Bonus
Lai
I supervised as my students carefully raised my Dodge Challenger, the hydraulic lift humming softly as they lifted him into the air.
One of the teens rolled over new wheels, and another was already loosening the bolts on the temporary sets.
Their movements were focused, respectful; they’d had plenty of practice as they rebuilt my Toyota Corolla under my and Fox’s watchful eye, and they understood they were handling something more than just machinery.
I’d ordered the best tires money could buy for Ghost’s make and model: Michelin XWX. Not modern performance rubber – I’d been told those wouldn’t suit him – but premium, period-appropriate, wide white-letter tires that matched his weight and power. They looked expensive. They were expensive.
I hoped he appreciated the gesture.
But he didn’t respond.
The students were dismissed after they’d lowered Ghost back down to the concrete floor, and I sat alone with him, studying him.
The suspension dipped slightly under the car’s own weight and settled comfortably onto the ground.
He looked steadier. More complete. But there was no sign of life.
No shifting shadow. No flicker of headlights.
No subtle vibration that hinted at awareness.
He looked like a normal car, albeit a very valuable one.
Just an old Dodge Challenger sitting silently in the underground garage, settled heavily over a brand new set of tires.
Strange; Al had gotten laid for a bottle of fuel injector cleaner. Maybe Ghost wasn’t as easily impressed.
Was I trying to impress him? No, not really. Impressing him could come later; I wanted to make him comfortable first.
I wanted him to trust me.
Fox had told me Ghost’s name. I was yet to say it out loud; I wanted to wait until we were alone. It felt personal, intimate, like saying it too soon might startle him, or worse, push him away.
“Do you like them?” I asked quietly.
No response.
I didn’t blame him. I knew what it felt like to be alone in an unfamiliar place, to wake in a room that wasn’t yours, in a bed that felt wrong, surrounded by strangers and uncertain whether you were safe or not.
I knew that feeling far too well.
So I gave him some space, but I didn’t want to leave him alone either. Leaning on my cane, I carefully lowered myself to the ground beside him, moving slowly, deliberately, making myself smaller—less of a threat. The concrete left white, powdery dust on my new suit, but I didn’t mind.
We sat in silence.
I had never cared for cars. The noise they made was always irritating, rather than exciting.
Speed never thrilled me, and I never understood the appeal of fast rides or polished chrome.
To me, vehicles were simply tools–practical, necessary, forgettable.
These days, if I had to be in one at all, I’d prefer the spaciousness and smooth suspension of a Rolls-Royce over a cramped sports car.
Yet now, sitting quietly beside the Dodge Challenger, I found myself admiring the curve of his fenders, the strength in the line of his hood, the faint iridescent shimmer buried deep within his paint.
Under the harsh garage lighting, it threw hints of creamy, pale gold.
I resisted the urge to reach out and touch him.
Maybe I was having a midlife crisis.
Well, not a crisis; I rejected the thought aggressively. My life was objectively perfect: secure, comfortable, stable. I was the heir to an ancient family, my legacy was firmly secured, and our generational wealth was built. I had nothing to be in crisis over.
So perhaps it was more of a midlife celebration.
Though even that didn’t feel right. Quarter-life, at worst. As far as anyone needed to know, I was still twenty-five; I looked it, even if you’d have to double that number to get close to my real age.
I was still debating the semantics of my age-appropriate crisis when I noticed a shadow shift inside the Challenger, so thin and translucent that most humans would have missed it.
But I didn’t.
I watched where it settled, sensing a heavy gaze resting on me, studying me curiously.
Good.
“You know,” I said softly, shifting slightly on the hard concrete.
“I don’t even know why I bought you.” I chuckled under my breath.
“I can barely drive, and you are twice the size of my old car. You’re basically a land yacht.
I don’t mean any offense, but you’re huge. I don’t know if I can handle you.”
“I suppose that’s why I’m called a Challenger,” a rumbling engine of a voice responded, deep and silky, sending shivers down my spine.
“Well, you might be too big for me.” I paused. “I’m sorry, that sounds like an innuendo. I swear, I’m just talking about how much parking space you take up.”
He didn’t respond.
I figured he’d need more time to get comfortable, and I was ready to call it a night. The cold concrete was aggravating my ankle, needling the old injury that had never fully healed, and I could sense that the pain was going to get worse quickly. I reached for my cane.
Two strong arms lifted me effortlessly to my feet, and I froze, battling against the urge to slap at him, to shove him off me, for ‘helping’ me without me asking for it, my face red with humiliation.
I grabbed my cane, and Ghost immediately let go of me and drew back a little, giving me space, watching me cautiously as though I might fall.
Un-fucking-believable. I choked on a bitter laugh. The car was doing for me the exact same thing I’d done to him; scooping him up and putting his wheels beneath him properly before setting him back down again.
No wonder he hadn’t responded straight away. He must have been just as embarrassed as I was.
I took a deep breath, calming myself, and looked the Challenger’s shadow over.
He was nothing like Fox. Less opaquely dark, Ghost’s skin shimmered faintly with the same creamy gold tones hidden in his paint. He was taller than me; I barely reached his broad, shapely shoulders.
I swallowed, the blush on my face no longer purely from embarrassment.
I was no better than Al.
“Thank you,” I managed, my voice quieter than I intended.
Ghost nodded, lingering awkwardly, looking away from me to examine the new wheels.
“I like the tires,” he offered after a moment. “They feel good.”
“Good,” I echoed, smiling as I stepped closer and rested one hand on the hood.
The shadow shifted slightly, pulling away, but I didn’t move my hand.
“You must be restless,” I said gently. “I wish I could take you out for a proper drive, but I doubt you’d enjoy it. I’m not sure if I’m the best person for you.”
“Why not?” The shadow asked, his voice wary and tense.
“I drive like there’s no one else on the road with me,” I explained, shaking my head. Not a rejection; a caution that he could decide what to do with.
He finally met my eyes as the driver’s door clicked open. “Good.”
I hesitated.
“Get in.” His voice vibrated through me as the shadow pressed a hand against my back, nudging me toward the door. “I drive like I’m the only one on the road, too.”
Bossy. I think I was into it. I paused, listening to my body respond to the quiet pressure.
Yes. Yes, I was definitely into it.
I wasn’t about to admit that I had no idea if Dodge was his make or his model. I knew almost nothing about cars. What was the difference between an engine and a motor? Were four-wheel drive and all-wheel drive the same thing? Did Dodge run on diesel?
As massive as he was, he looked like he might.
He pushed me again, and a spark ran through me, the same spark that had struck me the first time I’d touched his hood.
I recognized excitement when I felt it, and I followed it, like always.
I slid into the driver’s seat, and the door closed behind me with a heavy, reassuring thud.
The interior smelled faintly of leather and old metal.
I made a mental note to buy a freshener.
The car felt even bigger on the inside. My tiny Toyota Corolla had always felt like slipping into a familiar jacket. The Dodge Challenger was more like walking into a ballroom. I had serious doubts about whether he would fit through the driveway gates. Surely he didn’t expect me to–
“Drive,” Ghost ordered.
My brows lifted, but I reached into my pocket and pulled out the keys, inserting them into the ignition. The powerful engine took a slow breath, then another, before roaring into life.
I jerked my hands away from the wheel instinctively.
Ghost caught them from behind, guiding them back into place.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he assured me. “I won’t hurt you.”
I wasn’t afraid of him. I was only afraid I’d like this too much.
One of his hands slid down my arm, firm and steady, settling lightly over my own.
“Feel this? This is my choke. Prime it,” he guided patiently. “Release the clutch, close the choke. Ease into the throttle. I’ll take care of the gears. We’ll take this slow.”
I exhaled.
I didn’t want to take it slow.