THE BIKER'S TEACHER

Checkmate

DAISY

I stood in front of the gates, checking the address on my phone again. This was it. Shane’s place.

The mansion didn’t fit him. All glass and sharp angles, landscaping that looked like it cost more than my car. The gates slid open before I could buzz, which only made my skin itch more.

I walked up the driveway feeling like I was wearing the wrong shoes. The front door opened before I knocked. A butler. Of course, there was a butler. Older guy, face blank.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“I’m here to see Shane.” I kept my voice steady.

His eyes did a quick sweep of me. Jeans, beat-up tote bag with a textbook shoved in it. Not what he expected. He stepped aside anyway. “Right this way.”

He led me through a living room that could’ve been in a magazine. Shane was passed out on a white couch. Empty whiskey bottle on the table. TV blasting loud noises, angry with guitars.

The butler cleared his throat. “Miss, I’ll leave you to… handle this.”

Shane groaned. He didn’t open his eyes yet.

“You’ve missed three classes,” I said.

One eye cracked open. Bloodshot. He stared at me, then he reached for the bottle, found it empty.

“I don’t remember hiring a babysitter,” he rasped.

“I’m your tutor. And per your father’s contract ”

“My father was a suit who liked to play dress-up.” He was on his feet fast. And pissed. “I spent ten years under cars. Fixing engines with nothing but a wrench and my own two hands. Built an empire while guys like you were busy underlining pretty sentences.”

Guys like me - right.

He closed the space between us. “I don’t need what’s in that book to know how to run a business. I know how things work.”

He looked down at me. “So take your little bag of tricks and get out of my house. I’ll make sure the check clears. Don’t bother coming back.”

I tightened my grip on the textbook. The corner dug into my palm.

“Impressive,” I said. “Self-made man. You can pull apart an engine in the dark. Got it.”

I glanced around the room. “But let’s talk about how things actually work in this house, Shane.”

“You’ve got millions now. That means lawyers. Boards. Contracts thick enough to break a finger. Stuff that can take every wrench you own before you finish your coffee.” I met his eyes. “Right now you’re a shark in a suit you don’t know how to button. What happens when they slide fifty pages across a table and tell you to sign?”

He opened his mouth.

“Imagine their faces,” I said, quieter. “When they figure out the great boss can’t read the terms and conditions of his own life. They won’t respect your grit. They’ll eat you alive.”

“You think you’re the first one to try that?” He stepped closer, trying to use his size to push me out of my own skin. “Scare me with big words and what-ifs? I’ve had guns pulled on me in garages, sweetheart. Dealt with men who make those boardroom suits look like choir boys. I don’t need a translator. And I damn sure don’t need you.”

He stalked to the front door and yanked it open. The hinges didn’t even complain. “Get out. Take your books. Your scary stories. Go find some other charity case. My chequebook’s open for the inconvenience, but I’m done listening.”

The doorway framed him. The mansion behind him was silent as a tomb.

“Fine,” I said. “You’re right, Shane. You’re a brilliant mechanic. You know exactly when a machine’s breaking down.”

I walked past him, slow. Stopped right at the threshold.

“But right now? You’re the one with the cracked engine. And pride’s a terrible lubricant. Eventually, everything seizes up.”

I kept walking. Gravel crunched under my shoes. Made it halfway down the drive before I called over my shoulder.

“Don’t worry about the cheque. Keep it. You’re gonna need every cent when you sign something you can’t read.” I walked further from the mansion . “And when that happens? You’ll come find me. And the price won’t be this friendly next time.”