Chapter 14 The Mechanic's Daughter
Ryder POV
The sound of metal on metal draws me to the garage three days later.
Jolie is bent over Phoenix's bike, her small hands buried in the engine compartment. Doc stands beside her, pointing out different components while she nods and asks quiet questions.
"Hand me that socket wrench," she says without looking up, her voice focused and sure.
Phoenix passes it over, looking nervous as hell. His bike has been giving him trouble for weeks—stalling out at the worst possible times, refusing to start when he needs it most. For a kid who relies on being able to run fast and run far, a broken bike might as well be a death sentence.
"There." Jolie sits back on her heels, wiping grease from her fingers with a rag. "Try it now."
Phoenix kicks the starter. The engine turns over smooth as silk, purring like a content cat. His whole face lights up with relief.
"How did you? Doc's been working on this thing for days," he says, staring at his bike in amazement.
"Small hands." She shrugs like it's nothing, but I can see the pride she's trying to hide. "I could reach the connection that was loose."
But I can see it's more than that. The way she handled the tools, the confidence in her movements despite her quiet voice. This isn't beginner's luck.
"Where'd you learn to work on bikes?" I ask, stepping into the garage.
She freezes like she's been caught doing something wrong. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have touched it without asking"
"That's not what I asked." I move closer, noting the precise way she's arranged the tools, the careful attention to keeping everything clean and organized. "Where'd you learn?"
She glances at Doc, who nods encouragingly.
"My pack had a mechanic. An old guy named Rufus who ran the motor pool." She keeps her eyes on her hands, her voice barely above a whisper. "He let me help sometimes. Said I was good at the detail work."
"She's got natural instincts," Doc adds, crossing his arms with approval. "Steady hands, quiet presence and now look at this."
He points to Phoenix's engine, running smoother than it has in months. "She's been helping me with repairs all week. Every bike she touches runs better afterward."
I study Jolie's face, seeing the faint pride she's trying to hide. This is the first time anyone has praised her for anything since she arrived. The first time she's looked like she belongs somewhere.
"Think you could take a look at my Harley?" I ask casually, keeping my tone light. "She's been running rough lately."
Jolie's eyes widen in panic. "Your bike? I couldn't—I mean, what if I break something?"
"Then I'll fix it." I shrug, trying to put her at ease. "But something tells me you won't."
Twenty minutes later, I'm watching her work on my pride and joy with the focused intensity of a surgeon. She traces wires with her fingertips, listens to the engine's rhythm like she's hearing a conversation I can't understand.
"When was the last time you cleaned the carburetor?" she asks, not looking up from the engine.
"Couple months ago." I lean against the workbench, fascinated by her confidence around machines.
"It needs it more often in mountain air. All this dust and debris." She points to a buildup of grime I hadn't even noticed. "See how it's clogging the air intake? Makes the engine work harder and it wastes fuel."
She's right. I've been riding these mountains for years and never made that connection.
"How long will it take to clean?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Hour, maybe two if I really get into it." She glances up at me nervously. "That is, if you want me to. I don't have to"
"Do it," I say firmly, crossing my arms. "Take all the time you need."
For the next two hours, I watch her work with a precision that puts most professional mechanics to shame. She hums softly under her breath, some tune I don't recognize, completely absorbed in her task. This is a different Jolie than the scared girl who flinches at loud noises. This Jolie knows exactly what she's doing.
"There." She straightens up, stretching her back with a small wince. "Try her now."
I kick the starter and my Harley roars to life with more power than she's had in months. The idle is smooth, the acceleration clean. It's like riding a completely different machine.
"Damn," Phoenix whistles from where he's been watching. "That sounds incredible."
"She's beautiful," Jolie says softly, running her fingers along the gas tank with something like reverence. "All that power, all that freedom. Must be amazing to ride something like this."
Something in her voice catches my attention. A wistfulness, a longing she's trying to hide.
"Have you ever rode a bike?" I ask.
She shakes her head quickly. "Pack members weren't allowed. Too dangerous, they said. Might get hurt and become even more useless." Her voice turns bitter on the last words.
"Want to try?" The offer comes out before I've really thought it through.
Her eyes go wide with shock. "I couldn't. I mean, what if I crashed it? What if"
"You won't crash, you know what I can do the riding while you settle in the back seat ." I swing my leg over the seat, settling into the familiar leather. "Come on. Just around the compound."
She looks at Doc, who grins and makes a shooing motion with his hands. "Go on, girl. Live a little."
With shaking hands, she climbs on behind me. Her arms wrap tentatively around my waist, so light I can barely feel them.
"Hold on tighter," I tell her over my shoulder. "I won't break."
Her grip strengthens, and I can feel her heart pounding against my back. I ease the bike into gear and pull out of the garage slowly, giving her time to adjust.
The compound roads are smooth dirt, perfect for a first ride. I keep the speed low, taking gentle curves so she can get used to the feel of leaning into turns. But after the first few minutes, I feel her relax behind me.
"Faster?" I call back to her.
"Yes," she breathes against my ear, and there's wonder in her voice.
I open the throttle and we shoot forward, wind whipping through our hair. Jolie's laughter bubbles up behind me, pure and joyful in a way I've never heard from her before. Her arms tighten around me, but not from fear now. From exhilaration.
When we finally coast back into the garage, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright with excitement.
"That was incredible," she says, climbing off the bike on unsteady legs. "I really enjoy it when I’m not scared or running away from my life." She winces at her last words.
"You're a natural," Doc observes, wiping his hands on a towel. "Good balance, moved with the bike instead of fighting it."
"Really?" She looks between us, hope and disbelief warring in her expression.
"Really." I shut off the engine and studied her face. "You've got good instincts. For machines and for riding."