Reese (Pack of Misfits #2) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,40

pink, but she flips me off. “Try to eat some vegetable nachos next time.”

“Why would I ruin perfectly good nachos?”

Shaking her head, she walks off, coffee cup in hand. “Gotta go to work. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Looking at the time, I quickly finish the rest of my breakfast and my dessert. I need to get to my shop. I’ve been working on Hugo’s Jeep for the past three days, fixing a damn oil leak that likes to test my patience. That Jeep has more miles on it than an airline credit card, but I wouldn’t ever suggest Hugo trade it in for something newer. He’d bite my damn head off. He loves that Jeep, chipped black paint and all.

If I don’t get it fixed by tomorrow, Hugo will be back by the shop to light a fire under my ass. He’s a patient male—except when it comes to his Jeep. If he could, he’d park the thing inside his house just to keep an eye on it. He’s a little attached. Then again, I spend most of my free time rebuilding my 1969 Chevy Chevelle, and I’ve been known to call it my baby, so I guess I have no room to make fun of Hugo for his affection.

“Hey, Luca, you want in on the next round?” Toby calls out from where he’s sitting on the couch with the others, their eyes glued to the screen.

“Nah, I’m good, man. I gotta go in to the shop.”

I quickly clean up my plates, making sure to wash and leave them to dry on the rack rather than just leave them dirty in the sink. For a singles warehouse full of thirteen shifters, our place is immaculate. Not because any of us are particularly tidy, but because we were all so sloppy that we had to come up with a punishment, otherwise we’d be constantly living in a hovel.

And what a punishment it is.

If anyone leaves a dish in the sink or dirty laundry on the floor or makes one of the communal bathrooms disgusting or commits any slovenly act at all, we have to drink a shot of Malort—arguably the worst tasting alcohol on the planet.

I’ve had to do it exactly twice. Once, when I accidentally got engine grease all over the stairway handrails, and a second time, when I forgot to take my dirty clothes out of the bathroom. My warehouse mates are fucking vicious. They laughed their asses off both times. Just like I laugh my ass off every time when they have to drink it.

I will never forget the taste of that foul drink. Just thinking about it now makes me want to gag. We keep a bottle in the kitchen at all times, poised on the top of the fridge, like it’s watching us. Waiting. Anticipating one of us fucking up and having to drink some of it. I avert my eyes.

I’d rather clean this whole damn warehouse than ever drink that shit again.

On the flip side, I fucking love it when someone else is forced to drink it. Shit cracks me up every time. Once, Toby nearly puked all over the floor. The only thing that stopped him was that we told him if he did, he’d have to clean it up ASAP or else drink another shot. See? Fucking vicious.

After tossing my soda can in the recycle bin, I head out, ready to get to work. Hopefully, I can get Hugo’s Jeep sorted so that I can start working on a couple of the work trucks I need to get to. Both of them need maintenance right now—one for hauling our crops that we grow, and the other for the construction going on down at the mate cabins. With over a hundred of us misfits, there’s always something mechanical that needs fixing, and it’s all up to me to manage it, with the help of Flynn and Krista, who I’ve been training.

Not that I mind. I live for this shit. Tinkering, building cars, fixing them...it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I like to work with my hands. It grounds me, but I never thought I’d be lucky enough to run my own shop.

Hugo found me as a lone shifter in New Mexico while I was working for some humans in an auto repair shop. I was scraping by with measly hours and measly pay. The only thing they let me do there was rotate tires and change oil. It was fucking boring. But then Hugo came