The Mechanic

Chapter Eight

*** PICTURED IS SEAMUS. This was the closest I could find for visuals. Just imagine him with longer, messier hair. Or imagine him however you'd like!!

When I opened the door, it revealed none other than Pretty Boy himself. He rested one forearm on the doorway, slouched over so he was closer to my height. The week seemed to have been not so kind to him as well, the light bruise on his cheek bone an obvious indicator.

"So... Where to, Pretty Boy?" I said it so softly, it as almost a whisper. I was afraid he didn't hear me at first.

"It's a sorpresa, Fiorella."He had a wicked smirk grace his lips and he held his arm out to me.

I roll my eyes, and with a little smirk of my own, I laced my arm through his, allowing him to guide me to the garage.

The car we stopped at was a red 2020 corvette. I lightly trailed my fingers on the hood in awe, mouth agape.

"This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen..." I gushed, unable to take my eyes from the red beast. I almost didn't feel Sebastiano's gaze burning holes in the side of my face. Almost.

"Eh, I've seen better, Principessa." His response made my body stiffen. I sucked in a short breath and tried my best to ignore the effect his deep, gruff voice had on my body.

"Um, so, are you sure you don't want to tell me where were going?" I gulped, my eyes remained on the car.

"Nope, now get in." He gave a short laugh and opened the door for me, then shut it behind me once my legs safely made it in the car. He made his way around the the driver's side as the smell of new leather enveloped me. A girl could get used to this.

We tore out of the garage attached to Al's home and I felt my back press into to plush leather seats. The trees became a blur and moments later- or at least, that's what it felt like- we were parked at a familiar run down dive bar. 

You've probably seen at least one place like this before. It looked like any other cesspool. Dark, dirty, crawling with big hulking men who looked in desperate for a shower. The floors were sticky with old beer and possibly bodily fluids, too. And everyone always knew something shady was happening here.

It just so happens that this specific bar was home to an under ground fighting ring. Sebastiano and I waltzed right through the front door, the tall man accompanying me tilted his head in silent greeting to "Dragon", the owner of this fine establishment. 

That's not his 'government name' as he so endearingly calls it, but the name he got for the large tattoo that covered his neck and crawled halfway up his face, it's tail ending near his unseeing eye. His dark stringy hair was tied back in its usual low pony tail, gathered at the base of his neck with a cord of leather, a white feather dangled from the end with two off white beads on either side of it. The same color as his dingy almost white tank top, discolored from smoke and sweat. As intimidating as this man sounded, he was the sweetest old man you'd ever meet. 

Dragon's good eye traveled to Seb, then followed his arm that was applying gentle pressure to the small of my back to both guide me and, I assume, give me some reassurance. 

The gruff voice of the man across from me greeted my companion, then turned to me. I gave him a short shake of my head, and he just stared blankly at me before turning his head back to the man next to me. 

"So, what brings you here, Mr. Fafalla?" Dragon clears his throat, cigarette still perched in his hand, itching to take another drag.

"I'm looking for La Tana, Dragon." I stiffened. 'The Lair' is the code word for the underground business.