All Chapters of Love On Two Wheels : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Rafe asked me directly on a Friday afternoon while we were both doing the kind of maintenance work that doesn't require enough concentration to prevent conversation.He had been circling the question for days. I had watched him approach it and then veer off a skill he had, of being nearly direct and then pulling back, which was not natural to him and took visible effort. The quality of the effort told me the question mattered.We were cleaning down the bay after a particularly messy carburettor job. Rafe was working one side of the bench, I was working the other, and the radio was on low enough that talking required minimal competition.He said: "Are you staying or going?"I kept wiping down the bench surface."I don't know," I said."That's not a no," he said, with satisfaction."It's also not a yes.""In this garage, 'I don't know' is the same as yes. People who are leaving say 'I'm leaving.' People who don't know where else to go stop knowing where else to go and eventually they'r

Marge told me in the office on a Thursday afternoon.This was three days after the fire. The crew had been quieter since then not tense exactly, but operating at a different level of alertness, the way people do when they have processed a threat and decided on a response but haven't yet had to execute it. Jax moved through the garage with the same unhurried competence as always, but there was something additional in him now a quality of compression, like a spring that has been drawn down.I had been trying not to notice it.I had been failing.Marge came into the office to retrieve something from the filing cabinet and found me there updating the supply records, and she paused in the way she paused when she had decided something."There's something you should know," she said.I looked up.She sat in the chair across from the desk, which she never did during the working day, and she looked at me with the directness of someone who has chosen to give a piece of information and has calc

I didn't know, at the time, what was being set in motion.That's how it works when someone operates several layers removed from the visible surface. You see the effects before you see the cause, and sometimes you never see the cause at all it gets cleaned up and covered before the investigation reaches it. I learned this later, through Sadie's team and the federal investigators who pieced it together from billing records and communications Vanessa's people hadn't been thorough enough to delete.What I knew at the time was ordinary: a week of relative quiet, the kind that follows an escalation and precedes a response. The fire had happened. Jax had chosen to hold. The Saints hadn't made another move yet, and the garage had returned to its working rhythm, slightly more watchful but substantially unchanged.I was building something.Not a bike though I was doing that too, or beginning to, a frame job on a customer's Indian that Jax had assigned me the previous week with the casual assu

The GPS.He told me about it when we got back to the garage, before I could ask, which was strategically sound and which I recognised as such and which did not make me less furious."You tracked my bike," I said."Yes.""Without telling me.""I installed it during the rebuild. It's standard on any bike I service for someone riding alone.""Standard. It's standard to GPS someone's vehicle without their knowledge.""It's standard when the person is riding alone in an area I don't know they know." His voice was level. His face was doing the thing it did when he had decided on a position and was prepared to defend it. "Yes."I set down the cloth I had been using to clean the sand off my forearm."You should have told me.""You would have argued.""Of course I would have argued. That's my right." I felt the anger properly now, the delayed shock of the descent finally moving through me fully. My hands were shaking slightly. Not from fear from the particular adrenaline of someone who has be

Mouse found the cut two days after the accident.He came into the garage with the rear brake assembly laid out on a clean tray and set it on the central workbench where the light was best and stood back in the particular way he stood back from things he had determined, as though giving the conclusion space to speak.Ghost appeared, as he did, from nowhere.I came in from the side bay.Jax came last.The four of us stood around the tray.The brake line section Mouse had isolated was perhaps eight centimetres long. The cut was in the middle of it not at a connector point, not at a place where a casual inspection would naturally look, but mid-line where the hose ran in a straight section between two fixed points. The kind of location a professional would choose: visible only if you were specifically looking, unlikely to fail immediately, calibrated to degrade under pressure over a specific number of brake applications."It's not a blade," Mouse said. "It's a rotary tool. Very small diam