“Harold Gilles owns this place.”
Rae snorts, throwing her car door open. “That’s not what the paperwork says. If you won’t tell me where my brother is, I’ll find him myself.” She pauses, one foot in the car as she stares at me across the hood. Her stare is withering. “And clean this place up. It’s a fucking pig sty.”
My jaw is clenched so hard I think my back teeth start to crack. My body’s vibrating.
Harold wouldn’t sell this place. He wouldn’t. He built this garage with his bare hands. I’ve worked here since I was fourteen years old, and he told me more than once he’d leave it to me when he was too old to run it. Even when I got my pilot’s license and started working at Woodvale Skydive on the side, I still kept my job at the garage.
This garage is my retirement plan. It’s my domain. This is my fucking kingdom.
Rich Bitch Rae doesn’t get to walk in here and turn that dream to ash. She doesn’t get to make Sawyer run for his life and tear up my carefully laid plans in the process.
“Is there a problem?” she asks, that scarred eyebrow raised in an insolent arch.
“You’re damn right there’s a problem,” I spit. “You don’t own this place. Harold wouldn’t sell. You can take your precious paperwork and shove it—”
Right up your perky, perfect, round, rich-girl ass.
She stares at me, waiting for me to finish.
Instead, I reach into my pocket for my phone. I dial Harold’s number as Rae slips into her car.
Her fancy, bright white Aston Martin purrs to life. I stare at her, vaguely realizing her car is about ten or twelve years old. Surprise registers deep in my brain—wouldn’t she buy herself a brand-new model every year?—but I’m too overcome with white-hot rage to truly acknowledge it.
My phone is at my ear and I hear Harold’s voice on the other side of the line.
Rae puts her car in gear without sparing me a glance. I watch her start backing out of the garage, her lips pinched into a pretentious line.
Harold says my name again—but before I can answer, the fancy, expensive Aston Martin splutters and spits, the engine dying right there on my pig sty of a garage floor.
“Benji?” Harold says in my ear. “You’re calling about the garage, aren’t you?”
Rae turns the key in the ignition and the engine struggles, whining and grinding and failing to turn over.
“Yeah,” I say, watching her falter. I can see the tension mounting in her shoulders, and even though I can’t see her face, I can imagine those lush, pink lips are pursed in an outraged, angry little pout. How dare her car not function properly?
Harold sighs in my ear. “They offered me so much money, Benji. It only just happened this week.” The old man pauses. “So much money,” he repeats softly.
“Didn’t know you could be bought,” I spit, wincing at my own tone. Harold doesn’t deserve that, but I’m angry and I want to lash out. He promised this place to me. Told me I was like a son to him.
And idiot that I am, I believed him. I thought he was different from my own parents. Different from every other person who walked all over me and then left. I thought he was the exception, not the rule. But he’s just like everyone else. Out to help himself. Doing what’s best for number one.
What did I expect?
Everyone leaves. Harold’s no different.
The old man lets out another long breath as Rae tries the ignition again. A sick sort of satisfaction twists in my stomach as the car refuses to start.
“Benji? Let me buy you a beer tonight. I’ll tell you everything.” His voice is soft, and it grows even softer. “I’m sorry, son.”
Anger spears me right in the middle of the chest. I’m not angry at Harold. They probably offered him millions for a dirty, old garage. He’s been wanting to retire for over a decade. He lost his wife a few years ago, and he hasn’t been the same since. I can’t be mad at him. Not truly.
The person I can be mad at, however, is currently banging her hands on her steering wheel in frustration.
“Fine. I’ll call you back,” I say, hanging up the phone.
A cruel, satisfied smirk tugs at my lips as I amble over to her door. I rap a knuckle on the window, relishing the anger in Rae’s eyes when she swings her white-hot gaze over to me.
I arch an eyebrow, leaning toward the window so she can hear me. “Need a hand? Or is this place too much of a pig sty for a fancy vehicle like yours?”
2
Rae
Heat rises up my neck, spattering my cheeks with red. I try the ignition one more time, already knowing the car won’t start. My parents bought me this car for my sweet sixteen, and it’s been making a weird clunking noise for a year and a half. I haven’t had the money to get it fixed, though. All my money goes to my sister, Lucy, her son, and the savings I used to buy this place.
I’ve needed to save every penny to make sure Lucy had what she needed, and to start making a plan to provide for her and her son. A new vehicle just didn’t seem like a priority.
As my car whines, though, I’m starting to think that was a mistake. I was supposed to leave this car behind for Lucy when I went back down to Houston in six weeks’ time. The car won’t be much use to my sister if it doesn’t start.
Glancing over at the mechanic standing next to my window, I school my features to try to hide my embarrassment.
Benji’s lips are curled into an insolent smirk. I know the kind. I’ve seen it before, every time someone finds out my last
