Page 10 of Tiny's Testament
The banter keeps going, brotherhood easy and alive. Every insult is a promise that we support each other, even if we don’t say it out loud.
After lunch, I head back to the garage to grab tools for a maintenance check. That’s when I see Syvannah’s bike stripped down to its skeleton. Seat off, chain partially removed, wires hanging like veins.
She bought it last summer unexpectedly, seeking a way to move past the trauma Lattimer caused her. Not only did he fuck with her body, but he fucked with her mind, too. Out of the three women abducted and raped by Lattimer, Nadia, Exleigh, and Syvannah, Nadia is doing well. She runs a dance studio that helps her forget the memories. Exleigh has her music, andSyvannah had nothing until she saw this bike. Now she turns wrenches until her hands stop shaking. It works most days.
She’s kneeling beside the bike, grease on her cheek, determination shining in her eyes.
“You planning to ride that or resurrect it?” I ask, leaning in the doorway.
She looks up, strands of blonde hair falling across her face. “I was fixing the throttle cable. It snapped again.”
“You used the wrong clamp last time.” I crouch beside her, reaching for the part. Our fingers brush. Warm, quick, electric. Neither of us moves immediately.
Her breath catches first. “I can do it.”
“I know.” I hand her the wrench. “Just… let me help.”
She exhales slowly, avoiding my gaze. “You always have to fix things, huh?”
“Occupational hazard.”
Something flashes across her face before she quickly covers it.
Together, we work in silence, passing tools and occasionally grazing knuckles. Outside, the afternoon hums with motorcycles revving, music spilling from the clubhouse speakers, and someone laughing too loudly. But in here, it’s just the two of us.
When the cable is tight again, she tests the throttle. It purrs smoothly and steadily.
“There,” I say. “Good as new.”
She wipes her hands on a rag. “Thanks.”
I grab her wrist before she can pull away. “You don’t have to thank me every time.”
Her gaze flicks to mine. “Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Keep breathing.” The words come out rougher than I intend.
She blinks in surprise and then nods once. “Deal.”
I gently let go of her soft wrist before the air becomes any heavier.
Dagger strides in just as she rolls her bike outside. He’s grinning, the kind that usually means trouble. “You two fixing or flirting?”
“Both,” Syvannah replies immediately.
He laughs. “Respect.”
I toss him a wrench. “What brings you down here, Reverend?”
He catches it midair. “Got pulled into a community-outreach thing at the high school. Nina’s teacher asked if the club would come talk about mechanics and mentorship. Figured I’d volunteer before Capone sticks Trigger with it.”
Red overhears and whistles. “You? In a classroom? That poor teacher.”
“Don’t worry,” Dagger says. “She’s got a sharp mouth. Keeps up just fine. Eyes like lightning, though. Kinda dangerous.”
Trigger smirks from across the room. “Uh-oh. Dagger found someone who doesn’t faint at his sermons.”
“Yeah,” Dagger admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe my match.”
