Chapter One

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Jack Mullane twisted the accelerator and revved the Harley Davidson while his best mate, Cody, looked on. A few women were standing around the car park outside his newly-refurbished motorbike repair shop, and he was showing off. Chicks loved that kind of shit. He revved it a couple more times, the loud grunt of the bike roaring through the car park, before he brought it down to a low purr and finally switched off the engine again.

"What did you think?" Jack asked Cody.

"She runs smoother than a day-old Brazilian wax," Cody said, grinning broadly.

Jack snorted in response. It was their running joke—comparing motorbikes and women—but he checked over his shoulder, just in case an actual woman was standing behind him. Not only were there female customers about, but he also employed a couple. Not many—since motorbike repair was a male-dominated industry—but the women he did employ, he couldn't do without, so he didn't want to piss them off.

"I'll take it for a virgin ride when Mia gets here," he told Cody, who grinned some more.

"Hope she likes it."

"Me, too. So, how's the tattoo studio coming along?"

"Come and see for yourself."

To get into the tattoo studio, they had to walk inside his showroom, and Jack couldn't help but stop and look about proudly. All the renovations were now complete, the culmination of all his dreams, growing from his humble beginnings in the workshop where he'd started his apprenticeship with Dave, who had eventually sold him his business. The workshop was out back, but he'd expanded it into what it was today—a showroom with space enough for 50 motorbikes for sale, racks for riding gear, shelves for bike accessories, and a brand-new neon sign out front that said, Precision Mechanics. There was also a coffee shop in one corner, and the tattoo studio on the side of the building, where Cody was setting up his business. Cody was a wicked tattoo artist. Jack knew because he sported several of his custom-made designs on his own body.

"It looks great," Cody said, coming to stand beside him and looking around.

"Sure does."

"I'll bet even your old man will be happy."

Jack laughed dryly. It took a lot to make his hard-headed, businessman dad happy. Of course, none of it would have been possible without his financial help. Jack had only landed on his feet because his dad had bailed him out time and time again with his vast amounts of wealth. Cody liked to call him the "poor little rich kid". It was kind of true.

"Maybe. I don't care. As long as I've got my bikes, I'm happy."

"And girls."

"Yeah, that, too," Jack said, cracking them both up. "Come on, let's go."

They started toward the tattoo studio again, when he heard the sound of a death-metal band resonating from the workshop. Jack shot a glance at Cody, and they both went out back to inspect the source of the noise. The metallic twanging became more deafening as they entered the cavernous space. There, in the back of the workshop, he saw two overall-clad legs poking out from beneath a sidecar attached to a motorbike. He shook his head. Grinning mischievously, he walked as quietly as he could toward the bike. He got down on his haunches and looked up at Cody conspiratorially. Cody nodded.

"How's it going, Sally?!" he yelled as loudly as he could over the music.

He heard the bang first, followed by the swearing, amazed that she was so jumpy even though she had that racket blaring in the background.

"Fuck it, Jack; what the hell did you have to do that for?!" Sally exploded, sliding herself out from beneath the bike and glaring at him.

"Temper, temper," Jack said, smirking at her, knowing it would infuriate her even more. "Hope that wasn't your head," he said, standing and chuckling just a little.

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