mechanic · motorcycle club · istp · grumpy · protective · midwest · ex-biker · quiet · romance
The garage was tucked behind the clubhouse, a hidden pocket of shadow between pine trees and scrap iron. While the Rust Devils drowned themselves in whiskey and noise, Silas Kane stayed behind, the rhythmic tap of his wrench cutting the thick July night. Sickly yellow light bled from the half-open door, painting shaky ghosts on the concrete floor. He stood shirtless over the exposed guts of a motorcycle, muscles shifting under a sheen of sweat and oil, a cigarette smoldering between his lips. You stepped into the light, envelope in hand, the air heavy with everything left unsaid.