Page 22 of Enzo (Redcars #1)

TWENTY-TWO

Enzo

The Pontiac was a pile of rusty shit held together with a hope and a prayer.

It was beautiful.

Everything started out okay. The air in the private garage smelled like old oil and rusting metal, which should’ve been familiar but only made my skin itch because it wasn’t Redcars and I wanted to get back to Redcars. Fast.

“Two thousand,” I said, my gaze running over the battered Pontiac. The once beautiful machine had seen better days—its black paint dulled by years of neglect, rust creeping along the wheel wells, and a busted headlight that gave it a lopsided glare. The engine had seized, the carburetor needed a complete rebuild, and the exhaust was barely hanging on. But under all that wear, the bones of a beast remained, and I knew Redcars could bring it back to life. Rio loved this shit, and Jamie was always good with a rebuild.

The man in front of me—Albie, a grease-stained, half-retired hustler who’d been around long enough to think he had leverage—scratched his chin, unconvinced. “Yeah, well, Logan said we could make a deal.” I knew for a fact he hadn’t even spoken to Logan.

“You’re dealing with me,” I said, arms crossed over my chest.

“Logan and I always had an understanding,” Albie muttered, running a hand over the dull, fading paint job of the old muscle car.

I didn’t have time for this. “Bottom line, you want to sell or not?”

The door swung open behind me, and two guys stepped in. Big. Purposeful. No gang tattoos I could see but these were heavies who were intended to intimidate.

My pulse kicked up, my hands flexing at my sides, muscles coiled and ready. My breath shallowed, a deep-rooted instinct whispering that something was off. Every nerve in my body braced for the next move; for the moment, things would shift from tense to dangerous.

Was this a set up? Was this Stone Cross and Mateo? Vinnie? Was this John pulling strings? I shouldn’t have left Robbie. Hands loose at my sides, I kept my stance wide enough that if this went sideways, I’d have room to move. The tension crackled in my chest, an old instinct kicking in whether I wanted it to or not.

Albie waved a hand. “Relax. They work for me.”

I didn’t relax. I stayed as I was, watching them flanking the exit, checking me over as though taking stock of what it’d take to put me down.

I didn’t appreciate being stared at in that way.

“We all need protecting,” Albie tilted his head, narrowing his gaze, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Heard Redcars got some trouble coming their way. Stone Cross making moves?”

My heart stopped.

I was on Albie in an instant—hand around his throat, slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. The guards beside him moved, but I shoved them back like they were nothing—children trying to hold back a wildfire.

“What did you say?” I growled, face inches from his, voice low and lethal.

Albie gasped, caught off guard, the smugness vanishing as he clawed at my wrist. I didn’t let up. Didn’t blink. He’d said too much.

“Nothing, rumors is all,” he scrabbled at my hands.

“What do you know?”

“Nothing, I swear, just heard from some guy called Vinnie?—”

“What about him?”

“Tried to sell on a boosted car! Fuck! Let me go.”

“Where is Vinnie?”

“I don’t know! This was weeks ago!” I choked him harder, but let the two big guys pull me away.

“If I find out you’re getting up in Redcars business I will end you. Right here,” I snapped as I shrugged them off.

I let the silence stretch and get heavy enough that Albie blinked first. I was outnumbered, but I could do severe damage if pushed. Then I exhaled—I wasn’t going to lose my temper on a job and put myself in harm’s way— slowly, deliberately, I turned back to Albie. “You taking the offer on the car or not?”

He hesitated, glanced at his guys, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we got a deal.”

The tension in the room eased.

“Load her up, boys,” Albie said, and the two thick-necked men hurried to get the 1970 GTO onto the back of the Redcars truck.

As soon as I was heading back to Redcars and away from Albie, I felt the tension ease from my shoulders and when I parked up in the yard, Rio was there in a flash, eyes lighting up at the Pontiac on the back of the truck, but he must have caught my expression.

“What?” he asked under his breath.

“Vinnie causing shit about Stone Cross moving in around here.”

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Nope.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Jamie interrupted, climbing onto the truck bed and running a hand over the rusted hood, tracing the faded lines of what had once been a beast of a machine. “This is going to be a kick-ass project. What are we working with?” Wrench in hand, he pried the hood open. He whistled low as he took in the engine. “Damn, rough as shit. Carburetor’s shot, belts are cracked to hell, and that exhaust is a lost cause.”

Rio and I exchanged glances—nothing more to talk about here. Lets’ change the subject.

Rio clambered up to join Jamie. “It’s got good bones. We swap out the carb, reinforce the frame, get a new set of wheels on her—she’ll be a monster again.”

I watched them both, the weight of the earlier encounter easing slightly. “How fast can we flip it and turn a profit?”

Rio snorted, wiping grease from his hands. “A month? More like two if you want it done right.” Then he grinned. “Unless you let me take some creative liberties.”

I shook my head. “No nitrous.”

“No promises,” Rio shot back with a wink. I needed this. I needed normal.

“What’s this one?” Robbie asked, and I damn near jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t expected him to be interested, not in cars. That had never been his thing. But lately, he’d been trying, asking questions, listening when I talked shop. And hell, I was more than happy to talk about cars rather than confront the shadows in his expression. It kept me from saying something stupid—and I didn’t mean about killing anyone who hurt him. I mean, like how much, when this was all over, I wanted to take him on a date, kiss him again, or hold him as he fell apart in my arms.

I ran a hand over the faded black hood, the dull sheen of the Pontiac showing hints of the power it used to wield. “1970 Pontiac GTO,” I said. “They called it ‘The Judge’ back in the day—one of the baddest muscle cars to ever hit the streets. This one’s seen better days, but she’s got a solid frame. Needs a full rebuild—carb, belts, exhaust, the whole nine yards—but once she’s done, she’ll be a beast again.”

“A loud one,” Rio added with a grin. “This thing, stock? Already had three hundred and seventy horses under the hood.”

Jamie, half-buried under the open hood, let out a snort. “But you know we’re not leaving it stock.”

“Exactly,” Rio said with so much enthusiastic hand-waving he nearly wiped Jamie out. “We get the right setup; this baby’s gonna roar. Dual exhausts, new headers, maybe an LS swap if we’re feeling ambitious.”

Robbie nodded as if he understood, but I could see the crease in his brow, the way he was trying to piece it all together. “So… you’re bringing it back from the dead?”

“Exactly.” I leaned against the truck, watching Jamie tinker and Rio throw out modification ideas with the excitement of a kid in a candy store. “Then we sell it on, and it’s all gravy.”

Robbie huffed a small laugh and stepped closer, brushing his fingers along the door. “It looks… kinda mean. Like it has a story.”

“Oh, it does,” Rio jumped in. “These things were made for the streets. They were fast, loud, and not afraid to throw down. This one? We’re giving her a second life.”

Jamie wiped the grease from his hands and looked up. “Hey Robbie, you like it?”

Robbie hesitated for a second before glancing at me. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”

“She’s gonna be beautiful,” Rio said all wistful before turning back to Jamie, already elbow-deep in the engine.

“This intake manifold is a mess,” Jamie muttered, gesturing at the grime-caked component. “Looks like someone tried to swap out the original carb for a four-barrel but botched the job. Might explain why the engine seized.”

I turned to Robbie, ready to explain. “The intake manifold distributes the air-fuel mixture to the cylinders. If it’s cracked or clogged, the whole system chokes.” I gestured with my hands as if that made my explanation any clearer.

Robbie nodded, eyes sharp. “I read a book about it,” he said, tilting his head as if he were thumbing through cards in his brain to find the right one. “So if they mismatched the carburetor, it would’ve thrown off the fuel-to-air ratio, starving the engine or flooding it, depending on how bad the setup was.”

Rio and Jamie both paused, eyebrows raised. I blinked. “Uh, yeah. Exactly.”

Robbie smirked, but then his expression faltered. He dipped his head, looking uncertain, as if he’d overstepped. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I meant to listen to you explain. I just—” He shrugged, fidgeting. “Yeah.”

I crossed my arms and eyed him. “Okay, Mr. Brain,” I teased. “What do we do next?”

Robbie blinked at me. “You want me to answer?”

I nodded. “Go for it.”

He hesitated for a beat, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as if he were weighing the risk of speaking up. Then, with a quick breath, he squared his shoulders, determination settling over him like armor. “Well,” he began, counting each item on his fingers, “first, we need to remove the old Rochester Quadrajet 4MV carb and check the condition of the intake manifold gasket—if it’s brittle or cracked, we’ll replace it. Next, we must clean any varnish or sludge from the intake runners and check the vacuum lines for leaks. The fuel lines should be flushed, and the inline fuel filter—probably a GF416—should be swapped. There’d be issues if we slapped a new Edelbrock 1406 on there without first ensuring a clean fuel delivery system.”

Silence. We all stared at Robbie.

“How the fuck do you even know that?” Rio asked, and I sent him my best shut-the-fuck-up stare, which he ignored. “You’re like a walking encyclopedia!”

The damage was done. Robbie’s face was scarlet, and he dipped his head, embarrassed, as if he’d overstepped. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I meant to pretend to… I just—” He trailed off, and stared up at me, his eyes wide with fear. “I remember things I read. It’s kind of my superpower, I guess. I’m sorry to overstep... so sorry.” He stepped back, but something compelled me to stop him. He should be proud that his brain was so freaking full of clever shit, own it, use it. I know I felt proud of him.

“Ignore Rio, he’s an asshole,” I reassured and punched Rio in the arm.

“I’m not an asshole; I’m just observant!” Rio snapped, rubbing his elbow.

“‘Observant’?” Jamie scoffed. “Yeah, sure, let’s call it that. More like you have the subtlety of a jackhammer and no brain.”

“Excuse you, I have plenty of brain. I choose not to use it.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “And that’s why nobody trusts you with their coffee orders.”

“That was one time!” Rio shot back, throwing his hands up. “How was I supposed to know oat and regular milk weren’t interchangeable?”

Jamie smirked, reaching out and smearing an oily hand across Rio’s mouth before he could say another word. Rio yelped, stumbling back, cursing between muffled grumbles.

I left them to their nonsense, shaking my head as I turned back to Robbie, who was watching with wide eyes. “Okay. So what do we do next?”

Robbie’s gaze flicked to mine, uncertainty flashing across his face. “I haven’t read that far yet,” he said, sounding so disappointed it made me smile.

“Best get to it then,” I teased. Robbie glanced from me to the car and back again, and then, with a small, nervous huff, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the file room—his room—leaving us watching him go.

Jamie clambered down from the truck, smears of oil streaked across his face, looking smug.

“Kid’s a fucking genius! Imagine how much money we’d rake in with his card-counting at a poker table!”

My temper flared hot and fast before I even had time to think. One second, I was standing there; the next, I was on Jamie, shoving him back against the wall.

“Don’t you even think of putting him in that position,” I growled, voice low and sharp.

Jamie’s eyes widened, staring at me unfazed—freaking psycho—studying me as though I was a bug on a pin. He didn’t try to push me off because he knew I’d let nothing slide where Robbie was concerned, so instead, he let me posture and threaten him.

“Jesus, Enzo,” he muttered, hands raised to tap my arm. “I wasn’t gonna?—”

“He stays here where he feels safe?—”

“I get that?—”

“And that doesn’t mean you bring the poker game here!”

“No, shit, I was joking. I would never hurt the kid or put him in that situation.”

Rio moved in beside us, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Toss-up: would he try to break us apart or let me get my point across?

Jamie let out a slow breath. “Look, I get it. Robbie’s your guy. But I swear to you, man, I wouldn’t mess with him. He’s a good person.”

I studied him for a long moment, then let go, stepping back, all while trying to ignore the comment about Robbie being my guy. “See that you don’t.”

Jamie patted my chest, then tilted his head a little, his gaze hardening. “And I’d never let anyone else hurt him.”

But before I could spiral too far, Rio stepped in, his voice calm but firm. “The three of us here, Logan—we’re looking after the kid, okay? All of us. It’s just that one of us is more gone than the rest. Okay?”

I clenched my jaw, angry and something deeper I couldn’t put a name to. Rio shifted, stepping enough into my space to ground me. To remind me of where we were and what we were doing.

Jamie huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Man, you’re intense. I was joking, all right? And I meant what I said—I’d never let anyone hurt him.”

I exhaled, forcing my hands to my sides. “Good. Make sure you don’t.”

“And when we get our hands on Vinnie, we’ve got your back,” he added.

“And John, when we find him.”

“And the others,” Jamie added. “Whoever the fuck they are.”

Rio clapped a hand on my shoulder, giving me a slight squeeze before stepping back. “All right, now that we’ve all had our dramatic moment, get back to fixing the damn car?”

Jamie lowered his voice, “And can we all agree that we’re looking out for Robbie, but for the rest of us, it’s purely platonic?”

Lucky for him, he ducked before I could take him out.

Asshole.