They still have a shop there, and the last lot of apprentices he trained up have now taken over and are running the customs from there. From what I have figured out, Tazen flies back twice a week to overlook the builds and make sure they’re exactly how they are meant to be. He is running the shop here, with four members of his team that have been with him from the start. He’s building a good deal of race cars because of the amount of racing in this area.
It’s an impressive setup, and the four guys he’s got with him are amazing at what they do. Watching them work today has been a real eye opener. They are skilled mechanics. Watching Tazen work has been even more impressive, though I’ll never admit that to him. He is incredibly talented and when he gets under those cars, it’s enough for instant panty melting.
“Quinnie?”
I jerk and turn to my left to see Timothy, one of our old regulars walking up the drive. I flash him my best smile, but it’s as fake as fake can be.
“Hey, Timmy.”
“I heard what happened here,” he says with a sympathetic tone. “I’m so sorry.”
I nod, feeling the burn in my heart extend. “There wasn’t much I could do about it, I’m afraid.”
His eyes shoot towards the garage and go hard. “Heard about the jackass that took this place, I’m here to give him a piece of my mind.”
It’s laughable that he would say that. Timmy is a tiny, frail old man that couldn’t take Tazen on even if he was holding a gun. No doubt he has some serious word vomit to spew at him, though.
“It’s not worth that.”
Timmy turns his eyes to me, and narrows them. “It is worth that, Quinnie. Your family has owned this garage for a heck of a long time and some dirty bastard preyed on your weakness to snatch it out from beneath you. I can tell you now, he doesn’t have my business.”
I want to tell him it doesn’t matter, Tazen doesn’t need anyone’s business. He has a big enough one of his own and his client base is huge. He doesn’t fix cars, he builds them. I don’t say this, however, because it’s pointless. If Timmy wants to be angry, he has every right to be.
“Can I help you?”
I turn to see Tazen stepping outside. Timmy immediately strides over to him, waving a finger in his face. “You cannot help me, you terrible man. Do you know how long Quinn’s family has had this garage? Do you? And you took it away from her. You should be ashamed of yourself. You won’t have my business, do you hear me?”
Tazen stares at the man, then his eyes flicker to me. I look away.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, sir,” Tazen says in his most professional voice. I want to slap him because he sounds genuine. “Perhaps I have something I can offer you to make this transition a little less heartbreaking.”
Pig.
Stupid pig.
He doesn’t care about my heartbreak, he only cares about his business. He just doesn’t want a bad name.
“What you can do,” Timmy says, still waving his finger, “is give the garage back to the woman who helped build it.”
Tazen’s jaw tics. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Timmy huffs and puts an arm around my shoulder. “Then you’ll not have any support from this town.”
With that he turns his nose up. It would be laughable at any other time, but I can’t laugh at his passion. It makes me feel warm inside.
“If you need anything, you call me,” Timmy says, kissing my temple before leaving.
When he’s gone, I turn back to Tazen. I’m not going to apologize for that, because I’m not sorry. At all.
“Are you happy now?” he asks.
I shrug. “I didn’t ask him to behave like that, but I’m not sad he did.”
I walk back towards the garage, but Tazen’s hand lashes out and stops me by curling around mine. Then he leans down, so his mouth is near my ear. “Play your games, Quinn, I can outlast them. Know this, though … you will lose.”
Then he lets me go and disappears inside.
It didn’t escape my notice that he hasn’t called me angel since this all happened.
That doesn’t hurt … it doesn’t.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’m still torturing Tazen. It’s been a week, and I have showed up every single day. I think he’s getting more used to me now, and that’s not cool. I don’t want him to get used to me. I want to make him suffer. I also want a job because not working is something that terrifies me. I understand the garage is probably never going to be mine again, but it’s the only thing I’ve ever known.
I can’t walk away, because I don’t know how the hell I’ll survive if I do.
It’s Monday, and I’ve been off the entire weekend. Restless doesn’t even begin to cover what I’ve felt in that time. I’ve paced my house, cleaned it from top to bottom, taken Dad out for lunch, hung out with Jace and still I’m so damned edgy that I can feel the swirls of depression tugging at my heart. I need to get back into my garage, and I need to do it quickly.
I grab my keys after I’m ready, and rush out the door with a muttered good-bye to Dad. I race to my car and get in. The entire way over, my mind is filled with anxious thoughts. One of those is that I have to be batshit crazy to still be doing this. Tazen doesn’t want me there. He isn’t even interested in giving me a job, yet I’m going back because I’m not ready to let it go. In fact, the very idea terrifies me.
I arrive at the garage and get out. It’s around 9 a.m., and it’s bustling. I walk up to the door and stop dead. The sign … Pixie Wheels … is gone. In its place is a new sign, stating boldly Hot Fury. Something slams into my chest and I take a few steps backwards, grasping at my chest. Reality hits like a hurricane and panic swirls in my chest, ugly, brutal panic. I start panting, an unexplainable hurt consuming me.
I start charging towards the garage entry. I burst through, panic rising, and run towards where Tazen is standing, talking to a group of shady looking men. I don’t stop and think, I skid to a halt beside him and screech, “Where is it?”
He turns to me, his eyes wide. “Excuse me?”
“Where,” I gasp, “is it?”
He narrows his eyes now, taking me in. He can probably see my panic attack from a mile away, and because of this, his face softens. “Where’s what?”
“My … s-s-s-sign,” I stammer. “Where is it?”
“Quinn, you’re making no sense.”
“My sign,” I scream so loudly he flinches. “Pixie Wheels, where the hell is it?”
He blinks at me, then recognition hits and he turns to his second in charge, Rick, who is currently working on a car. “Rick,” he yells. “Where’s the damned sign?”
Rick looks up, narrowing his eyes. “What fuckin’ sign?”
“The Pixie Wheels one.”
Rick shrugs. “Chucked it, why?”
No.
My knees wobble and I reach out desperately, trying to grab onto something. Tazen hooks an arm around my waist. “Whoa,” he says, steadying me.
“I-I-It’s gone,” I whisper. “That … my mom made that sign. She’s dead. It’s the last thing I had left. You…” I shove away from him. “You took that away.”