Page 2 of Dark Seduction

“No kidding.” His voice, thick with a Russian accent, doesn’t exactly ooze sympathy.

“Do you offer payment plans?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

He laughs, but it’s not a pleasant sound. More like someone revving an engine too hard. Then he mutters something in Russian that I’m pretty sure wasn’t “Welcome to our fine establishment.”

Great,I think.

Another fucking winner.

This day just keeps getting better.

The man calls over his shoulder. “Take a seat. I’ll take a look.”

I hand him my keys as he walks by, watching him disappear into the garage. With a heavy sigh, I plop into a chair in the dingy waiting area, feeling totally defeated. The seat feels as broken as my bank account.

If this guy rips me off, I have no idea what I’ll do. My stomach churns with anxiety.

I thank my stars for the interview my friend lined up for me tomorrow.

It’s truly my last lifeline.

I sit there, fidgeting and biting my nails, trying to ignore the rising tide of dread. An hour drags by, then finally, the mechanic returns.

He wipes his greasy hands on an even greasier rag. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Your car’s a mess,” he snaps. “Come out and look.”

My legs shake and anxiety takes hold as I get up and follow him out to the shop floor. My car—a non-descript little Nissan—sits there, the hood open. The sounds of power tools and the smell of oil are thick in the air. Some of the other mechanics glance in my direction. I can’t help but wonder if I appear more like a money sack to them than a woman.

The mechanic starts throwing a barrage of jargon at me—something about a busted transmission, worn-out brake pads,and a failing alternator.

I can barely keep up with the onslaught of technical terms.

“You haven’t been taking care of it,” he scolds, his tone dripping with disdain. “Typical woman driver. You probably don’t even know how to check the oil.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Excuse me? Just tell me the cost without the condescension, alright?”

He sneers, tossing the rag aside. “Fine. It’s gonna run you about fifteen hundred. Maybe more, depending on how bad the transmission is.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “Fifteen hundred? That’s insane. I’ll take it somewhere else.”

His laugh slices through the tense air, harsh and mocking, tinted with the unmistakable edge of a Russian accent. "Good luck with that. All the mechanic shops around here are controlled by the same family. You'll get the same price—or worse—anywhere else."

My temper ignites like a flare. "Are you kidding me? This is highway robbery!"

He crosses his arms, leaning back against the counter with a smug grin that seems all too common among the tough, cynical men of his heritage. "Call it what you want, sweetheart. That’s the price. Take it or leave it."

I stammer, scrambling for a solution, "I... I’ll find somewhere else. I’m not paying that much."

His sneer widens, his eyes cold and mocking. "You’re not going to find anywhere else. You’re stuck, just like all the other cluelessidiots who wander in here."

My blood simmers with fury.

"I’m not clueless, and I’m certainly not an idiot. I’ll figure something out."

He rolls his eyes dismissively, a gesture so characteristically disdainful it's almost a caricature. "Yeah, good luck with that. Maybe next time you’ll learn to take care of your car. Or better yet, find a man who can do it for you."

My fists clench at my sides, the urge to retaliate growing stronger. “I don’t need a man to take care of my car, or anything else for that matter. You can take your sexist attitude and shove it.”

He straightens up, his face contorting with anger. “Watch your mouth, lady. You’re lucky I even agreed to look at that piece of junk.”

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