Mic Mechanic 2 Novels & Stories

Near the mech's centre, a massive dent let me see straight into its torn wiring, which still produced sparks. "Axion tech," I spat. "That's not one of ours." "It looked like it had only just begun to sink when I detected it," Tio remarked. "I wonder what was keeping it-" The mech shifted. "Tio, drop that thing!" Damica exclaimed. She produced a pistol from the folds of her jacket, levelling it at the mech. "Wait!" I called. Tio's hands froze on the controls. As we looked on in nervous silence, part of the mech's matte-black armour parted, a hatch underneath opening outwards into the cool night air.

“Told you it needed servicing.” I exhaled. “I need somewhere to stash the bike until I find a mechanic.” “I’m a mechanic,” he replied. “You’re also a jackass.” A beat passed before his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Can’t argue with that. Name’s Jax.” "Sounds the same to me." He gestured toward the shed. “Leave it behind there. I’ll take a look tomorrow if I feel like it.” I wanted to punch something, but instead, I said, “Fine.”

Alphas are naturally very possessive of what’s theirs. Making my way to the bathroom, I turned on the shower and let the hot water wash over me. After showering, I went back to the room and quickly got ready to go downstairs. When I reached the garage, Michael the mechanic was lying on his back, beneath a black SUV. His sleeves were rolled, hands stained with grease. “Where have you been?” He asked. My thoughts immediately went to the sweet dream I had. Of course, I couldn’t tell him about it. “Forget it. Pass me the micro-welder and do it quick. Stop slacking around.”

Very soon, with Christmas around the corner, her biggest surprise awaited. When the car pulled up in front of the shop, I exhaled once, steadying myself. The sign above the bay door read Joaquín Hernández Mecánica, sun-faded but proud. Sparks flew from inside as a mechanic welded something. The smell of oil, metal, and old engines filled the air. I stepped out. Demetria’s father turned at the sound of the SUV door closing. Older, strong build, grey in his beard, grease on his hands. His gaze sharpened when he recognised me.

The sharp, metallic clank of tools echoed through the mechanic shop as Liam stood near a black SUV, his sleeves rolled up and his hands already smeared with grease. Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lot. Inside, however, the atmosphere was far from calm. “You stole it!” one of the customers, a heavyset man with a red face, barked. His voice filled the room. “Don’t you dare deny it — my alternator was brand new when I brought this car in here. And now it’s gone!”

“Riley, take these down to the mechanic in the underground lot. He finished my Beemer early. Tell him thanks from me.” I froze, keys in hand, heart slamming against my ribs. Mechanic? No way. It couldn’t be. But Hargrove’s garage spot was in the building’s sub-level, and the keys had a familiar tag—Jax’s Auto. “Uh, sure, Mr. Hargrove. Be right back.”

Ren ordered, his eyes dead and cold. The mechanic looked at the gun, then at Leo, who was looming behind Ren like an angry mountain. The mechanic threw his hands up and backed away. Ren jumped into the driver's seat. There were no keys, just a toggle switch and a starter button. He flipped the switch and slammed his palm onto the button. The V8 engine roared to life, a deafening explosion of raw, un-muffled horsepower that spat a gout of black smoke from the vertical exhaust pipes. Leo vaulted into the passenger seat, his heavy frame making the suspension groan.

“Okay, that’s insane. I mean, what sort of self-respected mechanic would ever agree to make such dangerous alterations to a car?” “Thankfully, Michael managed to find, probably, the one and only mechanic in the region that possesses a strong sense of morality and a heavily guilty conscience,” he remarked. “After our trip to the junkyard, we were directed to Matteo’s Mechanic shop. The guy looked guilty prior to us even asking him any questions.” I couldn’t imagine trying to live with that kind of guilt. But why would this guy have agreed to do something so reckless if he already knew that it was wrong?

I LET THE MECHANIC RUIN ME WITH A FUCK MACHINE 1 I would have never imagined my morning would end with my legs spread wide, wrists chained to the ceiling, and a thick mechanical dildo slamming into my ass while the fifty something year-old mechanic who owned the garage watched with a hungry grin. My name is Williamson. At twenty-six I’m one of the most recognizable faces on international news networks — wealthy, polished, always in control. I drive a custom matte-black Aston Martin that I treat like a child. That car is my baby. So when some idiot in an SUV clipped my rear fender while I was speeding toward the studio for the 7 AM broadcast, I lost it. I couldn’t wait until after the show. I

However, he still managed to point at me and shout at the police, "It was him! That mechanic did this to me! He cut my brake line and tried to murder me!" The police decided to bring me back to the station for a routine investigation and questioning. However, I remained calm in the face of Billy's unfounded accusations and immediately handed over the dashcam footage from my car. It proved that I had absolutely no time or opportunity to access the undercarriage of Billy's van. The official assessment of the vehicle wreckage was soon released. The report clearly stated that the brake lines were severely aged and that there were also obvious signs of loosening at the bolt connections.