AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Except them. Never them.
I didn’t want to love them. I didn’t want to care. Yet I did. Deeply.
1
JJ
I hardly recognized myself in the mirror these days. The only time I felt like the other me, the mechanic me, was when I was covered in grease and oil from my shop, which was usually on the weekends. During the week, I put on a suit and tie.
My blond hair was combed back out of my face, not the unruly mess it was on my days off from PJS. My cousin owned the company. Well, I did too, though my shares were significantly less than his. One of his boyfriends, Peyton, owned a stake and so did Peyton’s brother, Greer. Four of us in total, me owning the least. It didn’t make any difference to me.
I was brought into this venture without a choice. My old man was sick of meplaying mechanic,his words not mine. I wasn’t the son he envisioned as he raised me in his world of organized crime.
My old man was Jordan Altair Sr., the mafia boss of East Dremest. He owned that side of the city, figuratively anyway. West Dremest was home to my cousin, Perry Altair Jr. I called him Junior. Yeah, we had a thing about names in our family.
PJS stood for Perry, Jordan, & Sons Auto. When my uncle created the company, he had hopes of my dad joining him and then their sons. That didn’t happen. My dad didn’t want shit to do with the business. Now I knew it was for the best. Senior, that was what I called my uncle, was a great man. The kind I wished my dad could be. My cousin had an amazing life while mine was full of guns, drugs, and violence. I didn’t blame Junior for having what he did. I envied him when I was younger.
Now I was older. Wiser. Working for my cousin as a vice president in his research and development department. My dad bought my way in. Junior needed the money since the company wasn’t doing well. He went to my dad, who in turn offered him millions in exchange for me having partial ownership and a position of importance within the company. That was what my dad did. Bought what he wanted. Why earn something when it could be easily paid for?
He hated my chosen profession. Thought it was below someone with the Altair name. He wanted me to be successful like my cousin. Or be more like my old man himself. I didn’t want to be stuck in an office, behind a desk, with a computer screen in front of me. I didn’t want the mafia life either. I had enough of it being on the outside between death threats, actual bullets flying my way, and my dad pulling me in every chance he got.
Owning a part of PJS was another way to get what he wanted. A son who had a good job with a reputable company—a family company—he could brag about. Not me building a business from the ground up and providing a service to the community. No, that was a waste of my time to him. My office job made me look good.
I hated the idea of being stuffed into a suit at first. I wanted to reject it when he told me I’d work there, but I knew better. If I refused, he’d make my life a living hell. I didn’t need that, and I certainly didn’t want to put it on my employees at the shop. My dad wouldn’t have been subtle about it. There would be harassment from the men who worked for him. My shop would get broken into and my shit stolen or broken. He wouldn’t hurt my employees per se, but he’d come for my livelihood and in turn, theirs.
So, when I looked in the mirror today, almost eight months after I’d started working at PJS, I didn’t hate what I saw. It was surprising. I’d gotten used to being in a suit and tie. I actually kind of liked it. I loved the work I was doing there, which I didn’t think would have been possible.
Leaving my bedroom, firmly slipping the knot of my tie into place, I went into my kitchen to find Val at the coffee maker, beating the fuck out of it. The machine was a temperamental shit that only worked when it felt like it, or as Val liked to point out, it only worked for me.
Valiant Bowen was his name but if anyone called him by his first full name, he started swinging. He hated it. Everyone called him Val.
I stepped up beside him and started fidgeting with the coffee maker. Noises came from within; the good kind, which meant coffee would be coming soon.
It wasn’t just a coffee maker. It made lattes and other drinks. I only used it for coffee. I wasn’t a fancy guy, but I had a fancy machine sitting on my counter. The urge to throw it out had been there for years. The thing was finicky as hell. I knew how to stroke and poke it just right to get it to do what I needed. The reason I kept it was because of who gave it to me. I shouldn’t have held on to it, yet I couldn’t seem to let it go.
Val grumbled, “Stupid piece of shit.”
“It cost more than my pickup.”
“You drive a ninety-seven F-150. I would hope so.”
“Hey, that truck runs like a champ.”
Val snorted. “Because you fixed it. Without you, it would have ended up in a junkyard.”
“My point stands.”
Why did the coffee maker cost so much? Because Dexen Dremest, my ex-boyfriend, didn’t do anything in small measures, especially when it came to me. He spoiled me while we were together. Money was no object to him, although he didn’t let it rule or define him. When he’d stay at my place, he hated the cheap-ass coffee maker I used to have because he never got a decent drink from it. There were always grounds in the cup, swirling around when he stirred it. It was either too weak or too strong.
I shook my head. Nope, not going down that road today. There was no room on my highway for Dexen. He had to stay firmly out of my way.
Val poured himself a bowl of cereal and added milk. He took it over to my small table against the wall, along with his coffee which finally brewed. The table only sat two. My kitchen wasn’t big. The whole place was on the smaller side. That was what I got for wanting to live near my shop. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a tiny kitchen, and a living room that barely fit a love seat and a TV. Living it up, I wasn’t. What I did have was a bank account with a nice chunk of savings in it.
This apartment was just supposed to be for me. I didn’t plan on a roommate. Then Val entered my life, trying to steal one of the cars on my lot. Well, that shit couldn’t fly. I scared him and realized he was a good kid. Afterward, I taught him everything I knew. Val was smart, great with his hands. He could rotate tires with a speed rivaling a pit crew. I got him out of his shitty situation and into a stable one. He’d lived with me since.
I brought him on at PJS once I got my footing. Him and some of my other mechanics. My shop still ran thanks to Keith, who was the manager. But my heart was quickly moving to PJS and the work I got to do there.
There was something magical about being able to design a product, have others provide their input, then see it brought to life. I had funding for my inventions. They were making positive changes. My favorite was blending what I knew about cars with what Greer knew about technology. He was the chief security officer at PJS. Brilliant, kind, and it didn’t hurt he was sexy as hell.
