SEAN

“Celia and Atlas can handle this. You’ll follow along, Sean. You’re to watch and learn. Don’t go desperado on us. We have a way of doing things that has worked for longer than you’ve been alive. You want to impress me? You back them up, and stay the fuck out of their way until you’re damn sure they need you.” Jett asks over his shoulder, “Ready for some real beauty?” as the four of us stroll up to a garage the size of a small warehouse that doesn’t match the main house’s columns and forgotten grandeur. Must have been an add-on to the property.

He reaches down, fiddles with an antiquated pad lock and hauls the door up. Celia and Atlas are watching me as rows of motorcycles wave hello.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, glancing to Jett as he crosses his arms, proudly surveying the machines.

Awestruck I slowly drink in the polished chrome handlebars, levers, fork tubes, clutch covers, mufflers, wheels and brake calipers, plus thick tread on all the tires like they’re ready to ride. “All Harley Davidsons but one?”

“That’s Luna’s. Her third Triumph Bonneville. Our daughter rides one, too. Hers is deep green, brown leather seat, cool as shit. My girls both like to be unique,” he smirks, and waves me deeper inside. “You’re lucky Sofia was in a snit before we sent her on a job. She cleaned up Scratch’s old motorcycles. You’ll take one of his during your trial period.”

“Scratch? Oh yeah, someone mentioned he and his wife moved to Montana.”

As Atlas and Celia stay nearby, listening to him with patience and respect, Jett chuckles, “Old fuck will probably outlive me.” Running his fingers over the shiny black Harley perfect for a guy my size, he explains, “Scratch is tall like you. This seat is 26.8 inches off the ground so you’ll sit high and comfortable even for a cruiser. He was like a father to me when my dad and I didn’t get along. He took me in when I was like you—searching for more. Didn’t even know I was lost until I found the Ciphers.” Grey eyes rise to meet mine “Scratch was President back then. Solid bastard. Never met a truer heart in rougher skin. He taught me what I know. We were on the road for almost three decades together before he finally retired.”

Eyes glued to the machine I whisper, “Can’t imagine ever wanting to retire.”

Jett chuckles, “Listen to this guy. Hasn’t even been on a mission and he’s hooked.”

Celia smiles but I see she’s still thinking about that kiss.

Atlas jerks his chin, adds, “My dad retired for about six months once.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Ceels whispers. “I forgot about that.”

“Mom wanted him home more, but then he was such a mess that she pushed him on the road again. Said she hated him so unhappy. It was the day she stopped telling him that she worried.”

Jett frowns, the reminder of Honey Badger souring the moment. “Back to this!” He slaps the leather seat that’s got small tears in it from age. “You said you know how to ride. You drop this and I’ll drop you.”

My lips tighten. “Yes, sir.”

He smirks, “It’s so easy to fuck with you, Sean.”

I relax and slide my hands in my back pockets. “Happy to amuse.”

His face goes hard again. “But I’m not fucking with you now. You drop this and I will be fuckin’ pissed. I won’t kick you out for it, but we might have words.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you’re out there, you’re to watch and only watch.” He points a thick forefinger in my face. “You hear me? You’re not ready and I don’t want you getting in their way.” His finger slides over to them and holds there. “These two know the game. Follow. Listen. Learn. Do not—I repeat—do not be a hero. Today you are more like a camera, there to record the events and store them in that hard drive you call a brain. It’s that simple. And with your face all fucked up like that, you’re not exactly easy on the eyes, either. But that might work in your favor. Atlas, say you did this to him, and they’ll be all ears, bend to your will in a hurry.” Jett laughs and smacks my shoulder. “No I am fucking with you.”

Atlas and Celia head to their Harleys, which are backed-in so they can take off without a problem, just like all the bikes are. I glance to her as she shakes out her hair, ties it back into a pony tail, tighter this time, and pulls her leather jacket from the saddlebags, The Ciphers patch on the back and a matching ‘C’ on the left bicep shoot envy into my veins. Atlas tugs his on, shrugs his shoulders to get it to lay comfortably, and man I want one.

With the exciting roar of engines echoing off the walls, they slowly drive their Harleys to just outside the garage, and wait for me to join them. Can’t fuck this up. Been almost decade since I rode, when Mom and Alan broke it off. Never had one of my own.

Pulling every memory of how the engine works from the deepest recesses of my brain, I mount the beast like I tamed it long ago. Fake it ‘til you make it, as the saying goes.

Nobody can tell you don’t know what you’re doing if you act like you do.

Then learn fast.

Jett walks beside me, staring over his nose, arms crossed while I hold the clutch, light the thing on fire. Kicking it into neutral I strap the helmet on and lean back like it’s just another day.

My eyes lock with Celia. She gives me a wink, and takes off, thighs gripping that beast and fingers relaxed on the handles.

That’s gotta be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Lookin’ good, Sean!” Jett mutters. “Don’t fuck this up.”

I take off, vowing to myself that I won’t.

How hard can watching and learning be?