Chapter-62

Days passed and I’d begun to think maybe Tannin was right and Torin had been nothing more than a pain-induced dream. Or maybe it was just me missing him. But if he hadn’t been real then I had one whopper of an imagination. Every nuance, every movement, even his intoxicating smell had been too fucking real. Painfully real. He was the devil, aptly named by his brothers. I’d been in Hell since I’d first caught sight of him all those years ago. I don’t know that I believe in love at first sight, but the feeling that had gone through me had been as close as what one could come to describing it as such.

My dad had picked me up from school, the bike’s engine rumbling like a beast outside the school gates. It was the first time he’d ever done that, and the whispers of the other kids had been like a siren's call to the rebellious spirit I didn’t even know I had. I straddled the bike, feeling the leather of the seat stick to the bare skin below my shorts and the heat of the engine seep through the denim.

Torin was there, lounging against the garage when we pulled up, a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes shaded by a leather cap. The way his muscles rippled under his t-shirt as he worked, made my heart race, and I knew I had to get closer.

At fourteen, I was a mess of braces and pimples, my hair a wild tangle that no amount of gel could tame. I was the daughter of the club’s president, and while that came with a certain amount of respect, I was also a girl in a rough world. Torin, with his chiseled jaw and tattoos, was everything I wasn’t, a creature of the night to my awkward daylight existence.

He barely spared me a glance that first time, but I took it as a challenge. I started hanging around the garage more, watching the guys work on their bikes and getting my hands dirty. It was clear I didn’t belong, but I didn’t care. The smell of grease and gasoline became my perfume.

~~

One evening, after everyone had cleared out of the shop, Torin finally talked to me. Fixing a flat on his bike, his knuckles scraped and grease-stained, he looked at me, and voice low and gruff, he asked, “What’s the Prez's daughter doing hanging out here with me?”

I shrugged. “What’s wrong with it?” I’d asked, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Torin had smirked, a knowing glint in his eye. He knew I was crushing, but instead of mocking me, he’d handed me a tire iron. “You want to learn?”

That night, under the flickering lights of the garage, with the scent of gas and oil thick in the air, Torin taught me how to fix a flat. His hands were strong and sure, his instructions firm but patient. He didn’t treat me like a kid, and over time, he taught me how to dismantle an engine, the art of welding. I, of course, was hooked...on him.

At first, the other guys had snickered, watching me struggle to lift the heavy tire or get the hang of the welding torch, but Torin didn’t laugh. Arms crossed, he'd stand back, nodding in approval when I finally managed to do something right. Over time, I earned the member's respect, and I even got a nickname—Princess Grease Monkey.

My dad was another story. He’d glower at me from his office, a cloud of cigar smoke wafting out into the garage. He didn’t want me around the bikes, didn’t want me around the club. But the more he pushed, the more determined I became. I knew I wasn’t going to be the typical gang girl—the one who sat on the back of a bike and looked pretty. I was going to be a part of the crew, and if that meant I had to get a little greasy, so be it.

Torin’s eyes had always watched me as I'd work beside him. They were like a warm embrace, encouraging me even when the tire iron would slip and the rubber hissed in protest. And when I finally managed to get the tire back on, he’d offered me a smoke, his hand brushing against mine as he lit it. The gesture was more intimate than any kiss could ever be.

We talked about everything and nothing—the bikes, the gang, our dreams. Torin’s dream was to ride across the country, feel the wind in his hair, and not look back. I nodded, my own dreams a tangled mess of wanting to escape and wanting to belong. As the stars began to peek out from the night sky one night, he leaned closer. “You’re not like the rest of us, you know. You’re something special.”

The way he’d said it made me feel like I could do anything, be anyone. And for the first time in my life, I felt seen—really seen. Not just the Prez’s daughter, not just a kid with a crush, but someone with potential. Someone who could hold their own in this world of steel and leather. And that was more exhilarating than the first time I’d ridden a bike without training wheels.

~~

Days turned into weeks, and the garage became my second home. Torin was always there, guiding me, pushing me to be better. I started to crave the thrill of the ride, the feeling of the wind in my hair, the vibration of the engine beneath me. And when my dad finally caved and let me ride, it was Torin who took me out for my first real ride.

The wind whipped around us as we sped down the deserted streets, the headlights cutting through the night like twin swords. We didn’t speak, but we didn’t have to. Our hearts beat in sync with the thunder of the bikes. When we finally pulled over, we were both breathless, our cheeks flushed from the adrenaline. He looked at me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to say something profound, but all he said was, “You’re a natural, Princess.”