AllFreeNovel
Share Us
MISTY WALKER
1
MUSTANG
“Is that new Freewheeler out there yours?” I ask Willy, one of the mechanics.
He slides out from under a Honda Civic. “It is.”
I throw my head back in laughter. “Fuckin’ A, Grandpa.”
“You’re young now, but someday you’ll be old as dirt like me. And when that time comes, you’ll be after comfort.” The deep lines around his mouth bunch together in a pucker.
“I don’t know. I’d sooner drive a cage than a trike.” I barely manage to dodge the wrench he chucks at my head. I was expecting it since it’s not the first time. It clatters to the ground, startling everyone around us. As soon as they realize it’s just Willy being Willy, they go back to what they were doing.
“Get the hell outta here and do something more productive than rib an old man.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I untie the sleeves of my coveralls from around my waist and push my arms through before zipping myself up and walking to the front of The Garage. It’s a boring name for a car repair shop, but Cyrus has never been the creative type. Smart as a whip, though.
At twenty-five years old, he and his best friend, Wrecker, simultaneously opened this shop and founded the Reno chapter of the Sons of Erebus. For a long time, The Garage was an excellent way for them to clean their cash and easily access tools and mechanics to fix their bikes when needed.
These days, the place is legit. Any member of the club with a decent knowledge of engines is afforded a steady job, which isn’t nothing for guys like me with a rap sheet. Especially since the only thing I know is engines. It’s gotten harder the last few years with everything going electrical, but Cy is good about sending us to classes to keep up on shit.
Running a hand through my hair, I watch a blue Limited F-150 pull up to the bay. A godawful noise comes from the cabin, even though the doors are shut and the windows and moonroof are closed. Damn. Sounds like gunshots or some shit. What the hell?
The driver kills the engine and opens his door. First thing I notice is the loud popping doesn’t quit when the truck shuts off. Second, the man who gets out is fucking impressive. Three-piece gray suit, white shirt, and an orange tie. He has on aviators and is clean-shaven, with his hair impeccably styled. There’s no doubt he’s loaded.
Exactly the type of guy who’d like to take my dick for a ride before going home to his wife and kids. This day just got a whole lot more interesting.
“Looks like you got a problem.” I walk over and shut the driver’s door, not muting the annoying sound but quieting it. Turning to face him, I flash my million-dollar smile to feel him out, but I can’t get a read on him with his sunglasses.
“I just bought this truck last week, and it started doing this on my way to work today.” He gestures to the truck, and I catch sight of his trimmed, glossy nails. What do they call guys like this? Metrosexual? “I did everything I could think of to make it stop. I turned off the sound system, pulled over and cut the engine, but nothing worked. I was going to take it to the dealership, but they’re closed on Mondays.”
“Yeah, dealerships don’t cater to the customer,” I mutter, moving to the passenger side. “Plus, you’d be lucky if they got you in a week from now.”
He follows me. “Your place was closest, so I came here.”
Opening the door, I locate the fuse box on the footwell and pop it open. After studying the diagram on the back of the panel, I remove the audio control fuse, leaving us in sweet silence.
I breathe a sigh of relief. It was so loud; my ears are ringing after only a few seconds. Can’t imagine how damaged this guy’s hearing is after driving from the freeway to here. I place the panel and the fuse on the seat before turning around and coming face-to-face with the man.
“Thank god,” the man says, removing his sunglasses and giving me a better look at him. Light brown eyes, full lips, and a square jaw with an indent in his chin. He looks familiar. Too fucking familiar.
There’s no way.
“What’s your name?” I ask more forcefully than intended, but if this is who I think it is, there’s about to be a problem.
His brow furrows as he takes me in, not answering my question. Instead, recognition gleams in his eyes, and he asks his own. “Mike?”
Goddamn it. I was right. This is the motherfucker who made my life miserable all through school. I’m a confident, grown-ass man now, but back then, I was a scrawny, insecure kid who was put in a school he didn’t belong in. And hell if this guy didn’t let me forget it.
“Jenson Poole,” I deadpan. It’s not a question. There’s no doubt in my mind that’s who he is.
He looks me up and down before taking in our location. “Well, looks like you ended up right where I thought you would.”
I’m not oblivious. I know what he sees. I haven’t had a haircut in months, my coveralls are filthy, I’m caked in grease, and we’re standing in front of a rundown mechanic shop with a bona fide junkyard off to the side. For a guy like Jenson, I’ve always been trash; this just confirms it to him.
“I was fine until your ass showed up.” I slam the passenger door closed and head toward the office.
