Page 32 of Ivory's Ruin Romance

In the garage, Raptor held a beer in the middle of what looked like a miniature junkyard. The temperature fluctuated somewhere between the tropical warmth of the house and the numbing cold outside, and natural light blended with a fluorescent bulb hanging directly over a folding chair.

Miscellaneous engine parts encircled him like a pack of ravenous wolves, their leader a bike that might’ve been healthier before it got dismantled. Not that Raptor looked much better—his short brown hair spiked and dirtied from running his hands through it.

It felt just like old times when they’d help Adrian’s father with a particularly challenging project. Or after his death, when they’d pull all-nighters just to take their minds off what happened.

“Sup,” Adrian said, stepping through the familiar mess to rescue his friend. Tattoos curled around Raptor’s neck, disappearing under his grey sweatshirt and returning to flicker their permanent shadows down his forearm, around his wrists, then up weathered fingers.

Raptor responded with a nod and finished off his beer. “Before you ask,” he started, wiping his face with an oil-stained sleeve. “I don’t have answers for you yet. Not solid ones, at least.”

He figured. No answers meant he’d take things into his own hands, simple as that. He’d warned Raptor of his intentions and wasn’t the type to speak twice.

“What year is it?” he asked, motioning to the skeleton of a bike.

Raptor sighed. “She’s an original from sixteen years ago. Man, it takes me back, but some of the parts are a bitch to find. A side project until the damn snow melts.”

“Or a side project for when Riri turns into a hurricane and kicks you out of the house.” He cracked a knowing smile.

Raptor chuckled and shook his head, then pulled out a case of cigars. “Want one?” he asked, words muffled as he stuck a thick roll of paper and tobacco between his lips.

Adrian frowned. “Naw.”

The earthen bitter-sweet scent of the smoke filled the garage, air warmed by the burning chemicals that brought nostalgia and a false security blanket he knew all too well. With a deep sigh, he pulled out a cigarette and tried to rationalize why the things had ever been beneficial.

“You know all this does is kill us, right?”

“Stress will kill ya, too,” Raptor replied through a cloud of smoke and handed him a lighter.

They smoked in silence, hot breath and cold air mingling with unspoken thoughts and a graveyard of memories.

Raptor finally broke their meditation. “Whoever left that dragon tile at the scene was sloppy, at best. Even if they meant it as a signature, they must have been a coward with no intention of claiming the kill.”

That, too, he’d figured out. If it had been a proper hit, the tile would’ve gotten into the hands of someone who knew what it signified, not picked up by some poor kid who wore it like a bad luck charm.

Red Dragon had too much pride for that.

Raptor continued, “Could’ve been a set-up, and that’s the problem.”

“It’s why I went to you first,” Adrian replied. “Forcing bad blood between Royal Flush and Red Dragon is one thing, but why involve my family? Why shoot an innocent girl?” He clenched his fists.

Raptor’s shoulders slumped. “Shit, man, why does the world spin one way and not the other? We’re only humans, and humans do fucked up shit.”

“No.” He took a final drag of the cigarette before stomping it out on the floor. “Murdering innocent people for no reason isn’t just fucked up. It’s unforgivable. I need to know who pulled the trigger. Look them in the eyes.”

Raptor exhaled, the smoke as thick and heavy as the tension in the room. “Problem with that is, half the Dragons from five years ago are retired—or dead.”

“Won’t they care if it was a setup?” Adrian asked. “Either their club was in on it, or their name got used without permission. They’d care about shit like that.”

Raptor scratched his beard, considering the words. “If it just happened, you might have something, but digging up old dirt now will only earn you a can of worms.” He tapped the end of the cigar, ash crumbing to the ground. “Like it or not, you’re affiliated with Royal Flush, and we can’t risk starting a war when things have been smooth for a while. Bad for business.” He took another drag as if that point would end the conversation.

“The last thing I want is to put the family or anyone else in danger,” he said, looking Raptor in the eye. “But I’m not giving up. I’ll find something, even if it takes me another five years to do it.”

Raptor held his stare, steel against gold.

“There are better things to hold on to than death and revenge,” Raptor said at last. “I won’t tell you what to do, but I will warn you—” He sighed, looking away. “I’m grateful for the life I have—my wife, our home, our livelihood, but not a single day passes that I don’t think about what it would be like if I didn’t have to be married to both her and the club. At one time, it seemed like the only way out. But I’m not sure it was for the best anymore.”

Adrian hung his head, the words hitting a place he’d hidden from himself for a long while. Fixating on one solution didn’t mean it was right. “You know I’d do anything for the both of you.”

Raptor grinned. “You could take out the trash on Thursdays.”

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