Chapter 7 Chapter seven

The garage was a temple of steel and shadows, lit only by the amber glow of a single heat lamp near the back. I slipped through the side door, my movements as silent as the "Ghost" moniker I’d earned on the track. The air here was thick with the scent of synthetic oil and cold metal, a familiar comfort that usually steadied my nerves. But tonight, my pulse was a frantic mess, thrumming in my throat as I watched the man standing over my bike.

Dax Steele looked different in the solitude of the workshop. The cold, Vice President mask he’d worn upstairs had crumbled, leaving behind a man who looked raw and dangerously exhausted. He was leaning over my Ducati, his large, grease-stained hands resting on the fuel tank with a strange kind of reverence. He looked like he was praying to a machine.

"You said you'd burn it," I whispered, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Dax didn’t flinch. He didn't reach for the weapon at his hip. He simply closed his eyes for a long second before turning to face me. The amber light caught the sharp angles of his face, casting deep shadows into the hollows of his cheeks.

"I said what I had to say to keep my father from putting a bullet in your head, Mia," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "In this club, weakness is a death sentence. If I didn't make them believe I had you under my thumb, you wouldn't have made it to the basement, let alone out of it."

"So the threat was for them?" I stepped into the light, my hands balled into fists. "Or is that just the lie you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?"

Dax moved toward me, his presence taking up the entire room. He didn’t stop until he was inches away, invading my space with that scent of sandalwood and rain that made my head spin. He reached out, his fingers catching a stray lock of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. The touch was so gentle it made my breath hitch.

"I haven't slept in two years, Ghost," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips. "Not since I realized the men I called brothers were the ones who killed your father and my brother. I’ve lived in this lie because it was the only way to get close enough to the heart of the rot to cut it out. And then you showed up."

He leaned closer, his chest brushed against mine, and the anger that had been fueling me began to melt into something far more dangerous. The friction between our bodies was electric, a magnetic pull I was too tired to resist. My hand moved instinctively, resting against the hard muscle of his chest. I could feel his heart hammering not with the steady beat of a liar, but with the frantic rhythm of a man on the edge.

"You’re a Steele," I breathed, though the words lacked their usual bite. "You're the enemy."

"Then why are you still here?" Dax’s voice dropped to a rough whisper. He slid his hand to the nape of my neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin behind my ear. "Why didn't you keep running once you hit the parking lot?"

"I needed my bike," I lied, the words catching in my throat.

Dax let out a soft, dark chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine. "Liar."

He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He tilted my head back and captured my mouth with his. It wasn't the tentative, soft kiss of a first date. It was a collision. It was desperate and hungry, a release of all the tension that had been building since he first pulled up beside me at ninety miles per hour. I tasted leather, smoke, and a deep, aching need that mirrored my own. My fingers tangled in his long hair, pulling him closer, wanting to disappear into the heat of him.

For a moment, the world outside the garage ceased to exist. There were no Death Dealers, no debts, and no ghost of my father watching from the shadows. There was only the weight of Dax’s body against mine and the fire he ignited in my blood a fire that promised to burn me alive if I wasn't careful.

Dax pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against mine. His breathing was ragged, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that felt more intimate than the kiss. "If you stay, Mia, you’re choosing a war. My father won’t stop until he breaks us both. But if you race for the Wolves, if you win that championship, we can take the club from him. We can clear your father’s name properly."

I looked at the Ducati, then back at the man who was currently holding my soul in his hands. I knew the risks. I knew that loving Dax Steele was like dancing in a gasoline rain with a lit match. But as his hand slid down to grip mine, pressing the biometric key back into my palm, I knew I was already gone.

"I don't race for the Wolves," I said, my voice finally steady. "I race for revenge. And I race for you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He straightened up, the mask of the Vice President sliding back into place as the sound of heavy boots echoed on the gravel outside.

"Someone's coming," he said, stepping away from me and picking up a wrench as if he’d been working the entire time. "Get on the bike. We need to make this look real."

The garage door rattled as Dutch and Snake pushed their way in. Dutch looked from Dax to me, his eyes suspicious as he took in my unzipped jacket and flushed face.

"She's out of the cage," Dutch barked, his hand resting on the holster at his hip. "Explain yourself, Dax."

"She's not a prisoner, Dutch. She's an asset," Dax replied without looking up from the engine. "I brought her up to tune the bike. No one touches this Ducati but her. If we want that territory, we play by her rules until the race is over."

Snake stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with malice. "And what if she decides to take a little detour during a practice run? What stops her from disappearing into the night?"

Dax looked at me then, a silent message passing between us that made my heart skip a beat.

"She won't leave," Dax said, his voice cold and certain. "Because I have something she wants more than her freedom."

"And what’s that?" Dutch asked.

Dax stepped toward me, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him in front of his father. The touch was rougher now, a performance for the monsters watching us, but I could feel the slight tremor in his fingers.

"The truth," Dax said. "And the man who actually pulled the trigger on her father."

My blood ran cold. The garage fire hadn't killed him the heart attack had. Or so I’d been told. I looked at Dax, searching for the lie, but all I saw was a grim, deadly promise.

"You lied to me," I whispered, the words intended for the audience.

"I saved the best for last, Princess," Dax sneered, though his eyes told a different story. "Now get to work. We have a championship to win."

As Dutch and Snake turned to leave, satisfied with the display of dominance, Dax leaned in one last time, his lips brushing my ear.

"The race is rigged, Mia," he hissed. "They aren't planning on letting you cross the finish line alive."