Steel and Smoke
They rode out of the compound in formation, the Scorpions’ fortified gates shrinking in Jax’s rearview. The night air was cool and crisp, scented with pine and damp earth. Jax let Ava take the lead, the Dyna’s taillights cutting a red swath through the darkness. They turned onto a winding county road, the asphalt smooth and deserted under a canopy of stars. Jax leaned into the curves, her body moving in sync with the bike, the thrum of the engine a primal heartbeat between her thighs.
Ava pushed the pace, her riding style aggressive but controlled. Jax matched her, the Sportster responding to her slightest touch. They flew past moonlit fields and shadowed forests, the world narrowing to the beam of their headlights and the roar of their pipes. At a turnout overlooking a glimmering lake, Ava pulled over. She killed her engine and dismounted, her movements fluid and economical. Jax followed suit, her legs tingling with the aftershock of speed.
The lake stretched before them, a mirror of obsidian reflecting the bruised purple sky. Crickets chirped in the tall grass, the only sound besides their synchronized breathing. Ava pulled off her helmet, her short-cropped hair tousled, her face flushed with windburn. In the moonlight, her scar stood out in sharp relief, a silver slash against her skin. She looked at Jax, really looked, her storm-cloud eyes holding something beyond suspicion for the first time. “You ride like you were born to it,” she said, her voice rough with exertion and something else, something that made Jax’s pulse quicken.
“Been riding since before I could reach the pegs,” Jax said, her own voice thick. The air between them hummed with unspoken things. Ava took a step closer, her proximity a tangible force. Jax could smell the leather of her jacket, the faint musk of her skin. The scar on Ava’s arm was inches from Jax’s own, a silent testament to battles fought and survived. “Ava—”
“Don’t.” Ava’s hand snapped up, her fingers brushing Jax’s lips. The touch was fleeting, electric. “Don’t say anything. Just… ride back with me.” The invitation – or was it a command? – hung in the charged silence. Jax swallowed hard, her body thrumming with a different kind of vibration now. She nodded, the unspoken promise settling between them like a vow.
The ride back was a blur of adrenaline and want. Jax followed Ava’s taillights through the winding roads, her body thrumming with an awareness that had nothing to do with the engine between her thighs. When they pulled into the garage, the cavernous space felt charged, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and unspoken hunger. Ava dismounted first, her movements sharp with a tension Jax recognized in her own trembling hands.
They stored the bikes in silence, the clang of kickstands echoing in the stillness. Jax’s skin prickled under Ava’s gaze, every nerve ending alight. When the last motorcycle was covered, Ava turned, her back against her Dyna, her gray eyes dark as storm clouds. “You’ve been driving me fucking crazy, you know that?” Her voice was a low rasp that went straight to Jax’s core. “Watching you work. Seeing you ride.”
Jax’s breath hitched. She took a step closer, the space between them crackling like a live wire. “You’ve been worse,” she shot back, her own voice rough. “Following me everywhere. Watching me like I’m gonna vanish.”
Ava’s hand snapped out, fingers tangling in Jax’s hair, pulling her close. “Maybe I want you to,” she growled against Jax’s mouth, her breath hot and tasting of mint and need. The first kiss was a collision – teeth and tongues and desperation, months of pent-up tension igniting like a fuse. Jax fisted Ava’s jacket, yanking her closer, their bodies crashing together in a tangle of leather and heat.
They stumbled backward until Jax’s shoulders hit the workbench, tools clattering to the concrete floor. Ava’s hands were everywhere – gripping Jax’s hips, sliding under her shirt, searing trails of fire across her skin. Jax arched into the touch, her own hands frantic, tugging at Ava’s belt, popping buttons with shaking fingers. Ava broke the kiss with a gasp, her pupils blown wide, her lips swollen and slick. “Fuck, Jax,” she panted, her fingers already working Jax’s fly. “Need you.”
The words were a match to gasoline. Jax shoved Ava’s jeans down, her nails scraping denim and warm skin. Ava’s hand closed around Jax’s wrist, guiding it between her legs. “There,” she hissed, her head falling back as Jax’s fingers found her, hot and slick and ready. Jax’s vision whited out at the feel of her – silk and heat, trembling under her touch. She worked Ava with quick, hard strokes, her thumb relentless on her clit. Ava’s hips bucked, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. “Fuck, your hands—” She bit off the words, her body shuddering, her release flooding Jax’s fingers.
But Ava didn’t let her catch her breath. She spun Jax around, bending her over the workbench, her jeans shoved down to her knees. Jax heard the rasp of a zipper, the tear of foil, and then Ava was pressing inside her, thick and hard and perfect. Jax cried out, her palms scrabbling for purchase on the cool metal, her body stretching to take her. Ava’s hands clamped down on Jax’s hips, her thrusts deep and ruthless, each one striking sparks behind Jax’s eyelids. “Take it,” Ava growled, her voice guttural, her breath hot against Jax’s ear. “Take all of me.”
Jax did, meeting every thrust with a push of her own, the workbench biting into her hips, the smell of grease and sex filling her lungs. Ava’s hand snaked around, finding Jax’s clit, working it in time with her thrusts. The dual assault shattered Jax’s control, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, her scream echoing off the concrete walls. Ava followed, her final thrust burying deep, her body shuddering against Jax’s back, her teeth sinking into Jax’s shoulder with a possessive growl.
They collapsed together against the workbench, sweat-slick and trembling, their breathing ragged in the sudden stillness. Ava’s arms were tight around Jax’s waist, her face pressed to Jax’s spine. “Fuck,” she murmured, her voice hoarse, cracked open. “Jax, I—”
Jax turned in her arms, her hands framing Ava’s face, her thumb brushing the silver scar on her jaw. “Tell me,” she said, the words a breath of sound. “Tell me how you got this.”
Ava’s eyes darkened, the storm clouds gathering. She pulled back slightly, her fingers tracing the ridge of the scar as if it were a talisman. “It was early,” she said, her voice low, distant. “When I was still a prospect. We were running protection for a trucking outfit. Got ambushed by some Devils’ kin at a rest stop.” She paused, her throat working. “I took three of them down, but the fourth got lucky. Slipped a blade between my ribs before Brick took him out.” Her hand tightened on Jax’s hip. “Brick patched me up himself. Said I’d earned my cut that day. That I belonged.”
Jax’s chest tightened, the echo of Ava’s pain a physical ache. She leaned in, pressing her lips to the scar, feeling the tremor that ran through Ava’s body. “You do belong,” she whispered against the raised flesh. “Here. With me.”
Ava’s breath hitched, her arms tightening around Jax like she’d never let go. “Yeah,” she said, the word a vow. “I do.”
The garage air settled around them, charged with the weight of shared secrets and the raw, electric truth of what they’d just done. Jax’s body hummed with aftershocks, every nerve alight, but it was the quiet certainty in Ava’s hold that anchored her. They stayed like that, tangled in leather and limbs, until the first pale streaks of dawn bled through the high windows. Only then did they peel apart, dressing in silence, the space between them no longer a divide but a living thing, pulsing with the promise of more.
The reprieve was short-lived. Two days later, the past Jax had outrun roared into the Scorpions’ compound with the screech of tires and the snarl of unfamiliar engines. She was elbow-deep in a carburetor rebuild when the clubhouse alarm shattered the morning calm – a harsh, pulsing wail that sent ice flooding her veins.
Ava was already moving, her boots hitting the concrete floor at a run. Jax followed, her heart hammering against her ribs. They burst into the main room to chaos – Scorpions scrambling for weapons, prospects barricading doors, Brick’s voice booming over the din. Through the reinforced windows, Jax saw them: ten bikes, maybe more, their riders wearing the horned skull patch of the Devil’s Kin. And at the head of the pack, his face twisted with rage, was Chains.
“You brought them here!” Brick’s accusation sliced through Jax’s panic, his eyes blazing with fury as he loomed over her. The clubhouse fell silent, every Scorpion eye fixed on Jax. “You led them straight to our fucking door!”