Jilted Mechanic? The Underworld Boss's Queen!

ley

, right there

was the rhythmic, agonizing squeak

s, my father's legacy, feeling every dr

ated my masterpiece-the custom Harley I'd spen

esident of his club, was tangled up with Roxanne "Roxy" Schneide

his favorite glazed donuts-our unspoken weekend tradition. Now,

over the gas tank, and Declan's club cut-the leather vest symbolizing his power-was crumpled beneath

ezing, bone-piercing rage that shot stra

ash, and recorded thirty full seconds of

el toolbox nearby. Without a second of hesitation, I lifted m

NG!

l screws, wrenches, and sockets exploded a

part like frightened stray dogs, fr

aught, only the blind fury of having his fun interr

ping with contempt and provocation. "Oh, poor little thing. Did we interrupt you

on "The Phoenix," now stained with their sweat and fluids. This was

he motorcycle and pulled a f

clan roared, putting up a tough fron

ee and, with practiced, surgical precision, plunged the kni

is

ly, drowning the phoenix I had painstakingly airbrus

f warm donuts into the puddle o

the two of you. A p

hrieks, I turned and strode out into the night. I, Harley

fire in my chest. The garage was tainted, and m

down trailer, instantly assaulted by the

plastering a fake, anxious look on her fac

sharks, and the debt was due. The price to clear i

rayal I had just witnessed merged with the pure absu

la

icious, echoing slap right acros

me?!" I gritted out, every

ing zero shame. Instead, she s

s to pay off my debt such a big deal? You're a little biker bitch anyway, stop ac

the tool belt on the wall, turned, and smash

ed, sending glass shards a

r. I looked at her like she was already a corpse. "Why don't you se

ped the wrench, slammed the door, an