Chapter 4 #2
“Uh-huh.” I could hear the disbelief in his voice, the weariness mixed with the pain he was always in. “I figured it was something like that. Well, get home soon. I’ll wait up.”
“Don’t wait up. You need to sleep. Did you take your pain meds before bed?”
“Yes, mother,” he grunted, then followed it with a wry chuckle. “I’m going to take another, though. Seriously, conejita. Come home soon. I worry.”
“I promise, as soon as this is done, I’ll be home. Good night.”
“Good night. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
I put the phone down and sighed. Face in my hands, I threw up a little prayer to whatever god might be listening. I needed a miracle, and I hoped they’d answer and send me what I needed, otherwise, I wasn’t sure how I’d get through this.
Bang-bang-bang.
I jerked in my seat and glanced toward the front door.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
The front door rattled again.
Bang-bang-bang.
“Damn it, Carlo. Let me guess, you forgot your car keys.”
Walking out of the office, I skirted around a brand new Corvette on jacks that Reggie was putting a new exhaust in, and headed straight for the door.
“I thought I told you to go…” I trailed off, and took a step back, startled.
“I need some help.”
The man who spoke stood above me, a giant over half a foot taller than me, shoulders broad and arms and chest thick with muscle.
Black hair messed about his forehead in a way that made me think he’d been working out or jogging.
It was the eyes that pinned me in place, though.
They were striking in a bizarre way. The left eye’s pupil was dilated, making the iris nearly black, ringed by a thin line of bright blue.
It was a strange look, but mysterious and attractive.
He was also—quite possibly—the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my life.
Like he’d walked off the pages of a magazine or out of a movie.
“Uh…” I shook my head to clear it, suddenly realizing a strange man was hovering over me at two in the morning.
I stepped back quickly, snatching a heavy wrench from the top of a toolbox. “Stay right there, motherfucker,” I said, swinging it at him in a short quick arc.
“Shit.” He yelped and took a step back, holding his hands up to show they were empty. “Hang on. I’m not here for trouble. I’m here for help, like I said.”
Frowning, I looked at him like he’d gone crazy. “Do you know what time it is? We aren’t open, dumbass.”
Rather than look contrite, he only nodded. “I knew it was a long shot, but when I drove by and saw the light on, I gave it a shot. Can you please help me?”
The pleading and desperation didn’t fit with the hulking figure before me. Experience told me to slam the door shut and lock it, but intuition or instinct tickled at the back of my mind. For some reason, I knew this man wasn’t a threat. I lowered the wrench.
“What do you need?” I said wearily. “Did your phone die or something? Run out of gas and need a pick up?”
He shook his head, looking pained. “No, I need my car fixed.”
Moving aside, he gestured back to the parking spot closest to the door. I could do nothing but stare at the car in dumbfounded shock. Slowly, my jaw fell open, and I stepped outside.
“Are you fucking serious?” I muttered and moved closer. “An Aventador?” I spun and looked at him again. “Do you have any idea how much this car costs?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got a problem, though,” he said and pointed at the passenger side door.
Moving closer, I swept my eyes across the sweeping sharp angles of the car.
The thing truly looked like some sort of spaceship out of some old-school comic book.
The front end like a bullet, and angling back to what looked like a custom carbon fiber wing on the rear end.
It was during my inspection of it that I noticed the missing side mirror and a faint fan of scratches on the door.
“What did you do?” I asked, chuckling. “Did your supermodel girlfriend get a little too aggressive with the road head?”
I winced inwardly at the comment. I’d definitely been spending too much time around the guys in the garage. The shit was starting to rub off on me.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” the guy said, as though it was the dumbest thing anyone could have ever said. Maybe he had a boyfriend? I wasn’t one to judge. Before I could respond, he said, “I need this fixed fast. How soon can you get it done?”
“Sir—”
“My name’s Jackson Adelmund. Call me Jackson.”
Sighing in frustration, I leveled my eyes on the guy. “Sir, we aren’t open. Bring the car back tomorrow, and maybe I can give you a quote.”
He made a growling sound of irritation. “Listen, I’ll pay whatever. Can you give me the number of the guy who runs the place? Maybe he’ll be more receptive.”
Heat flared in my cheeks, and I had to force myself not to grind my teeth together.
“The guy who runs this place is me,” I said. “Or do you think a woman can’t be in charge of a garage?”
It was petty, but I took pleasure in the off-balance look on his face. He blinked a few times and shook his head slowly. “Uh, I…I didn’t think—”
“Obviously,” I snapped. “You roll up with a car that costs more than my fucking house, and you were dumb enough to snap the mirror off it, and you act like it’s no big deal to try and get it fixed in the middle of the fucking night. I can tell you aren’t one for thinking.”
It was a little more angry and bitter than I would usually be, especially with a stranger who was a possible customer, but the way he’d brushed me off set my teeth on edge.
“I am so sorry,” he said, holding his hands out, pleading. “I didn’t mean any offense. I really do apologize…uh…what’s your name?”
“Shyanne. Shyanne Witmer, co-owner and manager of Tuyuc Auto Services,” I added to twist the knife a little.
“Mrs. Witmer, I’m very—”
“Miss,” I said.
He closed his eyes, and nodded once. “Sorry. Miss Witmer, Can you please help me? I can’t get into it, but this is really important.”
“Like I said, come back tomorrow, and we can give you a quote. I could get it in the shop in a week maybe.”
“No,” he said, almost shouting the word. “I’ll pay extra. Double. I need this ASAP.”
I let out a breath. Double would be nice.
The car was a choice piece of machinery and wouldn’t be cheap to fix.
I could use a little extra money to cover my payroll taxes.
But that would mean pushing another customer to the back of the line, and I didn’t want to piss off someone who might be a long-time client for some pretty boy with money.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I really can’t. We’ve got a lot of work, and the books are full for a few days.”
“A hundred thousand dollars,” he said, “on top of the double payment for services rendered. Please?”
My eyes nearly bulged out of my head. Just the sound of that much money made my knees go weak.
A hundred grand? Was this guy fucking serious?
That much money would definitely pull us out of the hole we’d been trying to claw out of.
It would pay off the back taxes, buy the new set of pneumatic tools we desperately needed, and leave nearly fifty thousand in an emergency fund for us.
It would, quite literally, fix all my problems.
“Are you fucking with me right now?” I asked.
“I assure you, I am not fucking with you.” He ran a hand through his black hair. “I’m desperate. If I’m honest, this is sort of a life-and-death kind of thing.”
I highly doubted that, but if it made the guy feel better to use hyperbole, then who was I to judge?
I walked to the car to examine it closer.
The paint was obviously custom—I’d never seen a Lamborghini in such a deep, glossy crimson that reflected the street lights.
Glancing inside, I scanned the seats and dashboard.
It was all covered in bright red suede that looked to have barely been used.
This thing was damn near brand new, and by far the most expensive car that had ever been in my garage, and that was saying something.
This was the kind of machine Dad would have loved to see.
He’d built his business on working on both daily drivers as well as high-end stuff like this.
He had a lot of ex-military buddies who would bring by their rides to show off.
I’d drooled over Camaros, Mustangs, Chevelles, and Thunderbirds.
In all the years I’d worked at the garage, the best times were when some beautiful and rare machine came rolling through.
“This is not a part you grab at the local auto-parts store, you know,” I said, fingering the torn fiberglass.
“Even if I put a rush on this and go pick up the part in person at a dealership, it’ll still take time.
The paint is custom too, but my guy Reggie can mix that himself.
He’s a fucking genius when it comes to that. ”
“Whatever it takes,” Jackson said. “I’m serious. I’ll write that check the moment you’re done.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “You’ll write half that check before we start, and the other half when we’re done.”
He chuckled and jammed his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. God, it made him look even more handsome. The devil-may-care appearance played on his good looks. I shoved those thoughts aside.
“You don’t trust me?” he said, a hint of a grin on his lips and an eyebrow cocked as he looked at me.
“Mr. Adelmund, you come pounding on my door at two in the morning, begging me to fix a Lamborghini Aventador, and offering me fuck-you money to do it as fast as possible. If the situation was reversed, would you trust me?”
Jackson looked at me for a long time, seconds ticking by as he peered at me with those strangely compelling eyes. Finally, he said, “Yeah. I would, actually.”
“Now I know you’re full of shit,” I said. “Pull this thing into the shop. I’ll get the VIN and see if the local dealership has the part.”