Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
MACE
The smell of oil and burnt rubber clung to my clothes as I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. My fingers were stained black with grease, but that was nothing new. This garage had been my second home for the past three years.
That’s why the pit forming in my stomach felt so damn heavy when I saw Craig, the shops’s owner, walking toward me with that look on his face. The one that said he didn’t want to do this, but he was going to anyway.
“Mace, we need to talk.”
I straightened up from where I was working on a busted-up Chevy and narrowed my eyes at him. “That never means anything good.”
He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his thick neck like that would make this easier. “Look, I don’t want to do this, but I have to let you go.”
I blinked. The words didn’t sink in right away. I had expected a lecture about clocking in too early or getting into it with a customer, again. But this? “You’re firing me?”
Craig winced. “It’s not like that. Business has been slow, and I gotta make cuts. You’re the last one hired.”
Bullshit. “You’re keeping Frank over me?” I scoffed, tossing my wrench onto the workbench with a loud clatter. “The guy who takes twice as long on a job and still messes up?”
He looked away, jaw tight. “Frank’s got a family to feed.”
“Oh, so because I don’t have kids, I’m disposable?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. “I bust my ass here, Craig. I take the extra shifts. I do the jobs no one else wants to do. And this is what I get?”
His face hardened. “It’s not personal, Mace.”
It sure as hell felt personal. “Fine. Screw it. I’ll get my stuff.”
“Mace…” I didn’t let him finish. I stormed past him, yanking my toolbox from its usual spot in the corner. A couple of the other mechanics threw me wary glances, but no one said a damn thing. They were all thinking the same thing… better me than them.
I slammed the lid shut on my toolbox and lifted it into my arms. It was heavier than I remembered, or maybe it was just the weight of everything sinking in.
Craig spoke up one last time as I reached the door. “If things pick up. I’ll give you a call.”
I let out a bitter laugh and shook my head. “Don’t bother.”
Then I walked out, letting the door slam shut behind me. The sun was too bright, the world too damn loud, but I didn’t stop moving. But I’d figure something out. I always did. And if nothing else, I still had the Siren Sisters. My crew. My family. They’d have my back, even if no one else did.
With nowhere else to go, I climbed into my car and headed to the Reckless Diablos clubhouse. If anyone would understand how screwed over I felt, it was Widow. She always had a way of cutting through the bullshit and telling me exactly what I needed to hear. Whether I liked it or not.
**************
The rumble of my engine echoed through the lot as I pulled up to the Reckless Diablos clubhouse. It was the kind of place that kept most people away. Grimy walls, faded paints, and the unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke and spilled booze seeping out from inside. But to me and the girls of Siren Sisters, it was familiar. A haven when nowhere else was.
I adjusted my jacket when I climbed out of the car. The Siren Sisters patch on my back felt heavier than usual today. Maybe because I was feeling the weight of it all, getting fired, getting screwed over and not knowing what the hell to do next.
Pushing the door open, I stepped inside. Instantly hit by the warmth of the room and the sounds of conversation, laughter and the clinking of glasses. A few heads turned my way. Some of the Diablos gave me a nod, while others barely spared me a glance. I wasn’t one of them, but I’d been around enough that they knew who I was.
Widow sat at the bar, cigarette between her fingers, smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. She looked the same as always, jeans, a Siren Sisters tank, and those damn Doc Martens that had seen more fights than most men in this place. Her sharp eyes flicked to me the second I walked in, like she already knew something was wrong.
I didn’t waste time. I walked up to the bar, dropped onto the stool next to her and let out a breath. “I got fired.”
Widow took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaling slowly before speaking. “No shit.”
I shot her a look. “That’s all you got?”
She shrugged. “Ain’t surprised. That garage never deserved you anyways. You’re too damn good at what you do, and men like Craig don’t like being outshined.”
I clenched my jaw. “Still stings. I busted my ass there.”
Widow knocked some ash off the end of her cigarette and looked at me, really looked at me. “So what now? You gonna sit here and mope, or you gonna do something about it?”
I frowned, crossing my arms. “Like what? Ain’t like shops are lining up to hire a woman mechanic.”
Widow suddenly lifted her chin and called out. “King! Get over here.”
I turned just as King, the president of the Reckless Diablos, walked over with a beer in hand. He kissed Widow on the head before turning to me. “What’s up?”
“Tell Mace about your garage,” Widow said, taking another drag of her cigarette. “She just got screwed over by her old boss.”
King smirked, eyes flicking between me and Widow. “Yeah?” Well, I own Diablo Customs. It ain’t some rundown shop like the one you got booted from, but if you want real work? Real pay? Think about it. You will always have a spot.”
I glanced at Widow, who gave me a look that said it was my choice. Maybe getting fired wasn’t the end of something, it was the start of something bigger.
