Page 4 of Enzo (Redcars #1)

FOUR

Enzo

“What the fuck did they do to him!” Rio snapped, and I gestured for him to lower his voice. “He’s barely conscious, but he throws himself down the fucking stairs?”

“Do we need to call someone?” Jamie asked.

“Who?” I snapped, suddenly exhausted and scared. “He said no.” I knocked on the thin door, my knuckles rapping on the wood. “Robbie?” I called, keeping my voice low. “There’s meds out here and food.” The silence stretched and scraped my nerves. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my fingers grasping the door frame. I should go in. I should open the door and demand to know how he was, shove the meds and food into his hands, and sit there until he took what he needed. Because if I didn’t, my mind would keep spinning, dragging me back to memories I tried to forget.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I let too much time pass, if I gave him too much space, Robbie might be taken from me. Or worse, killed.

I wouldn’t let that happen.

“I’ll make him let me help,” I snapped to Jamie, who winced.

“Maybe not a good approach?” he said. I hated when he was sensible when what I needed now was his fierce need to get things done.

“Jesus.”

Rio tapped the wall gently. “Like, what if he’s asleep in there? What if he woke up panicked and thought you were a threat?”

I knew that. What if me pushing my way in did more harm than good? My hand hovered over the handle. Just open the damn door , I told myself. Just open it .

I knocked again. Still silence.

I hated that Robbie was in that room where I couldn’t see him. He could be unconscious, bleeding out on the other side of that door, or trapped in a spiral of pain so intense he couldn’t tell if he was awake or dreaming. Maybe he thought we were the enemy, convinced opening that door would be the final mistake he’d ever make. Or perhaps he was lying there, too weak to move, too broken to cry for help. Robbie was as safe as he could be in whatever state, with the four of us watching his back. That was one thing we all agreed on. No matter what happened next, no matter what threats came knocking, Robbie wasn’t going anywhere. We wouldn’t let anyone touch him again.

Robbie was now under Redcars’ protection.

The door opened a little, and Robbie peered around it, gaunt and hollow-eyed. Bruises darkened the skin beneath his eyes, his lips were cracked, and he couldn’t hold himself upright. He was bent at the waist, one hand braced on the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him from collapsing. The light from the garage spilled into the cramped space behind him, revealing a clutter of files, cabinets, and boxes—barely enough room to sit, let alone rest. The only chair in there was forced up against the door, and although I could have pushed through if I wanted, I let him be. The air smelled stale, like paper and dust, and there wasn’t a single comfort in that space. He needed blankets, something to lie on, and more.

My heart clenched. He shouldn’t be in there.

“I brought food.” I nudged the plate closer. Snacks, his pills, and two bottles of water — all the essentials I could think of.

Robbie’s gaze flicked to the offering, then back to me. His hand shot out, fingers curling around the plate as if he thought I might snatch it back. He tugged it inside, and the door started to close.

“Robbie?” I blurted out before he could shut me out completely. “You need anything else? Is there someone we can call? Family?”

He hesitated. “No,” he half-whispered, then the door closed, and I was left staring at the wood.

“We need to find out who did this,” Rio growled behind me.

I turned to face him, Jamie, and Logan. When the hell had Logan arrived?

“Lo,” I said.

“He okay?” Logan asked, but I didn’t want to talk about Robbie where he could hear, I gestured for them all to move to the engine bay where Rio’s pacing had worn a faint track on the dusty floor, and again boots scuffed in short, agitated bursts. This wasn’t just about Robbie—it never was.

“Fuck knows,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. The thought of Robbie in that room, beaten and broken, fueled something ugly inside me.

Jamie shot me a look but didn’t comment.

“I don’t care who we hurt,” Rio continued, pointing a finger that shook with anger, “whoever’s behind this doesn’t get to walk away clean. We find them, we end them.”

That was Rio—all fists and action, always ready to punch his way through a problem. Direct action was his answer to everything. He didn’t believe in waiting or strategy, not when anger felt faster and more satisfying. It didn’t matter if violence wasn’t the smartest move—if Rio thought it would solve the problem, he’d swing first and worry about the fallout later. His temper ran hot and fast, like a fuse that never quite stopped burning. It made him dangerous, but right now? Dangerous felt like exactly what Robbie might need.

Jamie hummed thoughtfully. There was a darker side to Jamie none of us understood. He didn’t talk about his past much, but the rumors stuck. Whispers about what he’d done before Redcars, about the parents who’d died in a house fire, and the uncle who’d ended up burning alive. Fire was his thing, but he had a gift with computers that none of us saw here. Whether the rumors were true or not, Jamie denied nothing about burning his family—and that silence said enough. There was a cold precision to the way he spoke when things got dark, as if violence wasn’t just an option but something he knew too well, and he flicked his cheap lighters and stared at the flame too often for us not to notice. That edge, the quiet threat following him like a shadow, made Jamie the kind of dangerous even Rio didn’t mess with.

His words carried a weight that chilled the air. “Or we make them wish they’d never been born.” He smiled like it was a casual idea, not a promise of something dark and drawn-out.

Rio and Jamie exchanged glances, silent but sure. That quiet understanding between them—the unshakable confidence that, one way or another, the bad guys were done—sent a chill down my spine. I’d be there with them, but no one needed to know that right now. Jamie leaned in slightly, muttering something sharp. Rio nodded, already tossing out plans.

“We grab ‘em first,” Rio said, his fingers twitching as if he was itching to throw a punch. “Drag ‘em in here, let ‘em stew for a while. Chain ‘em up like they did the kid and then fucking stab them.”

Jamie smirked, dark and cold. “Or we take something they care about, cut their fucking cocks off for what they did to him, break them down piece by piece.”

Their words came low, like the start of a twisted brainstorming session—brutal, merciless, and all too easy for them to slip into. I knew Rio’s fire well enough, but Jamie? There was something about the way he calculated cruelty as though he had a list of tortures already filed away in his mind, each one worse than the last. Rio was rage; Jamie was ice—and both of them were dangerous in their own way.

“Jesus! Stop!” Logan cut in, “We don’t know what the fuck happened.”

“Trafficking,” Rio said.

“Slavery,” Jamie added.

“Okay, fuck. Stop! Someone needs to catch me up here, and hell… “ Logan’s calm felt forced now, strained around the edges, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides, knuckles pale. He was holding everything together, balancing the weight of Redcars and the lives tangled up in it. Logan knew this place wasn’t only a garage—it was sanctuary, safety—and if he lost control now, everything could unravel. He wasn’t just worried about Robbie or the violence Rio and Jamie were eager to unleash. He was carrying all of it—every risk, every threat—and somehow, he had to stay solid enough to keep us all standing. “…we need to be smart, not reckless. Redcars isn’t somewhere we drag shit into.” He paused, dragging in a breath, then exhaled slowly and deliberately. “There’s nothing we should do when the cost is getting ourselves killed or putting this Robbie guy in danger. We can’t charge in blind when we know fuck all about who we’re trying to hurt or why.”

I tuned their heated debate out, my focus slipping back to the file room door. Robbie was away from whatever threats we hadn’t yet faced. And yet, I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to be in there. I needed to know he was okay. The longer I stared at that door, the harder it became to breathe. My thoughts spiraled—was he conscious? Was he scared? Did he know we were out here, fighting to keep him safe? The idea that he might be alone in the dark, hurting and afraid, twisted my gut. Every instinct I had screamed to check on him, but I knew the risk. We had to give him space until he calmed down and accepted he was safe with us.

“He needs stuff,” I said, and somehow the words, or how I said them, struck a chord. “He’s staying in that room, he feels safe, he needs… fuck… a bed… blankets...”

Everyone stared at me for a beat, as if I’d said something profound. For a second, I wondered if they’d even heard me right. I’d never been the one with the answers—not like Logan with his calm, or Rio with his fists, or Jamie with his fire. I’d given up on fixing things and became the man who stayed in the background. But this time, I’d spoken up, and they’d listened. Were they responding to the fear in my voice?

Rio nodded sharply and grabbed Jamie’s arm. “Come on,” he muttered. “We’ll get the cot.”

“Pillows and blankets,” Jamie added.

Without another word, the two of them headed upstairs and I watched them go, their footsteps fading on the stairs. That left me and Logan.

“You okay?” Logan asked, his voice gentle.

I didn’t answer right away. My eyes drifted back to the closed door. “I just…” I swallowed hard. “I hate that he’s in there alone.”

“Catch me up. You found him in the alley, and he was breathing, but hurt.”

“So bad, I don’t know… I took these… I…” I passed him my phone, and showed the photos Doc had ordered me to take in case this ever went to court. Yeah right.

Logan blanched, “Jesus fuck… what the… fuck.”

“He’s staying,” I said, and crossed my arms over my chest.

Logan stared at me, his eyes bright with emotion, and he passed back the phone. “No question.”

“I don’t want him in there alone, Lo…”

“The room is where he feels safe and it’s all that matters.”

“He’ll need a bathroom, his meds, food, he can’t physically stay in there.”

“He won’t,” Tudor said from behind us, and we both turned to see him sitting on the stool by the coffee machine. “He’ll be forced to use the bathroom after a while, or the pain will get too much, he’ll need to eat, and if he’s as much of a survivor as he seems to be, then hell, it won’t be long. Still, give him the space, yeah? Make it his. Sometimes, a body wants four walls close around them.”

Tudor was gray-haired, but a force of nature, less a part of the running of Redcars now he’d retired, but he was the reason we were all here, the one who’d opened up his world to us when we needed help, and I respected the hell out of the man. Redcars might not be Tudor’s place anymore, not since he’d passed the reins to Logan, but he was over here at least once a day, if only to poke his nose around the corner and huff if he caught us doing something wrong. Redcars was more than a garage—it was a safe haven for men with pasts that left them bruised and broken, a place where they could build something stable, something good. Like Greg, who came to us after doing three years for a crime he didn’t commit, struggling to find work because no one would give him a second chance. Or Mikey, who’d spent most of his life in and out of shelters before Logan had given him a place here and taught him how to rebuild engines. Redcars didn’t just fix cars—it helped rebuild lives.

“Jamie and Rio are bringing down the cot.”

“I heard,” Tudor said.

How long had he been sitting there listening? Had he heard all of that shit with Jamie and Rio promising vengeance? Pain throbbed at the base of my skull, the kind of headache that comes from too many hours spent grinding your teeth and overthinking everything. We had no idea what kind of hell Robbie had endured, what horrors he’d been subjected to, but I wanted to scoop him up and take him back to the bed upstairs.

“We need to talk,” Tudor said. “Get the boy settled, and then back here.” He pointed at the floor still rough with Rio’s scuff marks.

That didn’t sound good.

“He’s staying,” I blurted. “We can’t throw him out.” Tudor stared at me unblinking, and I backpedaled. Of course, he wouldn’t throw Robbie out. What the hell am I doing losing my shit like Tudor was the bad guy? “Sorry.”

“I know.” Tudor was doing his best Yoda impression, with his piercing eyes that could see right through a body to the mess underneath—freaking intimidating.

Jamie clattered down, arms full of blankets, and Rio single-handedly carried the cot under one arm and tugged the mattress behind him.

“Robbie?” I knocked on the door he refused to open, and thought about what the hell to do now. “We’ve got you a bed and stuff. Can you open the door? Robbie?”

The door creaked open. “You can’t come in,” Robbie whispered.

“We’re not coming in.”

“You can’t,” he said fiercely, and I saw the glint of something metal in his hand—a fork. Where the hell had he gotten a fork? He stabbed it toward me, his eyes wide, blood on his lips. Had he opened some stitches? This wasn’t right. Did we need to get Doc back?

“We’re not going to hurt you,” I said, but reached for him when he leaned against the door frame, going deathly white.

“Go away!” he threatened with another jab of the fork.

I held out a hand behind me. “Knife,” I snapped, and within seconds I had a blade in my hand. Robbie huddled in on himself.

“No. No.” he tried to shut the door, but I slid the knife in where he could hold it. Was this a good idea? Was he suicidal? Was he murderous? Shit, I’d just armed him, but…

He bent down to pick up the blade, and held it tight, staring at me, then tossing the fork out where it clattered on the concrete.

“Now you’re armed, okay? We can’t hurt you.”

Jamie placed the blankets within reach then moved to sit on a pile of used tires, fingers interlocked, his gaze fixed on the cracked tiles near his boots. Rio leaned the cot frame and mattress next to the open door, then went over to Jamie and paced, restless energy snapping off him like static. Logan hadn’t moved and Tudor was watching carefully.

We all watched as empty boxes were pushed out of the space, and the bed frame was dragged in—how the fuck he was doing that I didn’t know. “Don’t open your stitches,” I said so he could hear.

“I won’t,” he said, and then ruined the effect by coughing and spluttering.

“Jesus, Robbie!” I yelled.

He went quiet. Then after a pause, some more scraping, and then he opened the door a little. “Push it,” he said, and I assume he meant the mattress.

“I can’t if you’re in there and you’re in the way, be sensible about this, Robbie?—”

“Push it, please…”

I shoved and it fell in. He shut the door, and I was stuck outside again.

“Kid’s a mess,” Tudor murmured. “Some assholes out there are going to hell.”

“Yeah…”

“If they come looking for him…” Logan seemed twitchy.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Rio snapped, and only subsided when Tudor raised an eyebrow. That damn thing was magic, one tic and we all backed down. “Sorry, boss,” He threw at Logan who didn’t even hear him.

“You think he’s bringing trouble to our doorstep?” I asked.

Tudor didn’t answer right away. He took another sip. “Maybe trouble follows him here.”

“But that doesn’t mean we turn him away, right?” I asked, aware I was confronting the man who had given me—a messed-up murderer—a second chance. I knew he would do the right thing but doubt and lack of sleep were clouding my judgment. Tudor leveled a look at me, one conveying his displeasure with what I had said, and I fell silent. At least he didn’t use the eyebrow.

“It’s not just about Robbie,” Logan said from behind us, and I turned to face my best friend, who was as exhausted as I was. “It’s Cassidy.”

“We’d never let anything happen to Cass,” I reassured Logan because that little girl was precious to all of us. Logan might be her daddy, but we were all surrogate uncles.

“Yeah, I get that, but there’s been some trouble around here, some… the fires at Cardinal Park.”

Violence and threats had been circling us for months now, creeping closer like a noose tightening. Some of it came from the pasts we carried—men who’d pissed off the wrong people, who had enemies they couldn’t outrun. Some of it was newer—gangs carving up the streets, staking claims in the vacuum left behind by a broken police force. And then there was the gentrification, the slow influx of developers picking apart old buildings, driving up rents, and pushing out families who’d lived here for generations. Redcars had always been a target—too many people thought they could take what we had. Too many believed we couldn’t hold the line. I knew better—Logan knew better. But a victim of the worst kinds of violence being here, was different. Seeing something this close was personal, affecting each of us differently.

“What if Robbie is part of that?” Logan continued, “what if he’s one of the bad guys and?—”

“You know he’s not,” I snapped. “He’s a freaking victim. Jesus, Lo!”

Tudor placed a hand on my chest, but he spoke to Logan. “Logan, you’re thinking like a leader,” Tudor said. “But don’t forget what this place is. You, Enzo, Jamie, Rio… hell, even me when my pops dragged me kicking and screaming out of Jeb Butler’s whore house when I was thirteen—we all brought trouble when we came here. We were all someone else’s problem.”

That hit hard.

Logan held up a hand in defense. “I never said we should make him go.”

Tudor’s eyes met Logan’s, and then his gaze flicked to me. “Robbie is welcome here.”

“But what if whoever did this to him is… fuck… trafficking… and Cassidy… Jesus,” Logan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “And this gets fucked this up…”

“You’re not wrong,” Tudor agreed. “But Logan?—”

“What if this puts Cassidy in danger?” Logan looked up at him, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

Tudor shook his head. “You don’t carry it alone. We all look out for the little angel”

I nodded. “He’s right, Lo. We hold the line together. Looking out for Cassidy isn’t just you. It’s all of us. Same with this place.” In the nine years I’d been here I’d gone from wanting nothing to do with Redcars, to clinging for dear life to our small fucked-up family. I would stand between danger and Cassidy because that kid was like my niece or something, and I took that shit seriously.

Logan exhaled, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I just… I can’t afford to fuck this up, I can’t have trouble at the door, not when my ex’s partner is waiting for me to crack. I’m not losing my kid.”

Tudor gave a slight, approving nod. “Let’s start with finding out where he came from.”

“Good luck with that, he’s barely right in the head to think, let alone talk, and he’s terrified.”

“Hmmm,” Tudor murmured. That could have meant anything from calling a SWAT team to suggesting coffee. I’d given up on deciphering what the old man meant by his hmmm’s and Yoda-like wisdom. I wasn’t clever enough to second-guess anyone as worldly-wise and manipulative as Tudor Barrera.