Baddie Cinderella with 4 MC bullies Riders

Chapter 4

Dani's POV

The dirt parking lot behind the main race track was completely packed. The Iron Run Circuit qualifier was only a few days away, and motorcycle clubs from all over the country were pulling into our small town. The air smelled strongly like burning gasoline, hot dust, and cheap beer. I spent most of my afternoon walking through the crowded paddock, completely fascinated by everything around me. Everywhere I looked, there were heavy cruiser bikes and custom racing machines I had never seen before. Each club had their own colors, their own riding styles, and their own unique way of building their motorcycles.

I walked up to a large group of guys wearing green leather vests. One of their mechanics was working hard on a beautiful, bright blue chopper.

"Excuse me," I said gently, pointing at the open engine block. "Are you running a dual-carburetor setup on that motor?"

The mechanic, a big guy with a thick red beard, looked up and smiled widely. "Yeah, I am. Good eye. It gives us a much better throttle response out of the sharp dirt corners."

"Does it make the engine run too hot when you hit top speed?" I asked, stepping closer to get a really good look at the fuel lines.

"Not if you tune the fuel mix exactly right," he replied, handing me a heavy, greasy wrench to hold while he checked a rubber belt. "You have to run it just a little bit rich. What club are you with, kid?"

"Iron Blade," I said proudly, handing the wrench back to him.

"Well, tell your riders to watch out on the track," he laughed loudly. "We are bringing the heat this year."

I thanked him for the tip and kept walking down the row of tents. Curious as always, I started talking to as many different mechanics as I could find. I wanted to exchange repair ideas and learn their garage secrets. Some of them were friendly and helpful like the guy with the red beard. But others were completely different.

"Hey, what kind of gear ratio are you using for the highway stretch?" I asked an older mechanic from a California club.

The man looked me up and down and sneered. "Why do you care, little girl? Are you lost? The merchandise tent is over by the front gate. Go buy a t-shirt and let the real men work."

"I am a mechanic for Iron Blade," I said smoothly, keeping my voice calm and steady. "I just wanted to talk shop and talk about your gears."

"Sure you are," he laughed a mean, ugly laugh, turning his back on me completely. "Go play somewhere else before you get dirty oil on your pretty face."

My chest burned with sudden anger, but I did not argue with him. I knew my small size and my young age made it way too easy for these rough biker guys to dismiss me. Instead of yelling or making a scene, I quietly remembered everything I saw on his bike. I noticed exactly how he routed his silver oil lines and how he set up his rear suspension. I was completely determined to improve my own skills, whether these old men wanted to help me or not.

Later in the afternoon, the sun started beating down hard. I stopped by a pit area belonging to the Desert Skulls MC. A tall, skinny mechanic with a green snake tattoo on his neck was busy adjusting the top valves on a flat-black racing cruiser.

"That is a massive engine," I said politely. "Are you worried about the valve clearance overheating on a long track?"

The skinny mechanic looked at me. His eyes were cold, but he quickly put on a very fake, wide smile. "Actually, I have a secret racing trick for these big motors. If you want that extra horsepower on the straight dirt track, you need to tighten the intake valves completely down. Zero clearance."

"Zero clearance?" I asked, my eyebrows going up in surprise. "Doesn't that keep the valve open slightly? I thought that was dangerous."

"No, it seats perfectly when the engine gets really hot," he lied smoothly, wiping his hands on a towel. "It gives you way more top-end speed on the final lap. You should definitely try it on your Iron Blade bikes. It will guarantee you guys a big win."

"Really?" I murmured slowly.

I thought about the black racing cruiser Big Mike was working on back at our garage. Maybe this skinny guy was giving me the secret edge we desperately needed to win. I almost believed him. I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my small notebook, and started to write the advice down.

Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me hard backward.

"What the hell are you writing down?" Old Hank growled loudly. He had walked up behind me without making a single sound.

"This guy was just telling me a neat trick for the engine valves," I explained quickly, showing Hank the notebook. "He said to run them with zero clearance for more speed."

Hank turned his body and glared directly at the skinny mechanic. The mechanic’s fake smile dropped instantly, and he quickly looked away, picking up a wrench and pretending to be very busy with his front tire.

Hank grabbed my arm, pulled me away from the Desert Skulls pit, and dragged me between two large, empty equipment trailers where nobody could see us.

"Are you completely crazy?" Hank barked, crossing his thick arms over his chest. "Did you actually believe that snake?"

"I just thought maybe it was a real racing trick," I said, feeling my face turn bright red with sudden embarrassment. "He said it makes the engine run much faster."

"Listen to me very carefully right now," Hank said, his voice dropping low and extremely serious. "If you tighten a valve with zero clearance, it will not close all the way. Hot exhaust gas will blow right past it. In two fast laps, that valve will completely burn up, the engine will lose all its compression, and the motorcycle will die right in the middle of the track."

My stomach did a cold, sickening flip. "It would destroy the engine?"

"Yes, it would," Hank said heavily, tapping a thick, dirty finger against my forehead. "He gave you bad advice on purpose. He wanted you to go back to our garage and ruin one of our best racing bikes before the qualifier even starts."

I looked down at my dusty boots, feeling small and foolish. "I am sorry, Hank. I feel so incredibly stupid. I just wanted to learn something new to help the team win."

Hank sighed loudly. His rough, angry face softened just a little bit. He reached out and pushed my shoulder gently.

"Do not get angry, kid, and do not cry about it," Hank said quietly. "Just use this mistake as another lesson. The MC racing world is very rough. Not everyone out here is your friend, and not everyone wants you to succeed. Some of these guys will smile right at your face while they hand you a broken wrench. You have to be smarter than them. Trust your own club, and question everybody else."

"I will," I promised sincerely. "Thank you, Hank."

"Now get back to our garage," he ordered, waving his hand. "Mike needs help checking the tire pressures on Cody's bike."

That evening, the hot sun finally went down, and the loud noise of the race track faded away into a quiet, peaceful hum. Most of the club members went down to the local town bar to drink and celebrate the start of the qualifier weekend. The large Iron Blade garage was completely empty and dark, except for the single bright yellow work light hanging directly over my bench in the back corner.

I sat completely alone on my wooden stool, rubbing my very tired eyes. I had a huge stack of complex engine diagrams spread out widely across the dirty table. After my stupid mistake with the rival mechanic today, I wanted to make sure I completely understood every single tiny part of our race engines. I traced my finger slowly over the printed intake valve drawing, letting out a long, heavy breath.

I heard the heavy metal side door creak open loudly. Heavy footsteps echoed slowly across the concrete floor.

I turned my head and saw Cole walking directly toward me. He was wearing his dark blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He did not have his heavy leather vest on, which meant he was officially off duty for the rest of the night.

"You are still here," Cole said softly. His deep voice sounded very loud in the empty garage.

"I need to study these engine diagrams," I replied, looking back down at the white papers. "I have to know exactly how these machines work before the big race tomorrow."

Cole did not say anything else. He walked right up to the edge of my workbench. He was holding two white styrofoam cups in his large hands. Hot steam rose slowly from the small holes in the plastic lids. Without a single word, he reached out and gently placed one of the hot cups of coffee right beside my open notebook.

"Thank you," I whispered, completely surprised by his kind gesture.

Cole just nodded his head once. He gave me a soft, tired smile. "Do not stay up too late, shorty."

He turned around and slowly walked over to his own motorcycle parked in the center bay. He grabbed a clean white rag from a hook and quietly started wiping down the chrome pipes on his bike. The only sound in the entire dark garage was the soft squeak of his rag against the shiny metal and the quiet electrical hum of my work light.

I picked up the hot coffee cup and wrapped both of my cold, tired hands tightly around it. I watched his broad back as he worked in the shadows. He didn't come over to talk about my hard day, and he didn't ask what I was reading on the table. He just knew I was exhausted, and he wanted to make sure I had something warm to drink while he kept me safe company in the dark.

My heart ached with a sweet, heavy sadness deep inside my chest. I looked back down at the engine drawing in front of me, but the black lines were suddenly blurry.

I realized right then that it was not his protective big-brother speeches or his loud hero moments that made me love him so much. It was these quiet moments. It was the simple, silent way he always knew exactly what I needed without me ever having to ask.