The Biker's Divorcee

Chapter 02

Riley

A sharp knock on the glass jolted me out of a deep sleep. I jerked upright, my heart racing, eyes wide and blinking against the pale gray light filtering through the windshield. My neck protested painfully, stiff from sleeping in a hunched position, and I had no idea what time it was.

For a few disoriented seconds, I couldn't remember where I was. The fogged windows, the ache in my spine, and the cold stillness outside all felt surreal.

A man in uniform stood just outside my driver's side door. I sat up straighter, dragging my sleeve across the glass to wipe away the condensation.

"Sheriff's department." His hand rested lightly on his belt, near his holster. Not threatening, just present, calm, and observant.

I rolled the window down a crack. Cold air rushed in and hit my face.

"Morning," he said. "You okay in there?"

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, I mean, I think so. I must've, uh... dozed off."

His brows lifted slightly. "Engine's off. Your old tire is sitting on the side of the road. I'd say you did more than doze."

Right. The blowout. The memory flooded back, the noise, the panic, the biker with no name, those cold gray eyes, the jack and the wrench, and that warning before he rode off like some ghost.

"I had a flat last night," I explained. My phone was dead. I didn't have anywhere to go."

He glanced around, taking in the roadside shoulder, the surrounding trees, and the absence of traffic. "You picked a hell of a stretch to break down on. Not much out this way except deer and trouble."

"Yeah, I figured that out too late."

His expression didn't change, but something in his posture softened. He didn't seem convinced by my confidence, but wasn't pushing either. "You from around here?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Just passing through."

"Where from?"

I hesitated. "West."

That was technically true. I hadn't thought much about the direction I'd been driving.

He nodded, clearly filing that away. "Got ID on you?"

"Yeah, of course." I leaned over to dig it out of my purse, nerves jangling even though I hadn't done anything wrong. My fingers fumbled as I handed it over.

He scanned it and then gave me a short nod. "Alright, Miss Quinn. I'm Deputy Mark Hadley."

"Nice to meet you," I said quietly, unsure if it was true.

He looked at the car again. "You planning to get this towed?"

"I was hoping to, but my phone's dead."

"I can call someone in town for you. Reyes Auto's the only garage that'll come out this far."

"A guy helped me out last night, changed my tire, and left."

That got his attention.

"Big guy? Motorcycle? Doesn't say much?"

I glance at him. How did he know that?

"That's the one."

Officer Hadley let out a low whistle. "You're lucky, then. Most folks who run into him on a dark road don't walk away thinking they were helped."

I blinked. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Ash Reyes has a reputation. Keeps to himself, doesn't play well with others. Grew up rough, stayed rough. But he doesn't mess with women, if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't," I lied.

Hadley grunted, sounding unconvinced. "He runs the garage now in town. Ever since his old man passed. The whole town either avoids him or sends him their worst jobs. Nobody really knows what goes on in that place anymore."

I looked out the windshield, my breath still fogging the glass.

He taps away on his phone, "I'll call the tow. You want a lift into town?"

I hesitated. I'd slept in my car, hadn't showered, and probably looked like I'd been dragged through a storm. But my options were limited.

"That'd be great," I said.

He gave a short nod and walked back to his cruiser. I turned off the emergency lights, left the keys in the ignition as he instructed, then grabbed my backpack and followed.

The ride into town was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the police radio and the soft hum of tires on the asphalt. I sat in the passenger seat, clutching the strap of my bag, my eyes flicking between the empty road and the trees passing by outside.

"Are you headed somewhere specific?" Hadley asked, breaking the silence after a few minutes of driving together.

"Nope," I replied, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead. "Just driving."

He glanced sideways at me, a hint of concern in his expression. "That's kind of an expensive way to find yourself," he remarked, his voice laced with curiosity.

"I suppose," I responded thoughtfully, though I wasn't entirely sure if I was truly seeking any answers. The open road had always captivated me, but last night felt different, more like an escape than a quest.

Officer Hadley didn't press me for more details, which I appreciated. It allowed a comfortable quiet to settle between us, but I could still feel his curiosity buzzing in the air, an unspoken question lingering in his mind.

As we continued to drive, the landscape began to shift, and I caught sight of a green road sign looming ahead.

It read: WELCOME TO REDSTONE - POPULATION 3,406.

The small-town name resonated with me, hinting at stories waiting to be discovered.

The town appeared a few minutes later, small and rustic, tucked into the foothills as if it had grown from the dirt itself. The main street featured two stoplights, a gas station, a grocery store, and a diner with a blinking neon open sign that looked like it had been flickering since the '80s.

He turned down a narrow side street, the pavement flanked by angled parking spaces and a line of low, brick buildings that stood like sentinels. At the corner, beneath a rusted metal awning that clung precariously to its supports, sat a timeworn white garage, its once-bright red lettering now faded and peeling, reading: REYES AUTO & TIRE.

There were two bays, both of which were closed. A tow truck was parked out front. And beside it, the bike.

His bike.

Black. Matte. Menacing even in daylight.

I stared at it, my stomach tightening. Officer Hadley noticed. "You want to go in?"

"No," I said quickly. "I'll wait for the tow to be done."

He didn't argue. Just turned onto the next street and pulled up outside a squat two-story building with a wooden sign that read The Dusty Rose - Rooms & Board.

"You can try here for a place to stay. Not fancy, but clean."

"Thanks, Hadley."

He didn't move right away. Just studied me again with that sharp, lawman gaze. "Listen," he said finally. "I don't know what you're running from, and I'm not gonna ask. But Redstone's small. Word travels fast. If trouble follows you here, it won't stay quiet long."

I met his eyes. "Understood."

He gave a single nod. "You need anything, you find me."

"Thank you, really."

He tipped his hat and drove off, leaving me standing on the sidewalk with my bag and a chill I couldn't quite shake.

Inside, the Dusty Rose smelled like lemon cleaner and old books. The woman behind the front desk had kind eyes and an accent I couldn't place.

"You passing through or staying awhile?" She asked as I signed the registry.

"Not sure yet," I said.

"Well, we don't charge by the hour, so pick a direction soon," she replied with a wink. "Room seven. Upstairs, end of the hall."

The room was small but cozy. A twin bed with a faded quilt. A window that overlooked Main Street. A tiny bathroom with clean towels and a bar of soap shaped like a seashell.

I dropped my bag and sat on the edge of the bed.

No noise. No movement. Just the sound of my breathing.

I should've felt better. Safer. But all I could think about was that garage. That bike. Those eyes.

Ash Reyes.

The man who didn't give his name but looked at me like he already knew mine.