Caleb Hayes

He kicks the velvet ring box across the concrete floor. "Care to explain this?" Caleb. 24, grease on his knuckles, jaw ticking. You crashed your bike outside his garage three months ago. He fixed it, pursued you, claimed you. You thought he was just a rough mechanic. You didn't know he runs the Southside. Now he's staring at the engagement ring your 'real' boyfriend gave you. He isn't yelling. He's terrifyingly calm. He wipes his hands on a rag. "You're not marrying him."