fucked things up the first go around, pouring sweat and dousing herself in SPF as bugs ate her up under the scorching desert sun, throwing money into it that she was sure they couldn't afford as she followed directions in books and looked at diagrams and taught herself the in's and out's of renovating cars. She'd smashed fingers and dropped things on her toes, sliced her hands open and bruised already sunburned skin, carrying battle wounds from crawling under the damn thing, replacing everything that needed replaced to make it realistically work. Cosmetically, however, the car was still a wreck, parts of the frame rusted out, but Genna still found it beautiful.
Would be even more beautiful if I had the key to the damn thing.
Genna glowered as she stood there, resting her hands on her stomach. In all the time she'd been working on it, in all the time she'd spent thinking about it, she never considered the fact that she hadn't encountered the key anywhere. Chris had warned her not to start it without first fixing certain things, so she decided to kind of just… fix it all before trying. And there she was, the car as good as she'd get it, and no key anywhere.
Sighing, Genna snatched up a screwdriver from her pile of tools and opened the creaky driver's side door to climb in behind the wheel. Prying open the dash to reach the steering column, she fiddled with the wires, not needing a diagram for this part.
She'd hotwired her first car at fourteen after watching Gone in 60 Seconds and knew the older the car, the easier the stealing.
Piece of chocolate cake.
She stripped and twisted wires together, the dashboard coming to life. Grabbing the starter wire, she closed her eyes, whispering a prayer to the car gods, before sparking it against the others. The car hesitated before starting, and Genna pressed the gas, squealing with excitement as the engine revved.
The rumbling sound surrounded her, rough and gritty, the entire car trembling, but son of a bitch, it started. She sat there in awe, making sure it wasn't going to stall, before she climbed out and walked around to the front, popping the hood.
"Oh yeah, I'm the fucking man," she sang, dancing around, twirling as she grasped onto her stomach, damn near falling thanks to a screwy equilibrium.
She left the car running as she ran back inside, going for her phone in the foyer.
She needed to call someone. She needed to tell someone. So she dialed Matty's number, despite the fact that he was working.
"Genna?" He answered right away. "What's wrong, baby?"
"Nothing's wrong," she said. "I got the car started!"
He hesitated. "The car?"
"Yeah, the Lincoln! I got it started. Like, it actually started! I mean, I kind of had to hotwire it because I couldn't find a key, but it's running!"
Noise surrounded Matty from the diner, so loud she wasn't sure he could even hear her, but he repeated some of her words back. "You hotwired the Lincoln."
"Yep." She walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. "I know I'm only supposed to call when it's an emergency, but I just really wanted to tell someone."
"It's okay," he said. "We're kind of busy right now, though, so we'll talk about it when I get home. I'm getting off early. Gavin's in town."
Genna made a face as she took a sip of her water, glancing out the window, catching sight of a black car out on the highway, pulling onto the property. Speak of the devil. "Ugh, okay, he's already here. I'll see you in a bit. Love you."
"Wait, what? He's—"
Genna flipped the phone closed and deposited it in the foyer on her way back outside. The car was still running, and she squatted down, trying to peek under it to make sure fluids weren't leaking, but her stomach got in the way.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a pair of slick black dress shoes approaching, the steps measured. Gavin. "Look, I got the car running!"
"Should you be doing that?"
The voice was deep, kind of monotone, very matter-of-fact, not at all the smug lightness she expected. Not Gavin.
Genna hauled herself back to her feet, on edge. In front of her stood an unfamiliar man, six-foot-something and sturdy, wearing a well-fitted black suit. He was older, maybe forties, with dark hair that kind of curled. Italian, without a doubt, and Genna might even have called him handsome if it weren't for the