Claimed by the Iron Serpent

"Go home, Max. You've been here since six this morning." Mike's voice echoed across the garage, loud enough to cut through the heavy metal blasting from the radio. He stood in the office doorway, arms crossed, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. I wiped the grease from my hands and glanced at the clock. Two in the afternoon. Right. I'd lost track of time again. "I'm almost done with the Sportster," I said, reaching for a clean rag. "Just need to—" "Nope. Not listening. Go home, take a shower, put on something that doesn't smell like motor oil. It's Saturday, kid. You're eighteen. Go be eighteen." He wasn't wrong. I'd been running on caffeine and stubbornness since before sunrise, and the garage had that thick, hot smell of gasoline and metal that clung to everything. My coveralls were stained beyond saving. My hands were black under the nails despite how many times I'd scrubbed them this week. "Fine, fine. I'm going." I pulled off my gloves and tossed them onto the workbench. "But that Sportster's getting picked up Monday, and I want it perfect." "It's already perfect. You've checked it three times." Mike shook his head, but there was pride in his eyes. "Go on. Get out of here." I grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door and slung my bag over my shoulder. The afternoon sun hit me like a wall the moment I stepped outside. June in Texas meant the air was thick enough to chew, and the heat rising off the asphalt made everything shimmer. My bike sat in the parking lot, exactly where I'd left it that morning. A 2003 Harley Softail, black and chrome, with a custom paint job I'd done myself—a wolf howling at a blood-red moon, fading into smoke along the tank. It had taken me three months, working late nights after Mike closed up shop, but the result was worth every hour. I straddled the seat, kicked the starter, and felt that deep, throaty rumble vibrate through my chest. God, I loved that sound. Some people got chills from their favorite song. I got them from a perfectly tuned engine. The ride home took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of wind and heat and the open road stretching ahead of me. Twenty minutes to stop thinking about carburetors and timing chains and just feel alive. I was going to lose my virginity tonight. The thought sent a flush of heat across my cheeks that had nothing to do with the weather. Dan's birthday. I'd been planning this for weeks. Bought new lingerie—black lace, see-through, the kind that made me feel dangerous when I looked at myself in the mirror. I had candles. I had wine. I had a whole evening mapped out in my head. Dan was going to lose his mind. I pulled into the driveway of my parents' house and killed the engine. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Dan: *Can't wait to see you tonight. I have a surprise for you too.* My heart did a stupid little flip. A surprise? What kind of surprise? I typed back: *Me too. 8pm?* Three dots appeared. Then: *Perfect.* I pocketed my phone and headed for the back door. The house was quiet. Mom's car was gone—probably at one of her charity meetings. Dad's truck was in the driveway though, which was odd. He usually worked Saturdays. I pushed open the back door and heard voices coming from Dad's office. The door was slightly ajar, just enough to carry sound into the hallway. I should have kept walking. I should have gone straight upstairs, taken a shower, started getting ready. But something in those voices made me stop. "—never planned for it to happen." That was Zoey. My sister. Three years older, golden-haired, the one who could do no wrong in our parents' eyes. She was supposed to be at college. What was she doing home? "When?" Dad's voice, sharp and serious. "Christmas Day." Zoey's voice cracked, like she was about to cry. She was good at that. The tears always came right on cue. "We had too many of your special eggnogs, and things got heated. The party was winding down, and I said something—I don't even remember what—and we went upstairs to keep talking. We ended up in Maxine's room." The world tilted. Maxine's room. My room. "We were just talking at first," Zoey continued, her voice getting smaller. "But then we were kissing, and things got more heated, and she was already in her bed, and I was so lost in the moment I forgot to—I mean, we didn't—" "Spit it out, Zoey." Mom's voice now, tight and controlled. "I'm pregnant." The floor dropped out from under me. I pressed my back against the hallway wall, my hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound. "Pregnant?" Dad's voice was careful. Too careful. "Are you sure?" "I took three tests. All positive." Silence. Long enough that I thought maybe they hadn't heard her right. Then Mom: "Does Dan know?" Dan. My Dan. My boyfriend of six months, who was supposed to be giving me a surprise tonight, who I was going to give my virginity to in— "He knows." Zoey's voice was steadier now. The tears were gone. "He's the father." The hallway spun. I grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling. "He wants to do the right thing," Zoey continued. "He wants to marry me." "Marry you?" Dad's voice cracked like a whip. "He's Maxine's boyfriend!" "Was." Zoey's voice was small again. "He says he never loved her. Not really. He says he's been in love with me for years, but he couldn't say anything because—" "Stop." Mom's voice cut through the air like a knife. "Just stop. This is—this is a disaster." "It's not a disaster." Zoey's voice hardened. "It's a baby. Your grandchild. And Dan wants to take responsibility." "By marrying you? While he's still dating your sister?" Dad's voice was rising now. "What about Maxine? What about—" "What about her?" Mom's voice was ice. "She'll have to deal with it. This is about the baby. This is about family." Family. The word hit me like a punch to the stomach. "She can't find out like this," Dad said. "We need to tell her. We need to—" "Tell her what?" Mom's voice was sharp. "That her sister is pregnant with her boyfriend's child? That they've been sleeping together for six months behind her back? How do you think that's going to go?" "I think she deserves to know the truth." "The truth will destroy her." Mom's voice dropped to something cold and final. "And I won't have this family torn apart over one mistake. Zoey is getting married. Dan is doing the right thing. Maxine will have to accept it." "And if she doesn't?" "Then she'll have to leave." The words hung in the air like smoke. "She's eighteen," Dad said quietly. "She's our daughter." "She's an adult. She can make her own choices." Mom's voice was steel. "And if she can't support her sister at a time like this, then maybe she doesn't belong in this house." I couldn't breathe. The hallway was too small, the walls too close, the air too thick. My phone buzzed again. Another text from Dan: *I love you. Tonight is going to be perfect.* I stared at the screen until the words blurred. Then I pulled out my phone, hit record, and walked straight into the office. All four of them froze. Zoey's face went white. Dan looked like he'd seen a ghost. Mom's mouth opened but no sound came out. Dad just stared. "Say it again," I said, my voice steady despite the earthquake inside me. "All of it. Zoey's pregnant. Dan's the father. You've been sleeping together for six months. In my bed." "Maxine—" Dan started. "Shut up." I didn't look at him. I kept my phone pointed at Zoey. "I heard everything. But I want to hear you say it. On record." "You can't—" Mom stepped forward. "I can." I looked her dead in the eye. "You just said I'm an adult. Adults protect themselves. So I'm recording this conversation as evidence of a******y and betrayal. In case anyone tries to spin this differently later." Zoey's tears came on cue. "Max, please, I'm sorry, I never meant—" "You never meant to f**k my boyfriend?" I smiled, and it felt like broken glass. "You never meant to get pregnant? You never meant to lie to my face for six months?" "I love him," Zoey whispered. "You love what he gave you. There's a difference." Dad cleared his throat. "Maxine, put the phone down. We can talk about this like adults." "Oh, we're talking." I backed toward the door, still recording. "Here's what's going to happen. Zoey can have him. He's not worth fighting over. But I'm not staying in this house for one more minute." "Maxine—" Mom's voice cracked. For the first time, I saw something other than ice in her eyes. Fear, maybe. Or regret. "Don't." I held up my hand. "You made your choice. You chose her. Over me. Again." I turned and walked out the front door this time. Not the back. I wanted them to see me leave. My bike rumbled to life beneath me. I didn't look back. I had nowhere to go. But I had a job. I had a bike. I had a set of tools and a head full of engine specs. And now I had a recording that would make sure no one could twist this story against me. The road stretched ahead of me, dark and uncertain. But at least it was mine.