Page 46 of Property of Bones

“Internal combustion engines operate by igniting a mixture of fuel and air in the cylinder. This reaction creates pressure, pushing the piston down, and turning the crankshaft. This iswhat drives the bike forward. Every spark, every stroke, is precision. Trust. Rhythm.”

She doesn’t respond this time. Her lashes are still against her cheeks, her mouth soft and slack with sleep. But I keep reading. For her. For me.

“A motorcycle is more than a machine. It’s an extension of the rider. A partner on the open road. When properly maintained, it becomes a seamless link between man and motion. A dance of gears and fire.”

Outside the window, the sky’s dipped into that deep, velvety blue that comes just before full night. Quiet. Calm.

“To understand a motorcycle, one must respect the balance. Between strength and surrender. Between control and freedom.”

I pause, looking over at her one more time. She’s gone under, completely. But I swear… her lips twitch like she heard that last line and agreed.

I set the book down on the nightstand and lean forward, brushing a kiss across her forehead.

“You’re my favorite kind of freedom, doll,” I whisper.

Then I turn off the light and let the silence settle around us, steady as the purr of a well-tuned engine.

Shooting off a quick text for Foster to find the best place to buy a fucking TV, I lean back and fall asleep.

Chapter Fifteen

Bones

“How’s Sunny?” Maverick asks as I enter the war room. “Spike filled me in on everything that happened.”

“She’s in pain today,” I growl, jaw tightening. It grates on me knowing she’s hurting, knowing it was my damn fault. Even if it was to save her life. “The girls are sitting with her until I get back.”

“Is the beautiful sunshine girl domesticating our Bones?” Skip grins from where he’s lounging back in his chair, fingers twirling a pen like it’s a butterfly knife. His eyes sparkle with mischief, as always.

I shoot him a look that could make concrete crack. But he continues to fucking smile.

“She’s not domesticating me,” I mutter. “She’s surviving. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says with a low chuckle. “But I bet if she asked you to kill a spider you would do it without blinking.”

I don’t answer. Mostly because if she asked me to kill anything or anyone, I would do it without hesitation.

“Alright,” Spike says, stepping in and killing the teasing vibe with the drop of his voice alone. “Let’s get to it.”

The mood shifts instantly, the easy banter replaced with the tension that always hits when the club’s under threat. We fileinto our usual spots, the big table scratched and worn from years of fists, bottles, and decisions that shaped who we are today.

Maverick leans against the far wall instead of taking a seat, arms crossed, one boot braced up behind him like he’s just passing through. But I know better. That man sees everything, stores it away in that steel-trap brain of his.

Even though he’s not patched, he’s earned his place here. In blood. In loyalty. In ways that can’t be measured by ink on leather.

“Girls getting dosed was a message,” Crusher says. “Question is: who the hell’s trying to talk to us and what the hell are they saying?”

“Los Fantasmas,” I say with no hesitation. “Billy didn’t come out and say it, but I’m pretty sure Muerte is the leader. He used to just be Luis but got himself a new name. So, if he went back to tattle on us for kicking his ass out, this could be revenge.”

“Yeah,” Skip says. “I remember the name Luis. So, Muerte and Luis are the same person?”

“Makes sense,” Tank says. “There was never any rumor of leadership changing hands.”

“We don’t know shit about them,” Spike says, fingers drumming against the table. “Which is one of the reasons why I’ve got Vipers in place, working angles. We needed someone on the inside and we’ve got him. Just got word last night. They’ve greenlit the op. Our guy’s going under with Los Fantasmas starting tomorrow.”

A low hum of tension rolls through the room. Even Maverick straightens up from the wall.

“Can we trust them?” Knuckles asks, brow raised.

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