Page 102 of Sinful
Now I'm negotiating alliances, planning wars, and falling for a girl who makes me want to stop running.
How the fuck did I get here?
I find Helle in the garage.
She's working on her Kawasaki, grease up to her elbows, tools scattered around her like she's performing surgery.
Her hair's pulled back in a messy ponytail, tank top smudged with oil, and she's so focused she doesn't hear me approach.
I watch her for a moment.
The way she moves around the bike with confidence and familiarity.
She knows every bolt, every system, every quirk.
This is who she is—mechanic, racer, fighter.
Someone who fixes broken things, including herself.
She's beautiful like this. Not performing for anyone. Just existing in her element.
"You going to stand there staring," she says without looking up, "or you going to help?"
I move closer. "What do you need?"
"Hand me that wrench. The 10mm."
I find it, pass it over. She takes it without looking, fits it to a bolt, and cranks hard.
"Runes and Damon are heading to Texas in a week," I say.
Her hands still. "Texas?"
"Sharp Shooter Ranch. Phantom's territory. We're staging the operation from there."
She sets the wrench down, wipes her hands on a rag, finally looks at me. "So, you're going back."
"Yeah. In a couple days. Need to get back, help Phantom prepare for when they arrive."
"And then what?"
"Then we finalize the plan. All three clubs coordinate the assault on Los Coyotes' compound." I lean against the workbench beside her. "Hit them hard enough they can't recover."
She studies my face, reading something there. "And you don't want me to come."
"Helle—"
"I can fight. You know I can. I've proved it."
"This isn't about whether you can." I move closer, take her greasy hands in mine. "It's about whether you should."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means—" I have to force the words out. "We haven't known each other long. Less than a week. But I can't—" My voice cracks. "I can't imagine anything happening to you."
Her expression softens. "Bravos?—"
"I care about you. More than I've cared about anyone in eighteen years. And the thought of you walking into that compound, of you getting shot or hurt or killed—" I can't finish.
