Page 5 of Broken Trails
“Michael! Where’d ya put that torque wrench?” Kevin’s voice slices through my skull like nails on a chalkboard. Kevin is our new trainee, barely eighteen, and all limbs and questions.
“On the shelf where it always is, mate,” I snap, pointing towards the wall stacked with tools. I expect him to walk over and grab it, but he’s still fucking standing there.
“Uh, old man Mr. Whittle hasn’t come to pick up his car yet. Know anything about that?”
“What time was he supposed to show?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“Eight-thirty.”
I glance at the clock. Nine-thirty. Figures. “Did you call him?”
“Uh, no? Should I?”
I swear under my breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Yes! Call him. See what’s the delay. We need that car out of here.”
Harrison walks by with a smirk that grates on me even more. “Rough night, little bro?”
I don’t bother answering. I just dig into my pocket for a cigarette and head out front, flipping him the bird as I go. Thelighter sparks, and I take a long drag, welcoming the sting in my throat and the spin in my head. God bless nicotine.
I pull out my phone, scrolling aimlessly through messages I won’t answer and memes that barely make me chuckle. Anything to drown out the noise in my skull.
The sound of screeching tyres snaps me right out of it. I look up just in time to see a white Mercedes roll in, smoke billowing from under its hood.
“Looks like we’ve got some work to do, boys,” Jono calls out.
“About time,” Jack mutters. “I was starting to think we’d have a slow day.”
I take another drag of my smoke, staring at the car with a sinking feeling. Fancy cars always mean one thing: fancy problems. And fancy problems mean a pain in my hungover ass.
The driver’s door swings open, and out steps not just anyone, but a hurricane in human form. A woman. She’s in a white sundress that clings in all the right places, heeled sandals, and massive fuck-off sunglasses. Definitely not from around here.
Sam steps up beside me, crossing his arms. “Looks like trouble.”
I blow out a cloud of smoke. “Trouble with a capital T.”
The sun beats down on us, and I squint as I flick the cigarette to the ground and stomp it out. Walking up, I get a better look at her. Long hair tumbles over her shoulders, her curvy figure outlined perfectly by the dress. Her creamy skin looks too soft for someone with such a hard-ass attitude, but hey, appearances can be deceiving.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” The words come out before my brain catches up. Ma’am? Jesus Christ. She yanks off her sunglasses, revealing eyes full of fire and a scowl that could curdle milk. Beautiful features, though, I’ll give her that.
“Ma’am? Are you serious? You make me sound like my mother.”
“Could’ve gone with ‘princess,’ but I figured you wouldn’t like that any better.” I shrug. Her attitude is already grating on me, but damn if it doesn’t spark something else, too.
“Oh, great. A mechanic and a comedian. Must be my lucky day.” She crosses her arms. “What’s next? Are you going to tell me my car’s problem is that it’s broken?”
“Nah, I was just going to say it’s probably a user error,” I shoot back, watching the way her cheeks flush. “But hey, I’m sure you’re a real pro at handling… things.”
Her jaw tightens, and she takes a deliberate step closer, her presence like a brewing storm. “Listen, I don’t have time for smart-ass commentary. Just fix my car.”
I match her step, leaning in slightly, enough to make my own point. “I’ll fix it, alright. But not because you demanded it, princess. You’re lucky I don’t charge extra for bad attitudes.”
She scoffs, tilting her head like she’s considering whether I’m worth another round. A low chuckle escapes Sam behind me. “Careful, boy. Looks like you’ve met your match.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Match? More like a headache with legs.”
Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and I catch the way her fingers tighten around the strap of her black handbag with a large gold ‘H’.
“Can you please hurry and get to the part where you do your job? I need to get moving.”
