Pampered By The Rival Underground Boss

Jolene Battle POV:

I pushed open the heavy oak door to the second-floor office, and the stench of burnt motor oil mixed with cheap, cloying jasmine perfume hit the back of my throat.

Next week was our two-year wedding anniversary, which also marked the two-year milestone of Alec taking over as President of the Langley Motorcycle Club. In my hand, I clutched a custom titanium tie clip I had just finished grinding and polishing down in the shop-a surprise meant for the hidden compartment inside his office safe. But as I pulled the drawer open, my fingers brushed against a cold, rigid document buried beneath a stack of invoices.

My boots froze on the worn floorboards.

It was a fully drafted *Separation and Asset Relinquishment Agreement*.

I picked up the first page, my knuckles turning stark white under the strain. The clauses were brutal and unapologetic: they stripped me of every mechanical patent, confiscated all my proprietary dyno diagnostic tools, and completely erased any trace of my legal ownership in the Langley Custom Garage.

At the bottom of the final page, the effective date was clearly typed out: exactly thirty days from today.

Thirty days. Alec's birthday. The very day the club was set to elect its executive board.

And right above the respondent line, Alec's signature was already scrawled in black ink-sharp, arrogant, and careless.

My stomach twisted into a violent, sickening knot.

Just last night, that very same man had wrapped his grease-stained arms around my waist, whispering against the hollow of my throat that he would protect me from the Woodward family and keep our garage safe from their vultures.

He knew better than anyone what the Woodward name meant to me. My biological father was the ruthless head of the Woodward syndicate. Years ago, he had cast my dying mother aside for a venomous mistress, plundering her mechanical patents and leaving us with nothing. I severed all blood ties, discarded the Woodward name, and took my mother's maiden name-Battle. But their cruelty didn't stop there; they hounded my mentor, Monroe, straight to his grave.

Two years ago, after a devastating desert highway wreck, Alec was the one who pulled me out of my burning, crushed chassis. Out of gratitude for saving my life, and desperate for a sanctuary far from my father's reach, I willingly clipped my own wings. I buried my identity as Nova-the legendary powertrain engineer of the West Coast-and spent two long years as his nameless, grease-covered ghost of a wrench.

And this was my reward.

Downstairs, the thunderous roar of a heavy Harley engine cut through the silence, followed immediately by a woman's shrill, breathy giggle piercing the thin drywall.

Swallowing the metallic tang of rage in my throat, I folded the agreement back into its original crease, shoved it into the inner pocket of my canvas work jacket, and headed down the metal stairs.

Afternoon sunlight slashed through the half-open bay doors, cutting through the haze of welding smoke and stale beer hanging in the air.

I stepped into the deep shadow cast by the hydraulic lift.

Over by a customized matte-black Road King, two bodies were pressed together.

Genevra Woodward stood on her pointed designer heels, a tight leather mini-skirt riding up her thighs, her crimson nails trailing lazily down Alec's collarbone. Genevra-my illegitimate, half-sister. The spoiled creature whose mother had usurped my family's home, now standing in my shop, taking what was mine.

Alec didn't push her away. His large, rough hands were planted firmly on her hips, pulling her into him, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

Genevra stood on her tiptoes, pressing a kiss against his stubbled jaw. Her voice was drenched in syrup: "Thank you, Alec. If you hadn't gifted me this limited-edition intake manifold to celebrate my valley track win, my father would have kept me grounded all month."

"It's nothing," Alec rumbled, tightening his grip on her waist. "You deserve the best."

"And... what about our deal?" Genevra leaned closer, running a finger over his President patch. "At your birthday run in thirty days, I don't want to see that unpatched, homeless stray wandering our garage. People are starting to talk. Who's the real Old Lady here?"

Alec let out a low chuckle, giving her hip an affectionate squeeze. "What's the rush? The position is yours. If you can't even handle a little patience, how are you going to stand beside me when we take over the West Coast corridor?"

Standing in the shadows, my blood turned to ice.

So that was it.

The thirty-day separation paper wasn't meant for me at all-it was a counterfeit pacifier drafted to keep Genevra and her father's supply lines hooked. To Alec, both sisters were just leverage: I was his free labor and mechanical brain, while Genevra was his shortcut to territory and cheap wholesale parts.

I stepped out from behind the steel lift, my footsteps heavy and measured against the concrete.

"Looks like your business negotiations have gotten remarkably intimate."

My voice sliced through the ambient hum of the shop like cold steel.

Genevra gasped, pulling back abruptly. But the moment she recognized me, her panic dissolved into a venomous, calculating smirk as she clutched the parts box tightly against her chest. "Oh, Jolene... don't be dramatic. Alec was just helping me celebrate my race win. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can return the kit."

Her words were sweet, but her knuckles were white around the box, daring me to take it.

Alec didn't show an ounce of shame. The warmth vanished from his features, replaced by a cold, familiar mask of indifference. He patted Genevra's shoulder dismissively: "Go wait out back. I'll handle this."

Genevra gave a submissive nod, casting a gloating, triumphant glare in my direction as she brushed past me toward the exit.

Alec walked over to the leather chair beside his dyno bench, sinking into it. He looked at me like I was a customer causing an unnecessary scene, his voice dripping with irritation: "What the hell is your problem? Making a scene over a performance kit with your own sister? Have you lost your mind?"

Two years of marriage. Day by day, he had frozen me out, saving all his tenderness for the daughter of the woman who destroyed my mother.

The dull ache in my chest gave way to a chilling clarity. I dug my fingernails into my palms, keeping my tone dead and steady: "Give me the divorce papers, Alec. We're done."

"Divorce?"

Alec let out a harsh, mocking bark of laughter. He glanced at me for barely a second before picking up a shipping manifest from the desk. "You want a divorce? Jolene, have you forgotten who dragged your half-dead body out of that burning wreckage? Without my protection and the club's colors, you wouldn't survive three miles past the county line before your father's hounds dragged you back into the dirt."

Before I could answer, his road captain pushed through the office door holding a stack of delivery invoices. Alec immediately turned his head, diving into logistics talk without sparing me another glance.

Treated like thin air, the last microscopic shred of gratitude I held for him snapped cleanly.

I turned on my heel and walked toward the back alley.

"Boss," the road captain muttered quietly behind me, "are we really keeping the missus in the dark about absorbing the Woodward freight routes?"

Alec didn't look up from his papers. "She doesn't need to know. Thirty days from now, it'll all be settled. If she can't even swallow her pride over a set of manifolds, she doesn't belong at my table... Have the warehouse pull two imported carburetors and drop them in her work bay later. Consider it compensation."

...

In the narrow, sun-bleached alley behind the shop, Genevra was leaning against the brick wall, blowing a thin plume of menthol smoke into the humid air.

Seeing me approach, her eyes narrowed with sharp satisfaction: "If I were you, sister, I'd learn to keep my eyes shut. In thirty days, once Alec clears the paperwork and I take over this place, we'll still be family. Don't make it ugly, or you won't even have this grease-soaked hole to sleep in."

I stopped two feet from her, staring down into her sneering face: "Family with you? You're not worthy of the word. You and your mother are nothing but parasites who crawl into broken homes to steal what others build."

Genevra's face darkened, her voice turning shrill: "The one who isn't loved is the parasite! Thirty days, Jolene. Once that agreement takes effect, I'm the President's Old Lady. And you're just a washed-up shadow kicked out to the curb!"

Looking at her smug, arrogant certainty, I didn't even feel the urge to mock her.

She had no clue the document in my pocket was just a fake bait Alec used to string her family along. And Alec had no idea that in his arrogant certainty of controlling everything, he had just thrown away the real engine behind his entire empire.

Without a word, I walked past her, climbed into the cab of my battered Ford pickup, and slammed the door shut.

I pulled a heavily encrypted satellite phone from inside my jacket and dialed a number that had sat dormant for twenty-four months.

The line clicked after three rings. A low, gravelly voice came through the receiver: "Nova?"

"Connor," I said, leaning back against the worn vinyl seat, my voice hard as tool steel. "Tell Oakland the deal is on. Thirty days. I'm walking out clean."

On the other end, Connor let out a sharp, ragged breath: "Are you out of your mind? The payout is insane-a million-dollar base salary and full operational autonomy over their R&D lab. But you know who runs that territory. That's the Iron Ghosts MC."

Connor paused, dropping his voice to an urgent whisper: "Galen Lynch is a ruthless, tactical madman. He personally reviewed your blueprints and demanded you by name. He claims your micro-injection powertrain architecture is the only thing fit to power his heavy combat builds."

"Once you break Langley's leash, you're stepping straight into a monster's cage."

I glanced in the rearview mirror at the shrinking silhouette of the Langley garage, rubbing my calloused thumb against my palm.

"Better a monster who values horsepower than a blind coward who steals my work," I said coldly. "Get my paperwork cleared. In thirty days, I belong to Oakland."

I hung up, turned the ignition, and listened to the rough, reliable roar of the engine before pulling out into the darkening interstate traffic.

Alec Langley, you think thirty days is your countdown to discarding me?

That clock isn't for my execution.

It's the countdown to your ruin.