Jax's POV
The garage reeked of gasoline and nerves. I stood by the workbench, arms folded, watching the two new dirt bikes get wheeled out onto the dirt track behind the hideout. Matte black frames, same specs down to the last bolt. I made sure of that myself. No excuses today. No room for anybody crying foul afterward.
Valentina paced beside her bike like a cat forced into a cage that wasn't hers. She kept running her fingers over the handlebars as if she could turn the machine into being her precious Harley.
“You could've at least let me get a feel for it first,” she hissed at me, low enough that only I could hear.
“Life doesn't warm you up before it throws a punch, sweetheart.” I lit a cigarette and let the smoke curl between us. “Consider this character building, queen of the turf”
