clenched around the spark plug and a memory hit me out of the blues. They had lied that Saint’s bike had blown because of a faulty plug but I was there and I knew better . But that was exactly what pulled my attention to this one… this one looked identical to the model he used before the fire. I knew that because I was in charge of his maintenance, it was the same brand. 

I stared at it, trying to read the message between all of this. It sure as hell wasn’t just a threat but it looked like it was bait. It is either someone wanted me to look deeper into the issue or they wanted me to know they had their eyes on me. I pocketed it and walked to the door. The hall was empty when I opened it and the smell of oil and last night’s whiskey drifted from the garage below.

I spent most of the morning downstairs, fixing up one of the club’s old Harleys while trying not to think about how that spark plug had burned a hole through my thoughts. By the time I stretched out while wiping my hands clean, I saw Bishop’s reflection in the mirror hanging above the workbench.

He was alone… that had never happened. He wore one of his expensive jackets and a gold chain glinted against his throat. The man was a sermon in sin, all polish and poison.

“Good morning, Riven,” he said, smiling like we were old friends catching up. “You always did like fixing things, didn't you?”

I didn’t answer. Then he stepped closer, hands in his pockets. “It is just such a shame you couldn’t fix your loyalty.”

Wait, what? I wanted to fire back but I was already walking on hot coal and needed to play safe so I leaned against the bench, waiting for him to finish yapping and leave. 

He nodded at the bike beside me. “I see you rebuilt Saints Panhead.”

“Piece by piece.” I responded with a thin smile. 

“Poetic,” he murmured. “A man dies in flames and his memory gets resurrected in steel. You ever think maybe that’s bad luck?”

I looked up at him. “You believe in luck, Bishop?”

He grinned. “I believe in control. The ones who lose it always end up losing everything ”

He reached into his jacket and slid a brown envelope across the bench. I didn’t need to open it to know what it was… but why was he giving me cash? 

“I don't remember begging for handouts, Bishop.”

“Take it,” he cut me. “I need you to disappear for good. You've brought enough badluck and bad energy here so just take it and leave.”

I let the silence stretch until it became unbearable. Then I said quietly, “Tell me, are you offering me peace, or trying to buy your own?”

He tilted his head. “What’s the difference?”

I didn’t take the envelope, instead I deliberately pressed my had to the surface as I rested against the bench. A small red light blinked once inside the wrist joint. I was recording everything..

“Saint said the same thing, you know,” he added on his way out. “Right before his bike went up. He questioned almost everything I said and now that I think of it, little wonder you were his boy.”

He didn't wait for me to respond, instead he turned around to leave. 

“Wait,” I shouted just before he stepped out. “Remember what you said about control? If I were you, I would be careful to not be a victim of my own words.” 

He turned around, gave me a death stare and walked out. When the door closed, I finally exhaled. My pulse was steady, but my thoughts weren’t. I’d come back to the Saints to dig through their lies, but every time Bishop opened his mouth, he gave me more dirt to choke on. These people were not making it any easier. 

I picked up the envelope and tucked it under a pile of scrap metal. I wasn’t taking his money, but I wasn’t leaving it out, either. The cash was bait, just like the spark plug. Every move was a test.

And suddenly, I couldn't help but wonder if the plug was from him too. Did Bishop have anything to do with Saints passing? 

……….

It was a long day and it took forever for dusk to fall but when it finally did, I was completely exhausted and spent. The loft smelled like rain, metal, and smoke and I sat on the floor near the open window, soldering the edge of my where the wiring had burnt through earlier. My hand shook a little, though I told myself it was just from the heat.

Then a knock sounded against the doorframe. Can these people stop following me around? I didn't even get a chance to respond before Luca pushed the door open. He was leaning half in shadow, his shirt open at the chest and hair still damp from a shower. He looked like trouble dressed in calm.

 I instantly gulped for air. I knew Luca had grown but this… this was too tempting. I got a glimpse of his hairy chest and strong abs and my throat instantly grew dry. 

“Do you ever sleep?” he asked, pulling me out of my trip to Fantasy Island. 

“Only when I forget I’m supposed to be awake.”

He came closer, hands in his pockets, scanning the tools scattered around me. “Bishop told me he stopped by. Should I ask what that was about?”

“If he didn't mention that part to you. I don't think he wants you to know.”

“So you're not saying a word? Are you working with him now? Is that why you're this calm?”

“I didn’t take any money, if that’s what you mean.”

He let out a low laugh, but there wasn’t humor in it. “I didn't say that.”

“You insinuated it.”

He sat on the window ledge beside me and the night air slid in, cool and thick with the smell of fuel from the street below.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The hum of engines drifted from the highway, distant and steady. I could feel his eyes on me. Not hard, not curious and searching.

The silence between us deepened until I could hear the faint ticking of the old clock by the window. Luca leaned back and every now and then the soft flicker of the iron lit the angles of his face.

“You’ve changed,” he said after a while.

“So have you,” I replied without looking up.

He chuckled under his breath. “I guess we both had to.”

The hum of engines in the distance carried through the night made the air feel heavier and I could feel him stare at me like he was studying me- just the same way he used to when he thought I wasn't looking. 

“You know,” I said quietly, surprising even myself, “I missed you when I was gone.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. 

He stopped moving, eyes narrowing slightly. “You did?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a laugh that sounded too fake. “More than I wanted to admit.”

He tilted his head. “How much is more?”

I set the iron down and leaned back against the wall. “There were nights I thought about coming back, just to see if you were still here. But I couldn’t.”

“And why not?” His voice was softer now.

I looked at him and shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand, Luca.”

“Then make me understand,” he said. “Try.”

I met his eyes, and the world outside seemed to fade out. I wanted to tell him everything, I wanted to share the part of me that had broken the night Saint died but i knew I couldn't. At least not yet.

“One day,” I said quietly. “You’ll understand. I promise you.”

Something in his gaze changed and I took a step forward. The distance between us dissolved and before I knew what I was doing, he was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his skin and the faint smell of smoke and soap on him. My heart was pounding so hard I thought he could hear it.

He didn’t move and so I reached up, my hand brushing against his jaw. I lifted it tentatively and brought mine down. Hesitantly, I planted my lips on his. The kiss felt like weather or not we wanted this but it deepened quickly, the years of silence and memory pressing into it until I forgot where the past ended and the present began.

My hand traveled down the chest I had been staring at the whole time and rested on his strong abs. Luca explored my body pulling his hands downwards until it rested on my dick. 

“Fuck!”

I pulled back breathing heavily. Luca’s eyes searched mine, wide and confused, and the air between us trembled with what almost happened next. It took all the will power in me to step away before I couldn't anymore. 

“I can’t,” I said, my voice low. “Not like this.”

He stared at me, hurt flickering across his face. “But you said you missed me.”

“I did,” I whispered. “But I don’t want things to go this way. You're just doing this because you're in a bad place and this is the only reminder of the past you've had in six years.”

He looked at me for a long second, anger and pain twisting behind his eyes. Then he let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “And what if it was?”

I didn't respond.

“Of course. What did I expect? If you had even wanted me in the first place you wouldn't have left in the first place. But no, it's just about you and how anything affects you. Now you're acting like it's actually me you're looking out for. You self absorbed bastard.” Before I could say a word, he turned and stormed out, the door slamming behind him hard enough to rattle the windowpanes.

The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. I sank back against the wall, closing my eyes. Did he really think that of me?