The Bikers Rebel (Warriors Series {3})

Chapter Seventeen

***Warning: Mature Content***

Rebel threw up her wrench, shouting in victory. It took her two weeks but she finally got that damned motorcycle to work. She stood back with her hands on her hips and admired her work.

The bike no man could fix and she did it in just two weeks. Men are superior, huh? That otta show 'em.

"Holy shit," Snake said, walking over. "You fixed it."

She looked at the shocked look on his face and laughed, slapping his chest. "Piece of cake."

She looked at the bike and bit her lip. This was a classic bike. A working, beautiful classic bike... she just had to ride it at least once.

She groaned. "Call the owner and let him know it's fixed. Have him be here in half hour."

Rebel sat on the bike and used her feet to push it out of the shop, Snake following behind her.

"What are you doin, Rebel?"

"I have to ride it once, Snake. Have you seen this baby!"

"Yes, I've seen it, but it's not our job to drive it around without consent. Now get off."

"Just twenty minutes, around the block," she started the bike. "I'll be right back!" She yelled as she gunned it out of the parking lot and down the street.

Snake was cursing after her. She laughed and felt the wind rushing around her. She took the bike around the block a few times, loving the purr of the engine, but eventually took it back to the garage. There was a black Lincoln in the lot, a man sitting in the drivers seat, unmoving.

Rebel parked the bike but before she could get off, a man came out of the office shouting, "What the hell are you doing on my bike?"

Snake was following behind the man, shooting her a death glare. She frowned, checking her phone. She hadn't been gone fifteen minutes! What was he doing here?

"Test driving it," she thought quickly.

"Isn't that the mechanics job?"

That pissed her off. She didn't care if he looked like the poster boy for Abercrombie & Fitch or if he was the customer. What gave him the idea he could be a sexist pig?

"I am the mechanic," she snapped. "I just spent the last two weeks busting my ass to get your motorcycle in working order, asshole!"

"Rebel!" Snake snapped.

"What? It's not my fault he's making sexist assumptions!"

"Whoa! No one is being sexist here," Abercrombie said. "Just didn't think--"

"That a girl could fix a motorcycle. I grew up in this shop and you'd think the grease and oil covering my clothes would explain that."

She pushed past them and walked into the shop, grabbing a hammer and throwing it at the wall. The boys looked up but got back to business, they were used to her throwing a tantrum every now and then. The civilians that worked there got used to it in the two weeks she spent there.

On instinct, she walked into the office and opened the safe, pulling out the bottle of rum her dad left in there. She grabbed a glass from a desk drawer and put ice from the mini fridge freezer in the glass. She poured a healthy amount of the poisonous liquid and stared at the glass in her hand.

"Don't you fucking dare," she heard the rumble of the deep voice, so serious and deadly. It sent shivers down her back.

"Put the fucking glass down, Rebel."