Fated in New Orleans

17

River kicked his bike into gear first, tires crunching against the gravel as Miles followed closely behind on his own. The dusk air was cool against their faces, the hum of the engines cutting through the quiet tension that had been hanging over the pack all day.

For the first few minutes, neither spoke, letting the road stretch out and the only sounds be the wind whipping past their helmets. Finally, Miles broke the silence, voice low and thoughtful over the engine roar.

“You ever… think about her?” he asked, not looking at River, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

River’s jaw tightened, the question hanging in the air like smoke. “Which one?” he replied evenly, calm as ever, but there was a faint weight to his words.

Miles smirked, knowing full well which one. “Salem. Don’t play dumb, River. You’ve been watching her since she walked in. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way she moves, the way she handles everyone.”

River’s grip on the handlebars tightened slightly. “I notice a lot of things,” he said carefully. “But noticing and feeling are different.”

Miles snorted, leaning slightly into the turn. “Yeah, try telling your heart that. You think I don’t feel it too? You think I don’t know she’s… dangerous, yeah, but not just to anyone—she’s smart, fast, and somehow… magnetic. Makes it impossible not to care.”

River let out a slow exhale, the words settling between them like the hum of the night. “Magnetic. That’s one word for it. I won’t deny she gets under my skin.” His tone was calm, but the quiet intensity behind it spoke volumes.

Miles glanced over, eyebrows raised under his helmet. “Gets under your skin? River… that’s the understatement of the century.”

River’s gaze returned to the road ahead, voice quieter now. “I’ve seen people like her before. She doesn’t just challenge you—she tests every part of you. But unlike most, I don’t… want to push her away. That’s the problem.”

Miles let a small smile slip under his helmet. “Problem, huh? Funny, I thought that’s the part that makes it interesting.”

River didn’t answer immediately, only let the wind and hum of the engine fill the space between them. When he spoke again, it was measured, calm, but laced with something he rarely admitted aloud. “Interesting isn’t enough. She’s… different. And I’m not sure how to handle that without losing myself—or worse, losing her trust.”

Miles slowed slightly, matching pace, voice low but teasing. “Yeah, welcome to my world, brother. Every time she’s around, I feel like I’ve got to watch my words, my moves… hell, even my thoughts. And somehow I still can’t keep from getting tangled up.”

River let a faint smile tug at the corner of his mouth, a quiet acknowledgment. “So we both feel it.”

Miles laughed softly, a rare sound on the open road. “Finally. Took long enough for one of us to admit it.”

River’s eyes stayed on the road ahead, but his tone softened, just slightly. “Doesn’t make it easier.”

Miles shook his head, grinning under his helmet. “Nope. But it does make it real. And maybe, just maybe… that’s enough to start figuring out how to handle it.”

The two rode on in silence for a while longer, the road stretching ahead, the hum of engines filling the spaces words couldn’t reach. And for the first time, both felt the weight of their feelings without trying to push it away, knowing that facing it—together—was the only way forward.

River and Miles rolled the bikes into the garage, engines whining down to a low hum as the last echoes of their run faded into the evening. The scent of warm rubber and motor oil mingled with the faint tang of the compound’s trees, and for a moment, the quiet was almost peaceful.

Then they spotted her.

Salem was crouched low over her black Jeep, headphones clamped over her ears, oblivious to everything around her. A tight tank top clung to her frame, shorts cut for mobility, the muscles in her arms flexing as she worked with precise, practiced movements. Sparks flew occasionally from her tools, catching the dim garage light.

Miles paused mid-step, eyebrows raising. “Well… that’s one way to unwind after a mission.”

River’s jaw flexed, voice low and even. “She’s focused.”

Miles let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. “Focused, huh? I call that dangerous distraction. Don’t get me wrong—I’m all for efficiency… just… wow.”

River shot him a sharp look. “Miles.”

Miles grinned, unabashed. “I said it, didn’t I?”

Salem muttered something under her breath, the cadence of her Cajun accent barely audible over the faint music leaking from her headphones. She didn’t even glance up, totally absorbed in tightening a stubborn bolt.

River stepped closer, boots quiet on the garage floor. “Need a hand?” he asked calmly, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

Salem flicked a glance at him, one eyebrow arched. “Non. Unless you brought coffee, Alpha, your skills won’t help.”

Miles snorted, leaning casually against a workbench. “Coffee? I’d pay to watch you take a break for a cup. Bet it’s like asking a storm to pause.”

Salem smirked faintly, tugging at a stubborn tool. “Storms don’t pause, cher. They just move around obstacles.”

River’s gaze stayed on her, noting the focused intensity, the way every movement was deliberate. “You really do everything yourself, huh?”

She glanced at him briefly, shrugging. “Would you trust someone else with my Jeep?”

Miles muttered under his breath, grinning. “Wouldn’t matter if we tried. You’d still find a way to outwork us all.”

Salem paused, tightening the last bolt and wiping her hands on a rag. She glanced toward the house. “And, just so you know… it’s safer to stay in the garage. I don’t need to hear Rhea and Beau going on in there.”

River and Miles exchanged a quiet glance, both feeling that familiar mix of respect, amusement, and something harder to define—an awareness that Salem was entirely her own force, impossible to contain, and impossible not to notice.