Page 60 of Heresy

“No,” he admits, sinking every single hope I had into the dirt.

“But be glad you ended up with me. Mitchell’s Auto is known for ripping people off left and right for repairs that aren’t necessary.”

Priest shakes his head. “Seriously, those bastards don’t even bother fixing the problems that do exist. They just slap a bandage on the car so it stops making a noise long enough to pull out of the shop. Within a week, it’s fucked again. And that’s usually because they intentionally screw new stuff up to make the next repair more expensive.”

Despite his explanation, suspicion is now strangling me tighter.

“How did I end up with you? I called Mitchell’s.”

A long sigh rushes over his lips. He glances my direction then back to the road, his shoulders slouching in resignation.

“The truth?”

My response is a whip crack. “Yeah. The truth.”

The van accelerates as we take a left down Main Street, the traffic light because of the early hour on a Saturday. The silence as I wait for his answer is so thick with tension that it’s suffocating.

“I stole your car before the other driver could get to you.”

Reaching for the door handle again, I decide hitting the concrete at however fast we’re going is a better fate than whatever this guy has planned for me. At this point, I’m almost certain I’ve been abducted.

He scrubs a hand down his face.

“Listen, times are tough, and it’s kind of a trade secret these days that auto shops steal business from each other. Many businesses have switched to making calls for tows over private phones, but some still use CBs. The frequencies they use aren’t exactly secret.”

Convinced he’s taking me to a run-down house somewhere with a single, stained mattress on the floor and chains lying around to use on unsuspecting women, I’m just about to leap to freedom—or my death—when he makes a sharp turn into the parking lot of an auto shop.

Priest’s Auto Body is written in large letters across the front, a garage bay open that gives me a perfect view of my car up on the lift.

I relax just a little.

Okay, so I’m not being abducted and sold into human trafficking—maybe. But he still has to answer for stealing my car in the first place.

Before I can start demanding answers, he parks and turns to look at me.

“I tell you what… I shouldn’t have stolen your car. I know that. So I can do the work for free, if that’ll make it up to you? Your car will be running again, and you’ll owe me nothing for everything I’ve done.”

Narrowing my eyes on him, I still can’t shake my suspicion.

But a deal is a deal.

As long as it’s an actual deal.

“You own the shop?”

He nods. “I do.”

“And I’ll owe you nothing for the repair? Not even the tow charge?”

“Not a dime,” he promises.

This is working out a lot better than I’d hoped. Paying nothing is a hell of a lot better than draining my bank account. Technically, I should still be pissed, but I also can’t argue with the reparations he’s willing to make for lying to me.

I relax in my seat.

“You shouldn’t have lied to me. But I’m willing to look past it and accept your offer.”

Another grin and he pulls his sunglasses off to toss them on the dash. His eyes meet mine as he scratches at his beard.

---