Steele’s Redemption

Chapter 4

Jake

Emma disappeared onto the shop floor with Raven that first morning, and I watched her go longer than I should have before Nash cleared his throat behind me.

“You gonna stare at the door all day, or you got work to do?”

“Shut up, Nash.”

He grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

⸻

Emma slept on the couch in my office for three nights.

I told myself it made sense. She had nowhere else to go, nobody knew she was there, and the shop was secure. But by the third night, watching her carefully lower herself onto cushions that weren’t meant for sleeping while trying not to aggravate her ribs, I knew it wasn’t a real solution.

“This can’t be permanent,” I said.

Her expression immediately closed off. “I know. I’ll find somewhere.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She stopped.

“I found furnished rooms four blocks from here. Month-to-month, utilities included. No lease.”

“I can’t afford—”

“I’ll cover the first month. You pay me back out of your checks.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Loan,” I clarified. “Not charity.”

She studied me, searching for the catch.

“How much?”

I told her.

“And I pay you back every check.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“Then that’s the deal.”

By the end of her first week, Emma had a real bed and a lock on her own door.

She also handed me a piece of paper with the exact amount she owed me written across the top.

I wasn’t surprised.

⸻

Over the next two weeks, she settled into the shop like she’d been there for years.

She reorganized the filing system Raven had complained about since I’d hired her, caught two vendor overcharges, and somehow convinced Marcus that stuffing receipts into a coffee can wasn’t bookkeeping.

“I knew where they were,” Marcus complained.

Emma held up the can. “You labeled it Important Crap.”

“It was accurate.”

Raven nearly choked on her coffee.

Emma laughed, and I found myself looking up from the bike I was working on just to hear it.

That was becoming a problem.

Her bruises faded from purple to yellow. The swelling disappeared from her cheek. She still favored her ribs sometimes, but the sharp wince wasn’t there every time she moved anymore.

She was eating more too.

Talking more.

Sometimes arguing.

I liked that one best.

⸻

She stayed late most nights.

Not because I asked her to.

I’d stopped inventing reasons after Nash caught me doing it.

“Raven can close the books,” he’d said.

“Emma’s better at the new filing system.”

“Emma’s the reason you’re still here after nine.”

I hadn’t bothered arguing.

There wasn’t a good argument to make.

Most nights, Emma and I ended up in the break room with cold coffee and whatever conversation happened to find us.

“I used to draw,” she told me one night.

“Used to?”

She traced a finger around the rim of her mug. “I wanted to go to art school.”

“What happened?”

“Derek said it was impractical. That I’d never make money at it.” She shrugged, but there was nothing casual about it. “Eventually I stopped.”

“Because you believed him?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

I wanted to tell her Derek was an i***t.

Instead, I said, “You could draw again.”

She looked at me.

“Doesn’t have to be for money. Doesn’t have to be good. You could just do it because you want to.”

A small smile touched her mouth. “Maybe.”

That smile was becoming a problem too.

⸻

I gave her space on purpose.

Every time I wanted to get closer, I reminded myself of the facts.

I’d found her bleeding behind a hedge.

I signed her paycheck.

I’d paid the first month on her room.

Whether I wanted that power or not, I had it.

Gratitude wasn’t consent. Dependence wasn’t desire. I wasn’t going to become another man who decided what Emma felt because it suited me.

So I kept my hands to myself.

Mostly, I kept my thoughts there too.

⸻

“Why motorcycles?” she asked another night.

“My old man. Taught me to ride when I was eight. Build when I was twelve. Pretty much the only thing we ever did together that didn’t end with one of us yelling.”

“Is he still around?”

“No. Been gone ten years.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He wasn’t a great man.” I nodded toward the shop beyond the break-room door. “But he gave me bikes. I built the rest.”

“The shop?”

“And the club.”

She glanced toward the Steele Riders patch hanging on an old vest near the door. “They’re really family to you, aren’t they?”

“Every one of them.”

“Even Raven?”

“Especially Raven. She’d take a bullet for anybody in this building.”

Raven walked through at exactly the wrong moment.

“Are you telling people about the bullet again?”

Emma’s eyes widened. “There really was a bullet?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I want that story.”

Raven pointed at me. “He’s not allowed to tell it. He makes himself sound heroic.”

“I was heroic.”

“You hid behind a dumpster.”

“I was returning fire.”

Emma laughed so hard she grabbed her healing ribs.

“Don’t make her pop something,” I told Raven.

“Oh, I’m the problem?”

Emma was still smiling when Raven disappeared out front.

I liked seeing her like this.

Too much.

⸻

Later, Nash appeared in the doorway.

“Volkov’s asking about our shipment schedule again.”

My mood shifted immediately. “Why?”

“Says he’s curious.”

“Volkov’s never curious without a reason. Tell him to stay in his territory.”

“Already did.”

Nash left, and I caught Emma watching me.

“Club business?”

“Something like that.”

She didn’t push.

Another thing I liked about her.

⸻

Near ten, Emma closed the invoice folder.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Why do you stay late?”

I leaned back. “I own the place.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

There she was.

I considered lying.

“I like talking to you.”

Her eyes held mine.

“You don’t have to stay,” I added. “Your workday ends at five. You can walk out that door and I won’t take it personally.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

She gathered her things, then looked at me.

“I like talking to you too.”

That landed harder than it should have.

⸻

I walked her the four blocks to her building that night and stayed outside until she was through the door.

Three weeks ago, she’d been a stranger bleeding behind a hedge.

Now I knew how she took her coffee. I knew she hated filing receipts folded in half. I knew she’d once dreamed of art school, and that when she really laughed, she covered her mouth like she wasn’t used to the sound.

She didn’t need rescuing tonight.

She’d simply wanted to stay and talk to me.

And somehow, that scared me more than anything else.

So I got on my bike and drove home.

Whatever was growing between us could wait.

Emma had spent too long having someone else decide the pace of her life.

I wasn’t going to be the next one.