“You work on any cars?”
“Yep, got training on it all before I went over. Three tours. Well, two and three quarters.” I was a damn good mechanic. If it had an engine I could fix it; old, new, didn’t matter.
“You want a job?”
I blinked at him. My week was doing a one-eighty shift and I wasn’t sure if it was real. “Doing what?”
“I have a garage. Need another mechanic. Someone who knows his shit.”
I considered him, looking over his cut. I didn’t know much about motorcycle gangs, but I knew that they were trouble. Still, I needed the money. The assistance I got only went so far.
“What kind of garage?”
“Little one, down the railroad tracks, over in Braddock.”
I eyed him carefully. “And you’d just hire me, just like that?”
“Trial basis, of course, but why not? You did your time, served our country. Least I can do is give you a shot at a job.” He took one last sip of his drink and then stood. ”You game?”
Fuck, I didn’t even have to think about it. My current choice was between whether I was going to have hot water or food this month.
“Hell. Yeah.”
He grinned like it was what he was expecting me to say. “Great. See my woman, Layla. She’ll get you sorted in the morning. But no touching, or you’ll have a second metal leg.”
Something about the way he said it told me he meant it. I’d met the type before. This Rage might be fair, but mess with his people and he was a mean son of a bitch.
I swallowed.