Claimed by the Iron Serpent

Chapter 2: Nowhere to Go

I didn't go straight to the garage.

Instead, I rode. Out of the suburbs, past the strip malls and the high school I'd graduated from three months ago, past the Dairy Queen where Dan took me on our first date. I kept going until the city thinned out and the road opened up into nothing but flat Texas horizon and sky.

My phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Dan. Mom. Zoey. Even Dad, which surprised me. I silenced it after the twentieth call.

The sun was setting by the time I finally pulled into the garage parking lot. Mike's truck was still there, which meant he was in the back, probably working on that '69 Chopper he'd been restoring for six months.

I sat on my bike for a long moment, staring at the garage door.

I could go in there. I could ask Mike if the apartment above the shop was still empty. I could ask if I could crash there for a few days while I figured out what the hell to do with my life.

Or I could keep riding. Drive until I hit another city, another state, somewhere nobody knew me or my traitor sister or my ex-boyfriend who'd been f*****g her in my bed.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was a text from Jenny—my best friend since seventh grade.

*Holy s**t, Max. Are you okay? Someone said they saw you storming out of your parents' house.*

Word traveled fast in a small town.

I typed back: *I'm fine. Need some space.*

Three dots appeared immediately. Then: *Come over. I've got wine and ice cream and we can watch terrible movies.*

I almost said yes. Almost.

But I couldn't face anyone right now. Couldn't pretend to be okay. Couldn't smile and nod and say the right things while my insides were still on fire.

*Tomorrow,* I typed. *I just need tonight.*

I pocketed my phone and finally got off my bike. My legs were shaky. When was the last time I'd eaten? Breakfast. A protein bar around noon. My stomach twisted.

The garage door was open. I could see Mike bent over the Chopper, wrench in hand, classic rock playing from the radio on the workbench.

He looked up when I walked in. "Thought you went home."

"Change of plans."

Mike set down the wrench and wiped his hands on a rag. He was in his fifties, built like a barrel, with a gray beard and arms covered in tattoos from his own MC days. He'd never been Iron Serpents, but he ran with them back in the day. That's how I'd met Bruiser and the others.

"What happened?" he asked.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"My sister's pregnant with my boyfriend's kid. My parents kicked me out. I have nowhere to go."

Mike didn't blink. Didn't gasp. Didn't tell me it was going to be okay.

He just nodded slowly. "The apartment upstairs is still empty. Rent's eight hundred a month, due the first. You can pay me in labor when you're not on the clock."

I stared at him. "Mike—"

"You're the best mechanic I've got, Max. And I'm not just saying that because you're young and you work cheap." He picked up the wrench again. "You've got a place if you want it. No strings."

Something in my chest cracked. Not broke—just cracked, like ice starting to thaw.

"I want it," I said quietly.

"Good. Keys are in the office. Upstairs apartment's got furniture, but you'll need your own sheets and shit." He glanced at me. "You okay?"

"No." My voice cracked. "But I will be."

Mike nodded. "That's all any of us can do."

I found the keys on the hook in the office—a single key on a ring with a Harley Davidson fob. The apartment was accessed through a side door, up a narrow staircase that smelled like motor oil and old wood.

The apartment was small. One bedroom, a bathroom with a shower that had probably been white in the seventies, a kitchen with a two-burner stove, and a living room with a couch that had seen better days. But it had windows. Big ones that looked out over the parking lot and the road beyond.

It was mine.

I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the couch. The springs creaked.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was a text from an unknown number.

*Max, it's Dan. Please talk to me. I can explain.*

I stared at the message for a long moment. Then I blocked the number.

Another buzz. Mom this time.

*Maxine, please come home. We need to talk about this like a family.*

I typed back: *You made it pretty clear I'm not family anymore.*

Her response came fast: *That's not what I meant. Your father and I—we're worried about you.*

I almost laughed. Worried. Right.

*I'm fine. I have a place to stay. Don't contact me unless it's an emergency.*

I turned off my phone before she could respond.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. I could hear the distant sound of Mike still working downstairs, the radio playing something with a lot of guitar.

I should eat something. I should unpack. I should figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life now that college was officially off the table.

I'd been accepted to Texas A&M. Full ride, mechanical engineering. I was supposed to start in September.

That was before I'd chosen the garage over the classroom. Before I'd decided that getting my hands dirty was worth more than a degree. Before I'd met Dan and let him convince me that staying close to home was the right choice.

Stupid. So stupid.

But I couldn't think about that now. Couldn't think about the future. Could only think about right now—this terrible couch, this empty apartment, this fresh start that felt more like a ending.

I pulled out my phone and opened the voice memo app. The recording from earlier was still there—twenty-three minutes of my family's betrayal, captured in crystal clear audio.

I saved it to three different locations. Then I emailed it to myself.

Insurance. Just in case.

My stomach growled. Right. Food.

There was a taco truck on the corner—the one with the good al pastor that stayed open until midnight. I grabbed my keys and walked the two blocks, the warm evening air settling around me like a blanket.

The line was short. I ordered three tacos and a Jarritos, then sat on the curb outside the truck, eating with my hands, watching cars pass.

The tacos were perfect. Spicy pork, cilantro, onion, a squeeze of lime. Simple. Real. Not complicated like everything else in my life.

The sky turned orange, then pink, then purple.

Somewhere out there, Dan was probably with Zoey. Probably holding her. Probably telling her everything was going to be fine.

Somewhere out there, my parents were sitting in their living room, wondering where they'd gone wrong.

But up here, in this terrible apartment above a garage, I was alone.

And for the first time in my life, that felt like enough.

I finished the ramen, washed the mug, and lay down on the couch. The springs creaked again. The couch smelled like dust and old leather.

I closed my eyes.

Tomorrow, I'd start building something new.

Tonight, I just needed to sleep.