The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,49

and then wincing at the sheer volume of alcohol within the drink. It’s Long Island Iced Tea level shit.

“My dad has trouble finding new and interesting ways to spend his money. He set this up for me a couple of years ago, I guess back when he was trying to inspire some sort of masculine, boy’s club attitude in me.” His face is pale and solemn as he looks back over his shoulder. “As usual, I disappointed him.”

I knock back a mouthful of the drink, my insides burning as the alcohol slides down my throat. “Wouldn’t worry about it. Sons are born to disappoint their fathers.”

We reach the first of the outbuildings—a large, white, corrugated steel structure with a flat roof, the size of a small barn—and Leon takes out a set of keys, unfastening a weighty, industrial sized lock that secures a large steel sliding door. A moment later, Leon steps inside and hits a light, and bank after bank of strip lighting blinks to life inside.

It's a workshop. Not just a workshop; it’s a monstrous space, with two bays to work on vehicles, and countless metal shelving units, packed high with just about every tool and piece of equipment known to man. Everything is meticulously clean, organized and in its place. Wrenches, spanners, and screwdrivers hang from the walls, ascending in size. And along the right-hand side of the workshop, three motorcycles are parked one beside the other. All of them are classics—two Harleys and a Honda. They’re immaculate. The kind of bikes a guy dreams about. They must have cost a cool twenty grand a piece.

I whistle, shoving past Leon into the workshop. “Shit. You just have these sitting here? In a workshop behind your house? You don’t ride them?”

Leon shakes his head. “I put the Honda together. My father had one of his guys come in here and take it apart, down to the nuts and bolts. And then he told me, if I wanted to keep my trainer over the summer break, I had to figure out how to put it back together inside a week.”

“YouTube?” I ask.

“YouTube,” he confirms.

“Can I take a look?”

He holds his hand out, a rueful smile on his face. “Be my guest. You’ll be the first person besides me to lay eyes on them since Dad dumped them here.”

Closer, the bikes are fucking beautiful. I love my Indian—there was a time when I spent every single spare dime that came my way on hulking that thing out—but let’s face it. My bike is nowhere near as lovely as these machines. I run my hand over the Harley Roadster, imagining I can feel the purr of the engine beneath my palm. It would be so, so fucking sweet to put this baby through her paces. “You haven’t shown these to Jake and his friends, then?”

Leon’s expression warps; if I’m not mistaken, it’s anger that I see flaring in his eyes. “No way, dude. Jake thinks anything and everything is put in front of him for his own amusement. If he saw these, he’d have one of them wrapped around a fucking street sign in five minutes flat. And he’d probably walk away unscathed, of course. Jake and his friends seem to have nine lives.”

There’s a bitter edge to his voice that makes me look up at him. “I thought you were tight with Jake.”

“Jake thinks he’s tight with everyone. Truth is, he’s a fucking asshole, and no one’s brave enough to call him on his shit. Jake kind of stole my girlfriend from me, and yet here we are…” He throws his hands up, frustrated. “He shows up, ready to party. He makes himself at home without a second fucking thought. Right now, I’m pretty sure he’s upstairs with Kacey, for fuck’s sake, and I’m just supposed to…let it slide. Just like everyone else, I'm supposed to pat him on the back and tell him his shitty behavior is totally fine because he is the great Jacob Weaving, master of everything the light touches.”

I smirk. “Was that a Lion King reference?”

“Kinda,” he replies glumly.

I hold out my solo cup to him, and he takes it for me so I can throw my leg over the Roadster and push the bike upright. The shape of it's much like my Scout, but it's heavier, more substantial. The key's in the ignition. I point at it, asking a silent question, and Leon nods. When I start the engine, the bike explodes into life, and