The clatter of tools echoed through the Steel Vipers' garage, the smell of oil and gasoline hanging thick in the air.
Riley Storm crouched by the side of a motorcycle, her hands stained black with grease, hair pulled into a messy bun that never stayed neat.
The wrench slipped in her grip, and she muttered under her breath.
"Careful with that, girl," Sam called from across the shop, wiping her hands on a rag.
"You strip that bolt and Marcus will have your head.
Riley smirked without looking up.
"I have steadier hands than half the guys in here.
Your precious bolts are safe.
Sam walked closer, leaning against the workbench with a sly grin.
"I believe you, but your father likes to remind everyone who's in charge.
"He does not need reminders," Riley said, tightening the bolt and sitting back to admire her work.
"Everyone already knows.
The sound of engines rumbled outside as a group of bikers pulled in, laughter and curses following them.
Leather jackets with the Steel Vipers' emblem gleamed under the fluorescent lights.
The men stomped in, heavy boots echoing, bringing the outside noise with them.
One of them, Ryder, tossed his helmet onto the bench. "Bike's stalling again, Riley.
Think you can fix what Sam couldn't?
Sam threw her rag at him.
"Maybe if you did not ride it like you were trying to tear the engine out, it would run fine.
Ryder grinned, ignoring her, and looked at Riley.
"Well? You're gonna show her how it's done?
Riley wiped her hands and walked over, her expression calm. She inspected the bike, listened as the engine coughed when Ryder started it, and tapped a finger against the gas tank. "Your carburetor's clogged.
Stop filling up at that cheap station on the highway.
Ryder raised his eyebrows. "That's it?
"Simple problem, simple answer," Riley said.
"You want it fixed, leave it here, and I'll clean it out tonight.
The room chuckled, but Ryder clapped her shoulder.
"That's why we keep you around, Storm.
You're sharper than half of the crew.
"Don't let Marcus hear you compare me to the crew," Riley said.
"He'll take it as an insult to him.
The laughter died quickly at the mention of her father. Everyone respected Marcus Storm, and everyone feared him. Riley felt both emotions herself, though she rarely admitted it.
Sam nudged Riley with her elbow once Ryder walked away. "You know what they say about you? That you're tougher than the boys and smarter than your old man.
Riley gave a quiet laugh.
"That's how rumors start wars.
"Maybe. Or maybe it is the truth," Sam replied, watching her closely.
"Do you ever think you deserve more than fixing up bikes for men who barely say thank you?
Riley met her eyes.
"This is my family. It is not about thank you.
Sam leaned back against the workbench, her tone lighter. "Sometimes I wonder if you say that because you believe it or because you are afraid not to.
Before Riley could respond, the garage doors creaked open again.
The sound of boots and a heavy silence filled the room. Marcus Storm had arrived.
The president of the Steel Vipers carried a presence like a shadow.
His leather jacket bore years of wear, his beard streaked with gray, and his eyes as sharp as blades.
The room seemed to straighten when he walked in.
"Who left their tools scattered?" Marcus growled.
No one answered.
Riley quickly bent down and gathered a wrench and a socket, setting them neatly on the bench.
Marcus's gaze swept over her.
"You should not have to clean up after them.
"It is fine," Riley said quietly.
Marcus walked closer, his boots thudding against the floor. He looked at the bike Riley had been working on and nodded once.
"Good work. You keep this place running.
"I learned from the best," Riley replied, forcing a small smile.
His hand rested briefly on her shoulder, heavy, commanding. "Loyalty is everything, Riley.
Never forget that.
"I know," she said.
He stared at her a moment longer, then moved on to speak with Ryder and a few of the others.
The atmosphere in the garage loosened, but Riley's chest stayed tight.
Sam whispered, "You see? Even he knows you're the backbone here.
Riley shook her head. "Backbone or chain, either way I am not free.
Sam looked at her sharply.
"Do you want to be free?
Riley picked up another wrench and turned back to the bike. "It does not matter what I want.
The night wore on with the sound of grinding metal, laughter, and clinking bottles.
Riley stayed busy, repairing, tuning, wiping sweat from her forehead.
The men joked around her, but none dared push too far.
She was Marcus's daughter, and that made her untouchable in some ways and trapped in others.
Later, as the crowd thinned, Marcus called her over.
She wiped her hands and walked to his side.
"You were quiet tonight," Marcus said, his tone steady.
"I was working," Riley answered.
He studied her. "You do not belong on the sidelines.
You belong here, carrying the weight of this family.
You understand that?
"Yes, Father.
"Have you ever thought about what life looks like without the Vipers?" he asked suddenly.
Riley's throat tightened. She forced herself to meet his gaze. "No. This is my life.
He nodded, as if satisfied.
"Good. Because anyone who forgets where they belong ends up lost.
Riley excused herself soon after, stepping out into the cool night.
The rumble of engines still echoed faintly in the distance, the scent of oil and smoke clinging to her clothes.
She leaned against the garage wall, closing her eyes.
Sam appeared beside her, lighting a cigarette.
"He trusts you more than anyone.
"That is not always a gift," Riley murmured.
Sam blew out smoke and tilted her head.
"You ever wonder what it would feel like, just for one night, to not have chains around your wrists?
Riley gave a small, tired smile.
"Every night.
The two stood in silence for a while, the moon bright above them.
Inside, the Vipers laughed and shouted, celebrating another night of being untouchable.
Outside, Riley felt the weight of loyalty pressing against her chest.
She whispered to herself, words she would never dare say aloud to Marcus, "Family is not always freedom.
Sam glanced at her, but Riley's eyes stayed on the moon, her thoughts drifting to a memory she had not touched in years.
A boy with skates on his feet, a boy who once looked at her like she was more than the daughter of a king in chains.
She shook her head, wiping the thought away.
That boy was gone.
That life was gone.
Still, the memory lingered, like the faint hum of an engine that never really shuts off.