The Mechanic's Code
1214 Words
Lena
“You’re telling me this gasket is going to hold, Lena? Because last time I took it to the shop on 5th they said the whole block was cracked.”
I don’t look up from the vintage Triumph engine spread open on my workbench. I reach for my 10mm socket and tighten the last bolt. “Old Man Joe, if this gasket leaks even a drop of oil in the next six months, you can come back here and use my favorite wrench as a hood ornament. Your block isn’t cracked. They just didn’t want to clean the seat properly. Laziness is the biggest disease in this industry.”
Joe chuckles, a wheezing laugh that rattles in his chest. “You’re a spitfire, girl. Just like your old man. He never let a machine leave this shop unless it sounded like a choir.”
“Dad believed if you respect a machine, it won’t betray you when you’re doing eighty on a dark highway,” I reply, wiping grease from my hands.
Joe pays, thanks me, and rides off. I watch the Triumph disappear down the street, its engine humming smoother than when it arrived.
For a moment, peace settles over the garage.
The sun is sinking, gold light stretching across the concrete floor. For a few hours every day, I get to pretend life is simple—just engines, tools, and neighbors who trust me to keep their wheels turning.
But peace never lasts.
I’m wiping my bench when the air in the garage shifts.
“You have a habit of underselling yourself, Lena,” a voice says behind me. “That repair was worth a hundred, easy.”
I turn slowly.
Max Rossi is leaning against the open garage door, looking like trouble wrapped in expensive leather. Dark jeans, charcoal shirt, biker vest. The Mafia King of the Crown pretending to be just another rider.
“It’s called a community rate, Rossi,” I say, folding my arms. “Not everyone in this town trades in blood and contraband.”
He walks toward me, boots clicking on the concrete.
“Community doesn’t pay for chemotherapy,” he says quietly. “Community doesn’t fix a collapsing roof.”
“Maybe not,” I shoot back. “But community doesn’t come with strings attached.”
His eyes narrow, amused.
“I’m moving a shipment through the docks tonight,” he says. “The Vipers think they can skim off the top. They’ve been asking about the girl in the garage who talks to the King of the Crown.”
A cold knot twists in my stomach.
“I told you already,” I say. “I’m not your leverage.”
Max moves suddenly, his hand landing on the workbench beside me. He cages me without touching me.
“You’re already in the ledger, Lena,” he murmurs. “Your name is written next to mine whether you like it or not.”
“Then erase it.”
“Some things can’t be erased.”
He studies my face like I’m a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet.
“You’re a tigress hiding in a garage full of house cats,” he says. “Did you really think the world wouldn’t notice eventually?”
“I was doing fine until you showed up.”
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face.
“I’m offering you a throne.”
“I don’t want a throne,” I say. “I want a wrench and a quiet life.”
He laughs softly.
“I’ll be around,” he says, turning toward the door. “And Lena… don’t go to the docks tonight. Stay in the light.”
Then he disappears into the twilight.
~★~
Max
I stand across the street, watching the garage through the window.
Inside, Lena is scrubbing the floor like she’s trying to erase our conversation.
“She’s a spitfire,” Victor says beside me, checking his gun. “But she’s going to get us killed. The Vipers are already at the north gate.”
“She’s not my heart,” I mutter.
Victor glances at me.
“She’s my conscience.”
The words surprise even me.
“If they can’t get to you,” Victor says quietly, “they’ll take her.”
My hands curl into fists.
“They won’t get within a mile of her.”
“Max, the shipment—”
“The shipment can burn,” I snap. “The cargo can sink. But that girl stays alive.”
Victor studies me carefully.
“You’re letting her stay independent while wolves are circling,” he says. “Eventually you’ll have to force her into the cage.”
“She’s not a bird,” I say. “She’s a tigress.”
And if anyone tries to cage her—
They’ll regret it.
~★~
Lena
By ten o’clock the garage is locked and I’m walking home.
Max’s warning echoes in my head.
Don’t go to the docks.
Naturally, that’s exactly where I am.
Miller called twenty minutes ago. His truck broke down near Pier 14 and he sounded panicked. The old man has a weak heart. I couldn’t leave him stranded.
The docks smell like salt, diesel, and rot.
“Miller?” I call.
No answer.
His truck sits near the edge of the pier, hood raised. But the driver’s seat is empty.
Something feels wrong.
Then headlights explode through the darkness behind me.
One bike.
Two.
Three.
They circle me slowly like sharks.
Their vests show a coiled snake around a dagger.
Vipers.
The lead rider dismounts, a knife glinting in the moonlight.
“Well,” he sneers. “Look what the King left lying around.”
“I’m the mechanic who’s about to break your jaw if you step closer,” I say, sliding the brass knuckles Raven gave me onto my fingers.
The men laugh.
“Rossi thinks he owns this city,” the Viper says, raising the knife. “We like breaking things the King loves.”
The blade stops inches from my throat.
“Tell me,” he whispers. “Does he scream for you?”
“Get your hand off her.”
The voice comes from the darkness.
Max steps into the moonlight.
No weapon. No armor.
Just fury.
The Viper stiffens. “Rossi.”
Max walks past me and grabs the man’s wrist.
Bone creaks.
The Viper drops to his knees screaming.
Headlights blaze to life around the pier as Iron Crown riders emerge from the shadows.
The Vipers are surrounded.
Max glances back at me.
“I told you to stay in the light.”
“I had to help Miller.”
His jaw tightens.
He steps closer, his shadow swallowing mine.
“You think this was coincidence?” he murmurs.
I hesitate.
Because suddenly something feels terribly wrong.
Max tilts his head slightly toward the empty truck.
“Miller didn’t call you, Lena,” he says quietly.
My stomach drops.
“If he didn’t call me…”
Max’s eyes darken as distant motorcycle engines begin to roar somewhere behind us.
“Then ask yourself this,” he whispers.
“Who knew you would come here tonight—and what are they doing at your house while you’re standing on this dock?”
- Writer
