Velvet Steel

Chapter 2: The Biker and The Brat

The next morning, Aubrey woke up still annoyed—and somehow, that made her more annoyed.

She didn’t like how that Murphy guy had gotten under her skin. He didn’t flirt like the others. He didn’t try to impress her, didn’t act all charming or fake-smooth. He just stared like he knew something about her. Like he saw through the makeup, the bratty comebacks, the short skirts, and the thick armor she wore like a second skin.

And worse? He wasn’t wrong.

She hated that.

Pulling on a short black pleated skirt and a pastel pink long-sleeve crop top that tied in the front, she smoothed down her curls and grabbed her purse. She had a shift to cover at Eden’s Edge, the retro diner she worked at just outside Reaper territory. Tips were decent, and the neon sign made for good i********: selfies when the light hit just right. But mostly, it was predictable.

Unlike him.

Murphy.

She scoffed, tossing on her black platform boots and locking her apartment door. Just thinking his name made something twist in her chest—unwelcome and unfamiliar.

---

By noon, she was pouring coffee for a pair of truckers when the bell over the diner door jingled.

Her stomach dipped.

She didn’t have to turn around to know.

She felt it.

Like a storm rolling in—calm, quiet, and damn near suffocating.

Murphy walked in like he owned the place.

Jeans. Black Henley stretched over broad shoulders. Leather cut with the Hellbound Reapers patch over his heart. A scar beneath his right eye. His eyes? Still sharp. Still watching her like she was the only thing in the room worth noticing.

He sat at the counter.

Didn’t say a word.

Just looked at her.

Aubrey grabbed the coffee pot and approached with a smirk painted on.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the bodyguard I never asked for.”

Murphy raised a brow. “If it isn’t the brat I can’t stop thinking about.”

Her cheeks went warm, but she ignored it. “You here to eat or stare?”

“Both,” he said without missing a beat. “Coffee, black. And whatever you think I’ll like.”

“Oh,” she said, pouring him a cup. “So you want me to feed you and read your mind. Typical.”

“You can handle it.”

“And what makes you think that?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “Because you walked into a Reapers bar in boots and glitter with a mouth full of fire and didn’t flinch. You might act like you don’t want my attention, but you know damn well you can hold it.”

Aubrey paused.

That got too close to the truth.

She stepped back, chewing her lip ring. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who doesn’t know me.”

“I plan to.”

“Yeah? What if I don’t want you to?”

His expression didn’t change. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You’re real full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“No,” he said. “Just full of you.”

She stared at him, stunned into silence. He said it so calmly. No smirk. No smug. Just... fact.

“I’m not some toy you can claim,” she muttered, voice low now.

“I don’t play with toys,” he said. “I protect what’s mine.”

She froze.

He said what’s mine like it wasn’t up for debate.

She dropped the coffee pot back on the burner harder than necessary, ignoring the way her fingers shook. “You got issues, Murphy. Seriously.”

“I’ve got instincts,” he corrected, sipping the hot coffee like it didn’t burn. “And they’re screaming that you need someone to look out for you.”

“I can look out for myself.”

“Sure,” he said. “And when you burn out from doing that twenty-four-seven, I’ll still be here.”

She turned away, heat crawling up her neck. Why was this man like this? Why didn’t he back down like everyone else?

---

A few hours later, she was heading out behind the diner for her break, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other. She didn’t light it. Just liked having something to do with her fingers.

“Your tire’s flat.”

She turned.

Murphy again, standing next to her car, one hand casually resting on the hood.

“What the hell—have you been waiting out here?”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on it. But I saw it from the window.”

Aubrey walked over, inspecting the back tire. Sure enough, it was half-deflated, a tiny nail lodged in the sidewall.

“Great,” she muttered. “Just great.”

Murphy knelt down, running a hand over it. “You drive this home and you’ll shred the whole thing.”

“I can handle it.”

“No,” he said. “You don’t have to.”

Aubrey looked at him. His face was neutral, but his hands were already moving—reaching into the back of his bike for a patch kit, tools. He didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. Just started fixing it.

She stood there, arms crossed.

“You always this pushy?” she asked.

“Only when I care.”

Her heart stuttered.

“Why?” she asked, honest for once. “Why do you care?”

He didn’t look up. “Because I’ve seen girls like you before.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know the look in your eyes when you think no one’s watching. I know you talk loud and walk proud because someone once made you feel small. And I know you keep waiting for someone to give a damn without asking you to be anyone but you.”

Aubrey felt like the ground shifted beneath her feet.

He stood, wiping grease on a rag. “Tire’s patched. Won’t hold forever, but it’ll get you home.”

She couldn’t speak.

He moved to get back on his bike, but paused.

“I’m not here to cage you, Aubrey,” he said, voice low. “I just want to be the one you run to when you’re tired of fighting.”

She swallowed hard.

“I’m not yours,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Not yet.”

And then he was gone.

His bike roared to life, cutting through the still afternoon, leaving her with nothing but the smell of gas and leather and a storm brewing in her chest.