Chapter 4
“Yo, Ledge,” comes Jayce’s voice from ahead of me.
I move out from under the hood of the Ford Fiesta I’ve been working on, then wipe my grease-stained palms over the front of my faded jeans as I straighten. “Yeah?”
He grins darkly, and his brown eyes all but twinkle as he says, “There’s a special customer out front. I think you should take this one yourself.”
I arch a brow and pull a cigarette out of my back pocket. “Don’t fuck with me, Jay; I’ve got shit to do.”
“I’m not. Just indulge me for a second, will ya?” Christ, he looks almost giddy with joy.
He’s 35 to my 32, and yet, right now, he’s clearly not acting his age.
I place the cigarette between my lips, then light it up before taking a long drag of it. “Who is it?” I ask through the smoke, then fix the straps of my green ribbed vest.
“Like hell I’m telling you.”
I kick him in the shin, to which he chuckles.
“Real mature, asshat,” I mumble around the cigarette, then point a finger at him. “Finish working on the Fiesta. I’ll go handle this special
customer of yours.”
He gives me a mock salute. “You got it.”
I roll my eyes and step away from the car, then glance around the garage as I exhale a puff of smoke.
Alex is busy fixing a Jr. Scout, and Varsha is working on the Corvette that came in last evening.
My garage, Finesse, is my pride. It’s the result of years of blood and sweat – both literal – and hours upon hours of trial-and-errors turned into success.
Jayce and I built this place from the ground up 5 years ago, and despite the fact that almost everyone in Riverside knows who I am, they still bring their trusty-ass vehicles to my garage to get ‘em fixed.
Finesse isn’t extravagant by any means. With a concrete-made interior, it’s as simple as it gets.
There’s a main counter right in front of the entrance, with a bathroom on its left and a small workstation for two-wheelers on its right.
Alex has a mini fridge in there, and all that’s inside it, is booze.
There’re two massive bays on both sides of the wide area, each one with its own tool box.
The metal platforms lining the space around the garage’s entrance, home the necessary spare parts we need for the everyday fixes.
And then finally, there’s a short wooden staircase – just behind the main counter – that leads to my loft.
But this place – it wouldn’t be what it is, not without my crew. Without Jayce, who’s my fucking rock. Without Alex, whose enthusiasm is a drug the 4 of us need in abundance, especially on days where shit feels too heavy. And without Varsha, who makes me stronger than I am.
We may not share blood, but me and my crew are made from the same thread of immorality; from scars that are rooted within similar grounds. And that, in my opinion, is the best kinda bond there is in this world.
I sigh and tap the cigarette with a finger, resulting in ashes to fall next to my work boots. I then turn around and walk outside the garage.
A muffled conversation suddenly halts – most probably due to my presence. I lift my head as I come to a stop, and that’s exactly when I see her.
Her hair’s so fucking pink that it all but demands a person’s attention, but I guess it goes really well with the vibe she’s got going ‘round for herself. Her olive skin is a physical sin wrapped around her willowy body; the way she shifts against my perusal makes my veins burn. She’s got a mole just below her slightly hollowed left cheek, and a noticeable indent just above her top lip.
I meet her eyes – so dark they threaten to suck me into their abyss – and realize that I’ve never been more gravitated towards anything in my life than I am to her.
Cignette Adler exudes wild beauty, and I’ll be damned to the pits of hell if I even try to convince myself otherwise.
She smirks when I push my curls away from my forehead, then runs the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip when I take a quick drag of my cigarette before smirking right back at her.
I know of her, of course, but I don’t exactly know her. And I’m sure with the way she’s looking at me – with intrigue and something else I can’t really put a finger on – she’s on the same page in context to me.
A movement on the left catches my eye, and when I glance at it, I feel my back stiffen. I clench my jaw as I stare at the man next to Cignette.
Gavin Langford.
He regards me coolly, as if he holds some kind of power over me, which is hysterical, to be quite honest.
What a gullible little fuck.
I glance at Cignette again, and find that she’s studying me with apt interest.
What the hell are you doing with this dumpster rat? I wanna question. Why the fuck are you here with him?
But it’s not my place to ask any of those things to her. It’s none of my damn business.
My right hand itches to touch my switchblade that’s in the front pocket of my jeans, but I refrain the urge and face Cignette again. “How can I help ya?” I ask her clinically, as if I’m not thinking of all the ways I wanna cause physical harm to the man next to her.
“Her car won’t start,” Gavin responds.
I clench and unclench my free hand to release some of my anger upon hearing his voice, then take one last drag of my cigarette before killing it under my boot.
Both Gavin and Cignette watch my every move, and when I take a few steps in the latter’s direction, Gavin instinctively shifts closer to her.
I laugh, then – actually laugh – because I can’t help it. Man, he’s so damn stupid.
Cignette presses her lips together as she glances between Gavin and I, then clears her throat and says, “He’s right; my car won’t start.” I realize that this close, I can easily smell her citrusy perfume, see her unblemished skin better, and look closely into those depthless eyes of hers.
I nod, then glance over her shoulders – at the car in question – and run a hand over my mouth to hide a grin.
A fucking pink Cadillac.
Accurate, I suppose, given her status.
I look down at her. “Keys.”
She straightens, which brings her even closer to me.
I watch, helplessly transfixed, as her eyelids flutter, her lashes brush against her slightly flushed cheeks, and her chest rises and falls at a hypnotic rhythm as she pulls her keys out of her shorts and offers them to me.
“I can show y–” Gavin interrupts, but I cut him off with a glare.
“Don’t fucking talk,” I tell him.
He tries to do just that, but I step back and make my way over to the Cadillac.
I get into the plush driver’s seat, put the key into the ignition, and turn it, but that does absolutely nothing. There’s no lights, no radio, no nothing. I repeat the process, and hear a barely audible clicking sound.
Gotcha.
“The battery’s dead,” I announce, then get out of the car.
Cignette purses her lips. “So…that means you’ll have to…”
“I’ll have to replace it, yeah,” I say.
“How long’s that gonna take?” Gavin asks, just to further grate at my nerves. “We can leave the car here and come back for it later.”
I ignore him, naturally, then turn towards the garage. “Jay?” I holler.
“Yeah?” he’s wiping his face with a towel as he walks over, then puts his Witcher cap on backwards, which effectively hides his buzzed hair.
“We got any 534s on hand or somethin’?” I ask him. When he reaches close enough, I discreetly grab him by the collar of his grey t-shirt and hiss, “Couldn’t you have warned me beforehand about the chimp being here?”
“What, and miss the Oscar-worthy look you have on your face right now?” He winks when I tug at his collar. “I just wanted to see how you reacted to him in little miss Adler’s presence, okay? Jeez, dude; relax.”
I glower at him. “Well, fuck you very much for that,” I say, then add, “Make sure Varsha stays inside while he’s here.”
Varsha and Gavin had dated for a year, right before the asshole had decided to up and cheat on her with one of his customers. Varsha had visited Radical
Ink to get a tattoo, had chickened out at the end moment, and had instead fallen for Gavin’s charms. Shit was great between them, I guess, but then she’d one day found him ass-fucking a random chick in his shop, and she’d broken down completely. Closed herself off, in a way.
Gavin had tried to weasel his way back into her life weeks after their breakup, but when I’d put my blade to his throat and asked him to back off, he had. He knew better than to act against my warning.
But that was 11 months ago; that’s when we’d last seen him. The dipshit takes the long way home every single day just to avoid passing by Finesse, so I don’t know why he has chosen to show up here today.
Trying to figure out how men like him work, isn’t my job, but if he’s here with ulterior motives, then he sure as fuck isn’t walking out alive.
Jayce nods at my request, then says, “Why’s he here anyway? What’s a piece of trash like him doing with her?”
I sigh and let go of his collar. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out.”
He raises a brow. “Are you now?” he muses.
I ignore the hint of surprise in his question. It is, after all, doing absolutely nothing to push aside my own confusion over my sudden interest in this woman.
“Find me that fucking battery, Jay,” I order.
He raises his hands in surrender and starts back-walking. “You got it, boss.”
Alex appears behind him, and when Jayce sees him, he turns fully, kisses him senseless, then whispers something in his ear before jerking his head towards Gavin.
Alex nods, then joins me outside. He gives Gavin a dismissive once-over. “Fuck you,” he tells him, so casually that I have to bite the inside of my cheek in order to stifle my smile.
“Thanks, man,” Gavin deadpans.
I cough, and Cignette looks thoroughly amused.
Alex’s brown hair ruffles chaotically with the warm wind as he faces her. “You wanna come inside and have a drink with Varsha and I while Ledge gets your car fixed up?” he asks.
“It’s barely 10 in the morning, Alex,” Gavin provides his two cents.
Alex looks appalled. “Please keep your irrelevancy in your pants. It’s really not needed here.”