Chapter 4. Love in the Breakdown Lane

Riven could only stand there, frozen, as the past she’d tried to bury reared its head, alive and grinning in front of her. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t give the truth weight by saying it aloud.

Axel stepped closer, his presence towering, the heat of him pressing against the chill. “That was no rumor. That was recognition.”

Her heart hammered. “It doesn’t matter,” she forced out, shoving her helmet back on like armor. “It’s not who I am anymore.”

Axel’s jaw clenched. For a second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes—not pity, not judgment, but something heavier. Then he pulled his own helmet on and swung onto his bike.

“Get on,” he said.

“I can—”

“Now, Hale.”

The command snapped through her, leaving no room for refusal. She climbed on, her arms circling his waist before she could think better of it.

The engine roared to life. Axel gunned the throttle harder than before, and the world blurred past them in a rush of headlights and shadow.

Riven pressed her cheek to his back, the wind clawing at her jacket, her thoughts a hurricane she couldn’t contain. That rider’s words still rang in her ears.

Hale’s little girl.

She had promised herself she was done with that name, with that life. Yet here she was, on the back of a Wolfe’s bike, flying through the night with her past clawing back to life.

The road stretched dark and endless ahead, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how fast they rode, she wasn’t outrunning anything.

The ride stretched on, the road narrowing into a winding strip of cracked asphalt that cut through woods and shadows. The hum of cicadas thickened in the night air, blending with the rumble of the bike. Riven clung tighter than before, every bump jolting through her bones.

Then the engine sputtered. Once, twice. A violent cough rattled through the frame.

Axel cursed under his breath and guided the bike to the shoulder. The machine shuddered, gave one last groan, and died.

“Damn it.” He swung off, tugging at his helmet with frustrated force.

Riven followed, her boots crunching gravel as she peeled her helmet away. The night pressed in heavy—trees looming, stars muffled by cloud. “What happened?”

Axel crouched, running a hand over the engine casing. “Fuel line’s acting up. Maybe a clog.” He slammed the heel of his hand against the side, muttering something too low for her to catch.

She watched him for a moment, irritation prickling beneath her skin. He was treating her like a passenger, like dead weight. And that wasn’t who she was.

“Move,” she said.

Axel shot her a look. “What?”

She crouched beside him, brushing his hand away. Her fingers traced the frame, finding the small latch, the stubborn clip that any mechanic worth their salt knew. Muscle memory took over, her hands moving like they belonged there. She loosened the line, checked the filter, fingers blackening with grease.

Axel blinked at her, surprise flickering across his sharp features. “You know what you’re doing.”

Riven bit back a smile, teeth gritting. “I told you—it’s none of your business.”

But inside, the old rhythm surged through her, the rhythm her father had drilled into her palms. Feel the machine. Listen to it. It’ll tell you what it needs.

She found the clog, cleared it with a quick, practiced flick, then tightened everything back down. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she stood. “Try it now.”

Axel hesitated a fraction too long before turning the key. The engine roared back to life, steady and strong.

His eyes stayed on her, stormy and unreadable.

“Not bad,” he said finally.

The compliment slipped out too quickly, and he covered it with a crooked half-grin, like admitting admiration tasted foreign in his mouth.

Grease streaked her fingers, black smudges against pale skin. “Told you.”

He stepped closer, close enough that the scent of leather and smoke wrapped around her. His gaze dipped to her hands, then back up to her face.

His eyes traced the path her fingers had taken over the engine, lingering on the black grease staining her skin.

“Hale,” he murmured, the name hanging between them like smoke.

Her stomach twisted into a knot. “Don’t.”

He stepped closer, the leather of his jacket creaking. “Those hands—” His gaze fixed on her blackened fingertips, the way they curled instinctively, protective of their knowledge. “Ten years old, sitting on milk crates in your daddy’s garage while other girls played with dolls.” His own hand lifted, hovering near the dark smudge along her jawline, close enough that she felt the heat of his skin without contact. The scent of motor oil and night air clung to them both. His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. “You can change your name. Your clothes. Your life. But those hands remember.”

Her heartbeat fractured. Not fast, not hard—just wrong.

Like her body was misfiring, glitching against a truth too sharp to accept. She wanted to shove him back, tried to deny it—but the truth hung heavy in the night between them.

He leaned in, so close she felt the air of him, the faint brush of his breath. For a second, the whole world narrowed to the half-inch between their mouths.

Riven’s heart slammed. She pulled back, too fast, nearly stumbling. “No.”

Axel’s eyes flickered, not with anger, but something more challenging to read—patience, maybe. Or pity. He didn’t chase her, didn’t press.

Instead, he said softly, “You can lie to yourself, Hale. But you can’t lie to me.”

The words cut deeper than any touch.

Riven shoved her helmet back on, hands trembling as she strapped it tight. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Axel climbed back on the bike, the engine rumbling steady again. He didn’t look at her when he said, “Get on.”

She did, her arms circling him out of necessity, not choice. But her pulse betrayed her, beating wild as the night swallowed them whole.