Chapter 3 - Rogue

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Rogue's blood was boiling as she paced the shop office. Her palms were slick with sweat and she wanted nothing more than to rip through the shop like a furious tornado. Who did Red think he was? She wished she could have smacked the stupid grin off his face, but instead she had stood there and listened to his bullshit, barely concealed threat. She couldn't wait to see what he would do when she declined his "generous offer." She imagined him walking in, her telling him no, the pissed off look he would get. Then she would show him just how bad of an idea it is to threaten a DeRyck. Rogue abruptly stopped pacing and felt her cheeks. They were hot, most likely blushing red, and it wasn't from anger. She rolled her eyes and shook the image of Red's face from her mind. Now was not the time to go getting hot and bothered by the enemy. Besides, he was just good looking, nothing special. At least that's what she tried to tell herself.
Taking a deep breath and holding it in, Rogue spun on her heel and marched right into the shop. She didn't let it out until her fingers brushed the smooth metal of her Snap-On Classic '96 toolbox. It was flat black, her favourite, with shiny black trim in place of chrome. Her heartbeat slowed as she opened the drawers and took stock of her tools. Everything was perfectly in place, just as she'd left it the day before. Rogue pulled out her impact gun and socket set, set them on her workbench and brought in her 1965 Harley Davidson 650 Sprint. It was her weekend bike, an old relic which she painstakingly restored in her dad's garage years before. He had left the poor thing lying around for over a decade in the "junkyard" of his acreage. After watching it waste away year after year, Rogue finally convinced him to let her get it running. Three months of hard labour later it ran like it was new, and looked even better. She had kept the original colour, a dark red, and tried to keep it looking as original as possible. Which is why she now needed her impact gun. The new tires and rims she'd had custom made had arrived that morning. They had to be custom made because she couldn't find tires that looked enough like the originals for her liking. As she worked, all the tension of the morning left her body and she began to feel lighter, more like herself. She decided a run would be the perfect next activity to get rid of the last of her stress. Not to mention the nauseating fluttery feeling in her stomach. Bikers, she thought to herself, had always been her weakness.

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