Rev (Fast Lane #1)

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Tristan

The next day, Wilder drove us in his 2015 yellow Corvette zo6 that he'd received as a birthday present from his old man. The drive to work wasn't a long one, but it wasn't a short one either. We pulled up to the small garage that had been mine and Wilder's home away from home since we were kids. The building was tattered and had seen better days, but it still stood tall and strong among the other auto part and repair shops on the block. It got plenty of attention from customers though and we had a stellar satisfaction rate. Clay only hired the best and it showed every time we sent the owner and the car on their way.

Wilder pulled back behind the building where the mechanics kept their own rides. My Camaro set on the asphalt quiet and untouched where I'd left it last night in a rush. It was sitting between Chase's 1970 Chevelle and Clay's 1967 Impala. Clay was a traditional muscle kind of guy and had raised us boys right, with the exception of Wilder who preferred the new models over the classics.

We stepped out of the 'Vette and started towards the back entrance into the garage. The clanking of tools against the ground and machinery was like music to my ears at eight o'clock in the morning. We walked in and saw Chase standing over the engine of a Ford truck playing with the fuel injector. His dark hair was tucked behind his ears as he worked.

"What's wrong with the truck?" I asked him as Wilder walked past me to work on a 2007 bug that a girl had brought in yesterday. The blonde had come in perky tits and all looking for a "good mechanic" as she'd put it. Clay had told her to take her pick of the litter and Wilder had no problem making that desicion for her, not that she had minded. She'd been more than ecstatic to let my buddy have a look under her hood both literally and figuratively.

"Well, at first I thought it was just the inlet valve that was closed, but then I took a closer look and realized that the injector was a little off so I'm fixing that, too. After that it should be able to go back to the guy tomorrow." I nodded at him as he stood up and glanced over my shoulder at Wilder who was already working on the beetle. His face was hard as he focused on the engine.

"You still pissed at me?" Chase asked him. I turned and Wilder flipped him off while never taking his eyes off the project in front of him. Chase and I chuckled just as the boss man came strolling out of his office.

"What's got you in a mood today, boy?" Clay asked Wilder. When you looked at Clay Peyton, you wouldn't think that he had been a trustfund kid. He was older, more rough looking than Wilder's dad. He had parts of his dark hair that were gray from age and probably worry over Wilder and me when we were younger. His hands were calloused from all the years of labor and his face was covered in stubble that also had splotches of gray in it. He was a hard-working man and he was also the closest thing to a father figure any of us had. Chase's dad was dead and Wilder's father treated him more like a trophy than a son. My father took off when I was a baby and hadn't been seen or heard from him since.

Wilder mumbled a response at his uncle and went back to working. I popped the hood on a 1953 Buick Skylark that had once been a beauty, but the owner had been very adamant on me fixing the engine to make it run. I'd tried to explain to the guy that there was a very strong possibility that it might never run again unless the entire engine was replaced, but he'd begged me to take a look at it and so I was doing just that. My thoughts hadn't changed. This thing needed a new everything.

"He's just pissy because I told him his sister was hot," Chase said from his station. Wilder shot up and threw the socket wrench in his hand back into the tool box before glaring at the smiling mechanic.

"You say that one more time and I swear to God, I will put your ass in intensive care."

"I'd like to see you try, pretty boy." I rolled my eyes and watched as Wilder started stalking his way towards Chase. Clay stood in front of him and put his hand on his nephew's chest to hold him in place. Clay may have about twenty-five years on Wilder, but he also had about twenty more pounds of muscle on him, too. Plus, there was something about Clay that made you stop and listen.

"You know he's just running his mouth, Wild. Get back to work, both of you. If not, I'll put you both in intensive care. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Chase saluted our boss and went back to working on the truck. Wilder took a deep breath and nodded once before turning back to his own car. There was never a dull moment in this place.

"Morning, Tristan." Clay nodded at me before heading to his own station. He wasn't the type to sit behind a desk all day. Never had been, and I admired him for it.

"Morning, Clay."

"How'd the race go last night?" I snorted and wiped my hands off on the rag that I had tucked into the front pocket of my jeans.

"Cops chased us." The old man chuckled and glanced over at me.

"I saw your pride and joy sitting in the lot out back this morning. Figured you were hiding from the boys in blue." Clay always let us stash our babies in the back lot out behind the garage. It was the only place we would leave them other than outside of our apartments.

"Well, it kept things interesting and saved a lot of guys from having to give me their money at the end of the night." Speaking of which, I needed to call Chloe and have her bring me my three-hundred dollars back. If there was no winner then the racers got a refund.

"You better watch it, Hayes. I'd hate to have to watch your mom bail you out of jail or lower you into the ground." I nodded and turned my attention back to the problem at hand. I would too, but they knew that I'd never give up racing. I couldn't. It was my version of a high. I didn't like drugs or anything of that matter. I'd tried marijuana and even coke a few times, but I hated the way it made me feel. It was like I wasn't in control of my mind and I hated that feeling of uneasiness. At least with a car I could control the wheel for the most part.

"I know," I said.

"Just be careful. I love you boys, and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you." Clay was still working as he spoke. I glanced over at Chase who was watching me. We exchanged looks and then went back to working on the vehicles. We knew the risks we were taking when we raced. Street racing was dangerous and was something that should not be taken lightly. More people died from car accidents than anything. Racing only increased those chances, but it was what we loved more than anything. It was our outlet and no one or nothing was going to replace that.