Page 8 of Arch
My pulse kicks up, and I know it’s him.
I don’t need to hear more.
“Arch… what’s going on in that mind of yours?” Clay asks, his interest piqued as he slurps his coffee.
“Do we even need to ask?” Jace laughs, banging his fist down on the table in triumph like he thinks he’s cracked the Da Vinci Code or something.
Both Clay and Jace have been telling me to find a boy for a while now. The two of them have found theirs, and all of a sudden they think I need to follow suit.
Whatever. I’m not going to give either one of them the satisfaction of a response. I’ve got business to attend to.
I grab my jacket and head out, telling myself I’m just checking on a potential loose end and definitely not chasing a spark that’s got no business burning…
The garage is a squat, cinderblock building, its lot littered with rusted parts and half-dead cars.
The air smells of grease and gasoline, and a radio blares some hard rock tune, nearly drowning out the clank of tools.
“And there he is…” I mutter, sizing up the joint and checking for trouble—call me over cautious, but when you’ve been a Wolf Rider forms long as me, it comes as part of the territory.
I spot Keegan before he sees me, bent over a bike’s engine, his faded T-shirt riding up to show a strip of lean muscle above his jeans.
His dark hair’s a mess, stuck to his neck with sweat, and his hands move with a confidence that says he knows his way around a machine.
The boy’s all sharp angles and restless energy, same as that night at The Ring, and my blood hums just looking at him.
I lean against a toolbox, crossing my arms, and wait.
The boy senses me a second later, his head snapping up, those green eyes locking on mine. For a beat, he freezes, then that smirk curls his lips, like he’s caught me at something…
“Well, well,” Keegan drawls, straightening, wiping his hands on a rag. “Didn’t peg you for a garage rat,old man.”
The jab’s deliberate, and it stings, but I don’t let it show. The boy wants a response, he wants to test me and see what I’m all about—but I’m not doing this on his terms.
This damned boy doesn’t know who he’s playing with…
“Watch your mouth, boy,” I say, voice low, stepping closer. The garage feels smaller with him in it, the air charged like a storm’srolling in. “Heard you’re fixing bikes. Thought I’d see if you’re as good as you think you are.”
Keegan laughs, sharp and defiant, tossing the rag onto the bike.
“I’mbetter,” Keegan says. “But you didn’t ride out here to check my work, did you?”
He tilts his head, sizing me up, and I see it again—that spark, wild and raw, daring me to take control.
I don’t answer right away.
Instead, I let my gaze roam over him, slow, deliberate, watching the way his jaw tightens, the way his breath hitches just enough to betray him. Keegan’s cocky, but he’s not immune to me, and that knowledge is a weapon I’m not above using.
“You’re wasting your time in this shithole,” I say finally, nodding at the garage. “You’ve got skills, maybe even guts. You can throw your fists too. That’s not nothing. But you’re aimless, young man. Stirring shit, picking fights. You needdirection.”
Keegan’s smirk falters, just for a second, before he recovers.
“And what, you’re gonna give it to me?” Keegan snorts. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” I step closer, close enough to smell the sweat and oil on him, close enough to see the pulse jump in his throat. “You’re ex-military, discharged for being a hothead. You’re back in Willow Creek with no plan, no purpose. You’re looking for something to belong to, even if you won’t admit it.”
I watch as Keegan’s eyes narrow, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“You been digging into me, Arch?” Keegan smirks. “That’s cute. Real stalker vibes.”
