CHAPTER 6

I stared at Jace for a few seconds convinced I’d heard him wrong. “Every motorcycle?” I asked. “The whole club.” He said giving me a small nod. I glanced past him toward the row of motorcycles lined up outside the workshop. There were six parked in the yard today but I knew that wasn’t the full number. “How many bikes are we talking about?” I asked. “Twenty-three at the moment.” He said. “Twenty-three?” I asked and Hunter grinned. “Some of us collect them.” Hunter said. “I’m beginning to think some of you have a problem.” I said and Derek folded his arms. “We prefer the word hobby.” Derek said. “I prefer the word expensive.” I said and Hunter laughed. “You’ll fit in around here just fine.” Hunter said. I rested both hands on the workbench while my brain tried to process what Jace had just offered. Twenty-three motorcycles. Regular servicing, repairs, tyres, brake work and engine rebuilds. Instead of wondering whether customers would come through the roller door each week I’d actually know work was waiting for me. It almost sounded too good to be true. “How would this work?” I finally asked and Jace stepped closer and laid a folder on the counter. “We’d like monthly maintenance contract.” He said and I opened the folder. Everything had already been typed up. Routine services, emergency repairs, priority callouts and replacement parts billed separately. I slowly turned each page while trying not to let my excitement show. The figures printed at the bottom almost made me read them twice. That amount would comfortably cover the mortgage. It would pay the electricity and keep food in the cupboards. For the first time since Uncle Will died, Lawson Customs wouldn’t simply survive. It could actually grow and I looked up at Jace. “You’ve already had this drawn up.” I said. “We wanted to make sure you were interested first.” He said and Hunter scratched the back of his neck. “We’ve spent more money fixing the same bikes twice than we’d like to admit.” Hunter said and Derek nodded. “You’re the first mechanic who’s actually fixed the problems instead of hiding them.” Derek said and I closed the folder. “I told you that I hated clubs.” I said and Hunter laughed. “Yeah. But we’ve grown on you.” Hunter said. “When do you want me to start?” I asked and a small smile appeared on Jace’s face. “Monday.” He said. “I’ll need a service schedule.” I said. “We’ll bring every bike through over the month.” He said. “I’ll also need complete maintenance records.” I said and Hunter winced. “Those might be…incomplete.” Hunter said and I sighed dramatically. “Fantastic.” I said. “We’re getting organized.” He said. “You own twenty three motorcycles and none of you thought paperwork might be useful?” I asked and Hunter looked genuinely thoughtful. “When you put it like that…” Hunter said and I pointed toward the office. “You’re all hopeless.” I said and Derek laughed. “You still taking the job?” Derek asked. “I like impossible projects.” I said. “Good.” He said. “I never said you lot weren’t going to drive me insane.” I said. The club chuckled while Jace reached across the counter and we shook hands. The agreement felt surprisingly simple. No lawyers and no hidden conditions. Just two people agreeing to do business. After the Iron Vipers rode away I carried the folder into the office and sat behind Uncle Will’s old desk. I looked at the monthly payment again and then I looked at the mortgage statement pinned to the noticeboard and a smile slowly spread across my face. “You’d be laughing right now.” I whispered. I could almost picture Uncle Will leaning against the office doorway with grease on his hands and that familiar grin on his face. “Told you people would figure out how good you are.” The rest of the afternoon disappeared into work and for the first time in weeks, every service bay stayed full. George Miller arrived with his vintage Triumph just before lunch. He climbed off the motorcycle and took one look at the empty parking space where the Iron Vipers had been standing and raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been hearing rumors.” George said. “Oh?” I asked. “You’ve become biker approved.” He said. I laughed while rolling his motorcycle onto the lift. “Is that supposed to be an official title?” I asked. “I reckon it should be.” He said. “I was hoping for Queen of England.” I said and George chuckled. “I think biker approved suits you better.” He said. “That sounds significantly less glamorous.” I said. “It probably pays better.” He said and I couldn’t argue with that. While I serviced George’s motorcycle three local riders arrived wanting quotes for repairs. One admitted he’d heard the Iron Vipers were bringing all their motorcycles to Lawson Customs. “If they’re trusting you then you must know what you’re doing.” He said. By the end of the afternoon my booking diary was fuller than it had been since taking over the garage. For the first time I caught myself looking forward instead of constantly worrying about what I might lose. Lawson Customs was finally beginning to feel alive again. The following week settled into a routine I hadn’t expected. Every morning began with coffee, opening the roller door and wondering which members of the Iron Vipers would arrive first. Some came because their motorcycles genuinely needed servicing. Others seemed to invent reasons and Hunter claimed his brakes sounded different. They didn’t. Derek insisted his engine ‘felt grumpy’. I informed him engines didn’t have emotions, although riders often did. Even Jace stopped by more often than necessary and sometimes he didn’t bring a motorcycle at all. He would quietly lean against the workshop wall while I worked, asked how business was going and leave twenty minutes later after drinking one terrible cup of coffee from the office. I finally looked up from an engine one afternoon and sighed dramatically. “You lot do realize this isn’t a social club.” I said and Hunter grinned. “We know.” Hunter said. “It’s a workshop.” I said. “We know.” He repeated. “You keep hanging around anyway.” I said and Hunter shrugged. “It’s comfortable here.” He said and I pointed a spanner at him. “I should start charging an hourly babysitting fee.” I said. “You’d probably make a fortune.” He said. “I probably would.” I said. Despite my complaints, the workshop felt different now. There was laughter where silence used to live. The office no long felt lonely and the days passed much faster than they ever had before. Even George Miller noticed. He wandered in to collect his Triumph, looking around at the familiar leather clad figures drinking coffee near the roller door and chuckled. “You’ve accidentally adopted a motorcycle club.” He said. “I was aiming for a quiet life.” I said. “That ship sailed.” He said. “It exploded, sank and took my peace and quiet with it.” I said. George laughed as he climbed onto his motorcycle. “I’ve never seen you smile this much, Paige.” George said. I opened my mouth to deny it, but the smile that was already sitting on my face gave me away. Before I could answer the bell above the office door chimed and I turned toward the entrance. Tyler walked into the office carrying a large bouquet of flowers and every conversation inside the workshop immediately stopped. “You’ve got to be f*****g kidding me.” I said.