“Dad!” Was the last I heard before she slammed the door and stomped inside.
She never apologized or thanked me for my work, in fact, she steered the fuck clear of me whenever she could. She'd never really greeted the staff directly around the property other than the old housekeeper—who seemed like more an esteemed member of the family than someone who actually did any work. She hugged that woman a lot, Carlotta was her name. I think she might have taken over raising Harley and her brother after their mother passed away. But what I could tell from a distance was that the family wasn’t particularly close. Mr. Brooks loved cars, Harley loved horses, and Stefano Brooks loved him some coke.
I wasn’t a gossip. I came here to work and get paid, not necessarily in that order. Brooks had enough cars to hold his own motor show. All them were imports with parts that were hard to find, and finding a mechanic who knew rare models was even more of a drag. My father had worshipped Italian cars and I grew up tinkering under the hood of some of the finest ever made.
My pops and old man Brooks had been almost friends back in the day, united by their love of cars, drinking and women. But then Brooks went into finance and my pops kept up with the hard living.
So by the time Stefano and I came along, the two men were living on opposite side of the tracks, literally. And when our little sisters were born, Harley and Kat, the two families were living on two different planets. Brooks had moved into the mansion in East Point and the Dunnes were living in a fucking trailer by the South Banks, downwind of the town dump. My mom was always one payment away on a get rich quick scheme and dad made money, but gambled and drank it away. That’s why, at fifteen, I decided to start apprenticing, take matters into my own hands and bring some bread home for the family.
Then tragedy hit. Stefano and Harley’s mom died, cancer, I think. Then my little sister Kat passed, and none of our lives were ever the same. For two decades now, our only connection has been the cars. The Brooks family was the bread and butter of our family garage, but other than the transactional relationship, we didn’t intermingle. And I was fucking fine with that; I had an aversion to rich people. Like the two airheads peeping me through the window and trying to get a shot of my ass. Women like that were good for only one thing, but I didn’t even want any of that. I flipped off the one with the silicone lips after she turned away. Harley was better than those bimbos, but she wouldn’t be for longer if she kept up with how things were going.
Was I bitter? Fuck yeah. Was I jaded? Hell yes. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my sister. People like the Brooks only cared about who and what they could buy. All of life was priced out and they used money as a weapon, money to acquire power, money to manipulate and dominate—just like their kind had done with my sister.
Harley was what Kat could have been had she survived. Beautiful, vibrant, full of potential. Now she was gone and I was relegated to have my head under the hood for the rest of my life. I was gonna go to college, make something of my damn life. Instead, I was still in the same shit hole neighborhood, hustling just like my dad did to make ends meet. I knew there was no point in holding it against them, but it didn’t mean I didn’t want my own taste of vengeance. I wouldn’t be opposed to them having to pay the same way my family did. They lost their mother, but it was as if they didn’t lose anything, they didn’t struggle—just went about their lives as if nothing happened. I was tired of seeing how some people got everything while others were left with scraps if they were lucky. I hated that I needed the job, needed their money. I hated that the same kind of people who ruined my family were the same people I depended on to put food on our table. I had to be polite to these people, but I didn't have to fucking like them.
I wasn’t dumb, I saw how the little princess and her friends watched me from the window. Undressing me with their eyes and taking a fucking video. I saw her still standing there long after her friends. When I challenged her gaze, she looked away as if my glance had the power to see the real Harley underneath all the bullshit. A part of me liked that I’d impacted her in some way. Another sick and twisted part hated everything she was and stood for. I didn't know her anymore, but I sure as fuck knew people like her, what they were capable of. And I hated those kind of people with an unbridled passion.