Page 4 of Possessive Mechanic
Axel
The garage was closed and locked and I was on my way out the door, ready to head home after a long day of customizing a car for this very girl’s father.
Then she arrives, out of the blue, with some unbelievable story about how she breaks down by the side of the road, in my part of town. The part of town no respecting businessman, or father in general, would ever let his daughter pass through.
Which is why none of this makes sense.
Maybe the old man is having financial problems and is prepping to tell me he can’t pay by sending his daughter over here. Unlikely.
But why would she be here? To spy?
No doubt her Lambo is toasted, that’s not fake. Is she even capable of causing the damage she did or did someone who knows what they’re doing just stage it there, and then send her down to my shop?
That’s more likely, but probably not plausible either.
But what is very, very unbelievable is how this girl has affected me.
Good lord, I haven’t ever put my hands on a woman, and it’s not for lack of availability. Getting tried and locked puts a damper on your sex life. You quickly find ways to make sure you’re the one not getting fucked in the prison showers, not the other way around like most horny teenagers are facing.
And when I got out just last year, women were the last thing on my mind, despite them throwing themselves at me. I needed to establish myself in the world of high-end automobiles so I started networking like a madman, doing jobs for wealthy guys that no one else wanted to take on.
My body has been built up from hours and hours of exercise inside my prison cell, and it’s led to a helluva lot of attention from these rich guys’ wives…which is the last thing I want. I’m loyal, it’s why I went to prison in the first place. And I’m not about to screw over one of my clients, or any man for that matter. I despise cheaters. If someone is willing to cheat on their spouse, I can only imagine what they’d do to the sorry sucker they’re cheating with when the tide turns.
Not for me.
But her. This…offering? That’s another story entirely.
She’s got me so damn sprung I’m talking to her like I’m back in the joint, not mincing words one bit while I try to get to the bottom of whatever angle she’s working.
I’ve never, ever had a woman come into my life like this and flip it completely upside down. Granted, I’ve spent most of my adult life behind bars, but still…I do go to the bar for two fingers of whiskey once in a while, and the place is usually crawling with single women who want nothing more than to crawl all over me, which is why I pound my beverage and leave.
Her? She’s nothing like those women, unlike anyone I’ve ever met. She’s the purity, the innocence, that was taken from my life.
And her loyalty, the thing I value most, must be off the charts. Because she didn’t even question the audacity of whoever put her up for this. Put her in danger.
My hands clench into fists as my nostrils flare at just the thought of it.
Sliding the garage door open I usher her inside, pointing to a chair in the lobby as I hold my hand out for her keys. She understands, handing them over and immediately I grab some chains and a hitch and walk back to her car.
My big body doesn’t even fit into this little death trap of a speed machine, so I stick my foot in and then lean in, my shoulders barely clearing the doorway as I throw it into neutral and get the chains on it without damaging it.
It’s a helluva car, but not for me. Not to mention I have no clue how an eighteen-year-old is driving such a powerful machine. Whoever put her behind the wheel of this performance vehicle is crazy, or wants her dead.
Which causes another light bulb to go off in my head as I grip the chains over my shoulder and start walking, manually towing the car the short distance back to my shop.
Is she set to inherit a trust fund from her father due to her eighteenth birthday? Is that why he wants me to put together a custom Maserati for her? He can have the damn thing blown up, plant a bomb on it, and then blame it on me for some sort of faulty mechanic work.
I spent too much time behind bars. I’m thinking everything’s a scam. But why, why is this pure angel involved? How could she be talked into it?
As clear as it seems, it doesn’t make sense she’d go along with it.
Maybe coincidences do exist. Karma is real and it can most definitely be a bitch. I’ve seen it too many times. Maybe she just showed up here by fate. Fate…that’s one helluva word which I don’t believe in. But there are a lot of things I didn’t believe in until she showed up.
Like the way a woman could get to me, throw me off my game.
I get her car pulled inside and shut the garage door behind me, locking us in.
Moving to the lobby she speaks before I can. “About that phone call…,” she begins.