Jilted Mechanic? The Underworld Boss's Queen!

Harley POV:

"Ah... Declan, right there... harder..."

Accompanied by the sickening gasps was the rhythmic, agonizing squeak of a heavy motorcycle's suspension.

I stood in the depths of Winston Customs, my father's legacy, feeling every drop of blood in my body freeze instantly.

In the darkness, the only light source illuminated my masterpiece-the custom Harley I'd spent an entire year bleeding over, "The Phoenix."

And right now, my boyfriend, Declan "Viper" Douglas, the Vice President of his club, was tangled up with Roxanne "Roxy" Schneider, the club's golden-haired slut, rolling around on my damn bike.

It was Friday. In my hand, a cardboard box still held a dozen of his favorite glazed donuts-our unspoken weekend tradition. Now, that tradition felt like the biggest fucking joke in the world.

Roxy's expensive custom leather jacket was tossed on the greasy floor like a dirty rag. She was draped over the gas tank, and Declan's club cut-the leather vest symbolizing his power-was crumpled beneath them. The coiled viper tattoo on his back writhed with every vulgar thrust, looking utterly repulsive.

The ultimate betrayal twisted into a freezing, bone-piercing rage that shot straight from my soles to the top of my skull.

I pulled out my phone, turned off the flash, and recorded thirty full seconds of high-definition video of these two dogs.

Then, I pocketed my phone and locked my eyes on the heavy steel toolbox nearby. Without a second of hesitation, I lifted my combat boot and kicked it with every ounce of strength I had!

"BANG!!!"

The crash was deafening. Thousands of metal screws, wrenches, and sockets exploded across the vast, empty garage like shrapnel.

The two bodies on the bike jolted apart like frightened stray dogs, frantically grabbing at their clothes.

There was zero guilt on Declan's face about being caught, only the blind fury of having his fun interrupted. "Harley? What the fuck are you doing here?!"

Roxy, however, just giggled. She held Declan's cut over her chest, her eyes dripping with contempt and provocation. "Oh, poor little thing. Did we interrupt you? But honestly, the suspension on your bike is a much better ride than you are."

I stared coldly at the two pieces of trash, my gaze finally landing on "The Phoenix," now stained with their sweat and fluids. This was the bike meant to win ultimate glory for our club at next week's show.

Wordlessly, I walked up to the motorcycle and pulled a folding knife from my pocket.

"Harley, don't you fucking dare!" Declan roared, putting up a tough front, thinking I was going to stab him.

I didn't even give him a second glance. I dropped to one knee and, with practiced, surgical precision, plunged the knife straight into the fuel line at the bottom of the gas tank!

"Hiss-"

The pungent, high-octane gasoline gushed out instantly, drowning the phoenix I had painstakingly airbrushed by hand, pooling into a filthy slick on the floor.

I stood up and hurled the box of warm donuts into the puddle of gas like throwing away garbage.

"Now, it's just like the two of you. A pile of fucking trash."

Ignoring Declan's thunderous curses and Roxy's terrified shrieks, I turned and strode out into the night. I, Harley Winston, don't give a shit about dirty men or dirty bikes!

The cold midnight wind couldn't cool the roaring fire in my chest. The garage was tainted, and my so-called home was just another layer of hell.

I kicked open the flimsy door of that rundown trailer, instantly assaulted by the stench of cheap beer and stale cigarettes.

My biological mother, Tammy, rushed over, plastering a fake, anxious look on her face. "There you are! I need to talk to you."

She told me she owed money to some low-level loan sharks, and the debt was due. The price to clear it? I had to go "spend a night" with those scumbags.

I looked at this woman who gave birth to me. The betrayal I had just witnessed merged with the pure absurdity of this moment, and I laughed out of pure rage.

"Slap!"

I swung my arm and delivered a vicious, echoing slap right across her face, sending her stumbling.

"You fucking want to sell me?!" I gritted out, every word dripping with venom.

Tammy clutched her cheek, showing zero shame. Instead, she started cursing like a banshee.

"So what if I sell you?! I gave birth to you, I raised you! Is spreading your legs to pay off my debt such a big deal? You're a little biker bitch anyway, stop acting like a fucking saint! We all know you're just damaged goods everybody rides!"

I casually grabbed the heaviest wrench from the tool belt on the wall, turned, and smashed it straight into the screen of the old TV.

"Crash!" The screen exploded, sending glass shards and sparks flying everywhere.

I turned back to Tammy, who was now paralyzed on the floor in terror. I looked at her like she was already a corpse. "Why don't you sell yourself? You still look like you've got some fucking charm left!"

Under Tammy's horrified gaze, I dropped the wrench, slammed the door, and walked out into the endless night.