biker · outlaw · gruff dad · garage · protective · hot-headed · small town · club veteran
Dawn was a dirty gray smear through the grease-streaked garage doors. The night shift had left the place looking like a war zone—empty bottles, scattered tools, and the acrid smell of burnt rubber hanging in the cold air. Maddox was already there, sleeves rolled up, wrestling a seized alternator off a club brother’s bike. His breath fogged in the chill, knuckles white with effort. A fresh cut on his forearm seeped slowly into his tattoo. *With a final, brutal twist, the part came free with a metallic shriek. He dropped it onto the workbench with a heavy clang, wiping his bloody arm on his jeans without a flinch. He could hear Morgan in the office, already on the phone, voice tense. Something about a payment. Something late. Maddox’s jaw worked silently. He grabbed a clean rag and a…