Page 120 of Stuck with my Mechanic Daddies

My stomach twisted.

Shit.

This wasn’t just about money. This wasn’t just about Page Turners.

This was about power. About control.

My uncle had been stuck in Hank’s grip, backed into a corner, just like I was now.

I pointed a shaking finger at him. “You're a pathetic, power-hungry bastard who’s spent his whole life trying to destroy good people because you have nothing worth holding onto.”

Hank’s jaw twitched. “Careful.”

“Screw careful.” My voice rose, sharp and furious. “You tried to rewrite history, and you know what? You almost got away with it. But I’m not my uncle, and I’mnotafraid of you.”

Hank’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his smirk slipping. “You should be.”

Before I could fire back, the office door burst open.

Two large men in security uniforms stormed in, their faces blank and professional.

“Miss Bennett,” one of them said, his deep voice eerily calm. “You need to leave.”

I let out a humorless laugh, grabbing my folder and stepping back from Hank’s desk. “Of course. Throw me out before I cause any more trouble, right?”

Hank just smiled, slow and victorious. “Smart girl.”

I turned toward the door, my blood boiling. But before I stepped out, I twisted back and leveled him with a glare.

“This isn’t over,” I said, voice shaking with fury.

Hank just waved his hand in a lazy, dismissive gesture. “Oh, Aurora. It’s already over.”

The security guards flanked me, guiding me out of the office, through the front lobby, and out onto the street. The door clicked shut behind me, sealing Hank away like the snake he was.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ethan

I was just aboutto unlock my front door and finally close the world out for a while when my phone buzzed in my back pocket.

I almost ignored it.

It had been a long-ass day, one of those where nothing seemed to go right.

Mason had been swamped with repairs, Owen had disappeared halfway through the afternoon, and I’d spent most of my time handling customers who thought they knew more about cars than we did.

But something about the way the phone buzzed, a sharp, insistent vibration, made me pull it out. A text from an unknown number.

>> You should check on your shop. Now.

I frowned. What the hell was this about?

My gaze flicked to the street outside.

It was quiet, the last of the evening traffic winding down as Medford settled in for the night.

The only sounds were the distant hum of a truck passing by and the faint buzz of the old streetlamp near the curb.

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