Page 51 of Gang of Roses: Rebel

“Good morning, Mr. Rebel,” the receptionist, Kerri, said politely. “I’m calling in regard to your motorcycle.”

“Mr. Rebel.”

I frowned. “I ain’t no damn man.”

“Oh, my apologies,” she said quickly. “I saw you at the shop and thought you were one.”

“Don’t let the baggy clothes fool you. I’m all woman. Now what’s this call about?”

“Unfortunately, we won’t be able to complete the repairs at this time.”

My eyebrows pulled together. “And why the fuck not?”

There was a brief pause before she answered. “Because the parts needed for the repair are no longer available through our suppliers.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. There was no way I was getting a call like this after my bike had been sitting in their shop for days.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry. We’ve exhausted all available options.”

“Put your boss on the phone,” I demanded.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Crow isn’t available at the moment,” the receptionist replied. “However, you’re welcome to pick up your motorcycle today.”

Before I could ask another question, the line went dead. I slowly lowered the phone from my ear and stared at the screen. Something about the conversation didn’t sit right with me. Crow Speed Shop had been working on my bike for almost a week.

Crow had worked on every motorcycle I’d owned over the years, and not once had he ever called me saying he couldn’t find a part. The whole thing smelled funny.

Just as I was about to head out to check on my motorcycle, I remembered I needed to check in with Sarah. I made it a point to call her once a week to see how my portfolio was doing and whether there were any new investment opportunities worth looking into. I pulled out my phone and hit her number. It rang once.

Then twice.

Before the third ring, the call went straight to voicemail.

I frowned.

That was odd. Sarah always answered my calls.

Then again, I did have one hell of a hangover, so maybe it was for the best that I didn’t talk to her right now. My head was pounding, my mouth felt dry as hell, and I definitely wasn’t in the mood to discuss stocks, investments, or market trends.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and figured she was probably tied up with another client or stuck in a meeting. There was no sense overthinking it. I’d just give her a call later. My headache was still pounding behind my eyes, but curiosity outweighed the hangover.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Crow Speed Shop. The moment I stepped out of my truck, I slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows before storming toward the entrance. The smell of oil, grease, and burning rubber hit me the second I walked inside. Engines hummed in the background while mechanics moved around the garage working on different bikes. Normally, I would’ve taken a second to admire the lineup of motorcycles sitting around the shop that were waiting to be taken care of. Today, I wasn’t in the mood. Crow was standing near the service bay talking to three mechanics when all four of them turned toward me. I didn’t slow down or smile. All eyes were on me, but I didn’t give a damn.

“Aye, nigga,” I barked. “What the hell you mean you don’t have the parts to work on my bike?”

The entire garage went silent as Crow’s eyebrows shot up.

“The fuck are you talking about?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.

“Your receptionist told me y’all couldn’t finish the repairs because the parts ain’t available.”

Confusion flashed across his face. “What receptionist?”

I pointed toward the front office. “The one sitting behind the damn desk.”

Crow looked over toward the office before rubbing the back of his neck. Then something clicked behind his eyes. For the first time since I’d known him, he actually looked annoyed.