AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As a full-fledged member of the Devil’s Patrol, Jace had made himself as useful as possible. The club liked his knowledge of bikes and how he had doubled business—legitimate business—at Al’s Body Shop, the garage the club owned.
Thanks to his old man, he knew a lot about fixing bikes and cars. Not that Jace ever expected to see his old man again. Hell, he’d hoped as much. Considering Albert Beckett was imprisoned, his wistful thinking was valid.
All his hopes died a quick death when he went to get a part from a shelf and felt a strange prickling at the back of his head.
A warning.
“Hey, you work here?”
He’d know that deep voice, raspy from all those years of smoking, anywhere. The old man wasn’t in prison anymore.
Heart hammering against his chest, he waited a minute. Couldn’t show any emotion. No anger. Certainly no fear. Jace nodded but did not turn around.
“Al’s Body Shop. They named it after me, you know. I was damn good with fixing things when I was with the Devil’s Patrol.”
Jace’s hand tightened on the wrench he’d grabbed off the shelf. His knuckles whitened. A chill ran down his spine. Knew his past would catch up to him, but did it have to be this soon? Why the hell did his old man have to get paroled early?
He headed back to the bike, keeping his head down.
“Any chance Walt’s still around? He used to work here.”
Squatting down, Jace pretended to be absorbed in the bike he was repairing. “Not familiar with that name.”
“Walt worked here years ago, when this was my garage. I’m Al, like the Al on the sign.”
Yeah, I know. The same Al who fought and killed a member of a rival bike gang and left me and Mom to fend for ourselves while you were supposed to rot in prison.
Al wandered closer into the garage. Jace’s stomach tightened. Old man wasn’t supposed to be in here, only employees, but he acted like he still ran the place. Why couldn’t they have kept him locked up and tossed away the key?
“Garage looks good, same as it did when I was here. Some improvements.” A deep inhale. “Still the same smell. Love that smell. Miss it. Oil and power.”
Jace pulled out the carburetor and examined it, saying nothing.
Al began talking about the bikes he’d fixed, the machines he adored, while sweat trickled down Jace’s back, banding in the waistband of his jeans. He wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt.
“You don’t talk much.”
No kidding. Finally, Jace gritted his teeth. “Can I help you with something?”
“Came here to ask for a job.”
“Not hiring now.”
Al walked around the bike’s other side until he stood directly in front of Jace.
“Who would I talk to about a job around here?”
Jace mumbled something.
“Look at me when I talk to you, son.”
Now Jace did look up, the term sending him into a slow boil.I’m not your son. I ceased being your son the day you killed that biker.
He stood, wiping his grease-stained hands on a somewhat clean towel. “No work around here. Lance runs the place and he doesn’t have any jobs open.”
“Huh. You look like you know what you’re doing. Experienced. Good for Lance, having you as a mechanic.” Al’s tone deepened. “Always good for a man to have a trade to fall back on. I always told that to my son. Damn, I haven’t seen him in years. Wish I could find him, but I heard his mother moved out west. She probably took him with her.”
Now he got a long look at his father. The dark hair, so similar to his own, had been replaced with a shock of iron gray. His cheeks were leaner, and a sense of weariness hung around him like baggy clothing. He looked presentable in clean, somewhat new jeans, a crisp white T-shirt and a denim jacket.
