Page 2 of Dark Seduction

“He likes the paint job I did?” Ronnie shrugs with a smile. All I want to do is smack that smile right off his face.

“The opposite actually. The paint job is bubbling, asshole. What the hell did you do?” My fists curl at my sides.Don’t hit the motherfucker, V. He’s not worth the assault charge.

Ronnie swings his feet off the desk in one move, planting them on the floor. “I did what he asked. I painted it.”

“The hell you did. It’s a four day old paint job, Ronnie. I’m going to ask you again. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit,” he seethes, his nerves seeming to disappear as he steps closer to me. Ronnie comes to a stop a few steps away, his chest puffed out like he’s itching to take this fight one step further. A fight that would be entirely one-sided. Ronnie is lean and at least six inches shorter than my six foot five. Not short for a man, but compared to me, he looks like a little kid running his mouth to someone who could beat him into next week with one blow. “It’s not my fault your shop orders shitty paint.”

“Shitty paint?” I blow my stack, unable to tamp down the anger any longer. “You’re blaming the paint?”

“I am,” he doubles down, his arms crossing his chest. “Shitty paint equals shit paint jobs. This ain’t on me, pal.”

“Let me get this straight, Ronnie. The issue, which never happened until you joined our garage, is on the paint. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“It is,” he nods. “I’m damn good at my job, and I don’t like what you're insinuating, V. I could be working in way better shops than this trash heap, making way more money.”

“Then why don’t you, Ronnie. I’m done. I’m done with the excuses. I’m done with your costing this shop thousands of dollars and losing our clients left and right because you can’t mix fucking paint.”

“You can’t fire me,” he seethes. “No piss-ant errand boy on a power trip going to fire me. This ain’t your garage. You maythinkyou own the place, but I know good and well who’s name is on the deed. It ain’t yours.”

“Listen here, asshole,” I say, but I’m interrupted as a set of heavy footfalls thunder from behind me. I don’t bother to turn around because there’s only one guy in our club that walks like that.

“It would be my name,” Judge growls from behind me before stepping next to me. “Problem, V?”

Ronnie’s face blanches and his mouth snaps shut.

Yeah, that’s what I thought. All talk. No fucking spine. “Ronnie’s paint job just cost us Benny’s business,” I inform him flatly.

“That so?”

“According to Ronnie, it’s our paint that’s the issue.”

Judge sighs beside me. “The “top of the line paint” that you insisted we buy, Ronnie? That’s the problem?”

“Look, Judge,” he stumbles over his words, but Judge brings his hand up to stop him.

“You’re fired, Ronnie.”

“But, Judge, I—,” he stutters again. “I need this job.”

“Thought you said you had other garages throwing you job offers and more money?” I fire back. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Ronnie’s mouth falls open for a second, but then snaps shut, defeat washing over his face. There’s nothing he can do or say to change his fate. We wanted him out. Would not having a painter hurt us? Sure, but our books were evidence enough that he would only cost us more business.

“Get out,” Judge growls. “Pack your shit, and get the hell out of my garage.” Ronnie’s shoulders slump in defeat. We’d given him enough chances, and he’d finally hung himself on his own rope. “Don’t bother waiting around for a paycheck. You’ve cost me enough money.”

Ronnie turns to his work station, retrieving his phone, then shoves his way between Judge and I and exits the garage. We both watch silently until he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Guess we need to step up the search for a new painter,” I mumble, my eyes still trained on the spot where Ronnie’s truck had been parked.

“I’ll make some calls,” Judge sighs before he stalks away.

BURNT

“Dude,where the fuck are you taking me?” I ask, staring up at the abandoned warehouse. “If you wanted to take me out somewhere kill me, man, at least you could have sprung for something better than burgers and fries first.”

“Shut up,” V growls. “It’s just through here.”

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