Claimed By The Biker Colusses

Hands That Could Crush

The garage door was still locked, but my heart felt wide open and stupidly exposed.

I stared at the phone in my grease-streaked hand like it might bite me. Mom’s voice kept looping in my head — shaky, guilt-heavy, the same tone she used when Marco wrecked her car for the third time and I was the one who fixed it. He’s still your brother.

“Still an asshole, you mean,” I muttered to the half-built chopper on the lift. I gave its frame a little pat like it was an old friend. “At least you don’t steal my savings and sell me to bikers.”

The side door rattled. Three sharp knocks — Colossus’s signature. Not loud, but solid. Like everything about him.

I unlocked it. He stepped inside, ducking slightly even though the door was tall, and the whole garage suddenly felt warmer. Smaller. His cut was dusty from church, and there was a fresh scuff on one knuckle. Those pale gray eyes found mine immediately, searching like he expected me to be halfway out the back window.

“You’re still here,” he said, voice that low gravel I was starting to crave.

“Shocking, right? I didn’t run when my mom tried to guilt-trip me into saving Marco’s sorry ass.” I tossed the phone onto the workbench and wiped my hands. “Reapers want a sit-down. They’re using him as bait. Classic.”

Colossus closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed. The pose made his biceps strain against the sleeves of his tee, but he wasn’t trying to look intimidating. He just… took up space. Naturally. Like a mountain that decided to hang out in your garage.

He rubbed the back of his neck — a rare tell I’d noticed. “Club’s not handing you over. Viper told them to shove their sit-down up their exhaust. But your mom… she called the gate twice. Crying.”

I laughed, short and bitter. “She cries real pretty when Marco’s in trouble. I’ve heard that soundtrack since I was twelve.”

A beat of silence. Then, surprisingly, the corner of Colossus’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough to make my stomach flip. “You talk to bikes like they’re people. You know that?”

I blinked. “They listen better than most humans.”

He pushed off the door and crossed the garage in three slow steps. Up close, he smelled like road dust, leather, and that faint hint of the cedar soap he used. His hand hovered near my hip, not touching, but close enough that the heat rolled off his palm.

“You’re shaking again,” he said softly.

“Not from Marco.” I looked up — way up — and met those stormy gray eyes. “From the fact that you kissed me like you meant it… then walked away like you were scared you’d accidentally snap me in half.”

His breath caught. The giant actually flushed a little under the beard. “I did mean it. Every second. But these hands—” He lifted one between us, turning it palm-up like it was evidence in a trial. “They’ve done damage, Lena. Real damage. I spent five years keeping everyone at arm’s length so I wouldn’t add another name to the list.”

I stepped into the space he always left for me. My smaller hand slid under his, supporting the weight like I had in my room that night. His fingers curled slowly around mine — careful, trembling, but warm.

“Feel that?” I whispered. “I’m not glass. I’m the girl who rebuilt a chopper from a junkyard frame that everyone said was trash. I’ve got dents. I’ve got cracks. But I’m still standing.”

His thumb brushed my knuckles, slow and reverent. The touch sent sparks straight down my spine. “You’re the first person who’s ever made me want to forget the scar. Made me want to risk it.”

The air between us crackled. I rose on my toes, heart hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it. His free hand settled at the small of my back, big enough to span almost my entire waist, pulling me closer until my chest brushed his leather cut.

“Kiss me again,” I said, voice husky. “And this time don’t stop like you’re waiting for me to shatter.”

Colossus groaned low in his throat — a sound so raw and human it made my knees weak. He bent down, beard scraping my jaw in the best way, and captured my mouth like he was starving.

This kiss wasn’t careful. It was deep, hungry, a little desperate. His massive hands cradled my face and lower back like I was both precious and unbreakable. I tasted salt and want and the faint metallic edge of the road. One of his thumbs stroked my cheek while the other hand slid under the hem of my shirt, calloused palm against bare skin — warm, rough, perfect.

I melted into him, fingers fisting his cut, pulling him closer. He lifted me effortlessly onto the workbench without breaking the kiss, setting me down like I weighed nothing. My legs parted so he could step between them. The size difference should’ve felt overwhelming. Instead it felt right — like I was exactly where I belonged.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breathing hard. “You’re gonna kill me, Lena Voss.”

“Good,” I teased, voice breathless. “Because I’ve never felt safer than when your hands are on me.”

A low chuckle rumbled out of him — deep, genuine, the kind of laugh I suspected few people ever heard. “Careful. I might start believing you.”

I grinned and nipped his bottom lip. “Believe it, mountain man. I fix broken things for a living. And right now, the only thing I want to rebuild is whatever wall you’re still hiding behind.”

His eyes softened, the storm in them calming for once. He brushed a strand of hair from my face with a gentleness that made my chest ache.

“Club’s riding out again tonight,” he said quietly. “Reapers are pushing hard. I want you in the cage, but… I also want you to know you’ve got a choice. You’re not trapped here. Not by me. Never by me.”

I kissed him again, softer this time, pouring every messy, terrified, hopeful feeling into it.

“I’m choosing this,” I whispered against his mouth. “Giant hands, scars, overprotective growling, and all.”

He smiled — a real one this time, crooked and boyish under the beard. “Then I’m choosing you right back, wrench girl. Every damn day.”

Outside, bikes started rumbling to life for the evening run. The real world was still waiting — Marco, Mom, the Reapers, the war.

But in this garage, with Colossus’s arms around me and his heartbeat steady under my palm, the world felt a little less heavy.

A little more ours.