Page 25 of Devil's Queen

“These oil changes are just the beginning, Monte,” I reply, oozing confidence. “We’re building a reputation here. Once the ladies start spreading the word about our top-notch service and friendly atmosphere, we’ll have more customers flooding in than we can handle.”

Monte scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Women don’t know anything about cars. They’ll take one look at this place and run straight to the nearest dealership.”

“The full waiting room of paying customers says otherwise. The only thing that matters is the money, Monte,” I say, matching his defiant stance. “And right now, we’re making more than we ever have before. Besides, who said women can’t know anything about cars? Times are changing, my friend. We’re not in the old boys’ club anymore.”

Monte’s scowl deepens, but he doesn’t have a response. He knows I’m right.

“Don’t you have better things to do than to sit and stare at the garage’s success?”

Monte throws me a murderous glare before he storms out of the garage. Good fucking riddance.

With Monte gone, my attention is now focused on the two prospects who were standing beside him. They look eager and ready to prove themselves. It’s time to put them to work and see if they have what it takes to be part of our growing empire.

“Prospects, time for you two to get to work. There are a couple of cars over there with your names on them.”

The prospects exchange a quick glance before nodding in unison. They scurry off toward the waiting cars, eager to prove their worth. As I watch them, a sense of satisfaction washes over me. This is exactly what I’ve been working toward—building a legitimate business and expanding our influence beyond the confines of the motorcycle club.

I take a moment to survey the bustling garage once more. The sound of revving engines mixes with the clinking of tools, creating a symphony that resonates with the spirit of progress. It’s a far cry from the illegal activities that once dominated this space.

As the day wears on, the ladies filter into the garage for their discounted services. They chat amongst themselves, their laughter filling the air, lending an atmosphere of camaraderie. I catch glimpses of Pike moving through the office, leading the ladies to their vehicles once they’re done, and making a grand show of opening their doors for them. He notices me watching and winks in my direction.

The smug bastard will never let me live this down.

The day goes on until the last car rolls out of the garage before we pull down the last bay door. After the mechanics and Pike take off, I head into my office and crunch the numbers for today’s sale. We’re in the black for the first time since we bought the garage, and a good start toward our future.

As I’m shutting down my computer, my phone buzzes on the desk. Reaching over for it, I find a message from Rem.

We need to talk. Meet me at the shop. 7 o’clock.

I glance at the clock. It’s already past six, but I have enough time to freshen up before heading out. I quickly change into a cleaner shirt from my locker and run a comb through my hair, resisting the urge to check for any stray grease stains.

As I lock up the office and step out into the evening air, I can’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and apprehension. After this morning, I never expected to hear from Rem again. For her to message me like this out of the blue could mean only two things.

One, she believes me.

Two, and the far more likely, she’s had time to think about what I’ve told her and wants more information.

Either way, I’m going because if there’s any chance of mending the burning bridge between us, I can’t pass it up, even if it means it’ll hurt us both in the long run.

REMY

With zero leadson our missing bike or the men behind it, I’m on edge. Add in a meeting with Rex to check out if he’s a part of this isn’t helping to keep my anxiety at bay. The thought of being alone at the shop with Rex again sends shivers down my spine.

I turn to the only thing I can. It’s a new commission piece that came in a few days ago that has been sitting while we finished Diaz’s bike—a1949 Indian Classic. The owner had found her in an abandoned barn in Indiana after an uncle passed away and handed over a plot of land to him as an inheritance. While she’s not pretty to look at, nor does she run, the bike is all original, and we can work with that.

I get to work disassembling the tank from the body. The rusty nuts are cemented to the frame. It takes brute force and a healthy dose of rust dissolver even to get it to budge a little bit.

The sound of the door chime interrupts my concentration, causing a jolt of anxiety to surge through me. I glance over my shoulder, knowing who I will find there.

“You’re early,” I remark after peering at the clock on the wall.

“It’s not every day I get a text out of the blue from you demanding my presence.”

I ignore the arrogance in his tone and focus on the last bolt on the engine mount. I can feel his eyes on my ass.

“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to stare?”

“She did, but we both know I could never resist looking at your ass, Rem. Besides, I’d like the view better if you were naked and bent over my bike like that,” he says without so much of a teasing sense to his words.

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