Page 254 of Rogue Riders Duet

I want her no matter what.

“I’m fine. If she’s okay with it, then I’m okay.”

Luc stares at me for a long beat, then gives a slow nod and starts walking again, and I follow him once more like a kicked puppy, still stunned, still trying to wrap my head around everything, what he’s saying, what he’s offering, what the hell this even means, but one thing is for sure.

If this is what it takes to prove I’m serious about Alaina, to fight for her, protect her, and maybe, one day, deserve her again, I’ll do it.

Whatever it takes.

Even if it means teaming up with the French asshole who humiliated me in a Polish pub and just invited me into his chaos.

For her?

I’m all in.

FIFTEEN

Kitchen? Empty. Hallway? No sign.

I even peeked into the laundry room, just in case Payne talked Petite into something weird involving soap and wrenches, but I still can’t find them.

“Where the fuck?”

A soft clink of tools comes from outside.

Bingo.

I head out the front door, and there they are. Mason is crouched next to his motocross bike, elbow-deep in something mechanical and manly, grease on his fingers like he’s trying to turn himself into a thirst trap for mechanics. Beside him, Alaina sits on a fold-out chair, one leg pulled up, watching him with that quiet calm she rarely ever wears unless she’s riding or breaking people’s egos.

They’re not talking, and it’s weirdly peaceful, like one of those slow-motion moments in a movie right before the explosion. Only the explosion is me.

“Qu’est-ce que vous faites, mes amours?” I ask as I stroll up, stopping just short of Mason’s foot.

He squints up at me through the sun. “You know I don’t understand shit when you speak French.”

I grin. “I was asking, what are you guys doing?”

“Just checking everything over. Gonna take it for a spin in Italy and have to make sure it runs clean.”

I raise a brow. “Why wait till Italy? Wanna go for a ride now?”

His fingers still. “Can we even ride anywhere around here?”

“There’s a dirt track twenty minutes from here. Maybe less if you let me drive.”

“That close?” Alaina asks, tilting her head at me.

“Bienvenue en campagne. We’re living in the middle of nowhere. It’s mountain biking, motocross, lavender, and sheep. That’s what we have.”

Alaina snorts, and I shoot her a wink.

“Sure.” Mason turns to her, hesitant. “You wanna?” But then his eyes drop to her hand, and his brows twitch. “Or we can do something else.”

“Ah, merde.” I smack my own forehead. “I forgot about that. Sorry, Petite.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Your fingers,” Mason states as if it’s obvious. “You need your left hand for the clutch. And you can’t brak⁠—”