Novels About Cars Novels & Stories

Everything was green and clean and perfect. Before us there was a castle—it was a castle. It had high towers and wide windows, and all around it the lamps were burning golden in the evening air; it was like a palace out of an old tale. My eyes went slowly round to make sure. Then I saw the cars. There were so many. Red ones, black ones, white ones, shiny blue ones. Sports cars I had only ever seen in magazines. They were parked so neatly on the road out front of the house. And they all looked new. Fast. Powerful.

I said as I walked out of the house. My driver was already waiting for me but this time he was not in a Rolls Royce but a black shiny G-wagon, it was my first time seeing this one. The weird thing is that these cars never stay at our place but somewhere else, only Charlotte her drivers knew where these cars stay. I got into the backseat of the G-wagon. “Let’s go bro” I instructed my driver. My driver started the engine and we were on our way. This was my second week at the bookstore and my rides to the workplace always felt like royalty, the only thing missing was the entourage but I felt like I was one those corrupt politicians.

Meekey caught the quick flick of his gaze as she passed, too casual to be casual. Another block over, she spotted two guys leaning against a black SUV. Not gym rats. Too clean. Too quiet. Muscle, dressed down. Like they’d been trained to look harmless. She circled around the block again and ducked into the alley behind the gym. The loading dock was locked, but a fresh tire track was stamped into the dirt. No deliveries were scheduled for Sundays, yet here they were—clear signs of movement.

The city passed before my fresh eyes as we drove deeper into Nicholas de Sanctis's modest neighborhood, and then I looked up at the familiar house I'd visited once. Carl's car pulled into the garage, drove back, and parked next to Nicholas' car. The separate garage door lifted, and two vehicles sat inside, one with the hood open. Both cars were black, like Nicholas's soul. I knew nothing about cars-who could blame me? I'd never even been taught to drive-but I realized these were classics. One of them was a Gran Torino. I only know that because I saw a Gran Torino not too long ago. Carl was crying, even though he would never admit it. And since seeing a man cry is the saddest thing in the wor

And if he knew everything that's happened these past few days, he'd probably kill me himself. I don't even know what's worse anymore: getting murdered by my father or by a psychotic maniac. I roll my eyes at my own stupid question. 'Focus, idiot.' When we get to the garage, there's a massive collection of cars. Unlike Henry with his obsession for classic vehicles, these are all modern. The kind you'd kill to have in some underground racing circuit. —Which one's your favorite? —I think I'll go with something not too flashy... just to get to a café —she laughs at my words.

Chrome and polished paint reflecting on the spotless floor Ferraris, Aston Martins, Bentleys, Rolls-Royces… These are exotic cars I’ve only ever seen in magazines or rap videos sitting here casually like grocery store carts. My hands go to my head automatically. “No fucking way.” Lucas strolls inside without looking impressed. Which makes sense. This psycho grew up thinking Bugattis were emotional support animals. I walk slowly between the cars, stunned. “These are real?” Lucas snorts. “No, Shitshaw. They’re cardboard decorations.”

Owen carefully folded my hand into the crook of his arm, and escorted me out to a waiting car. I had given up on trying to figure out what expensive model of car we were driving. Owen seemed to enjoy having a new fancy car at every opportunity. He had told me he didn't actually own any of them, he just rented whatever he felt like when he needed one. I had laughed at the idea that I actually owned more cars than a billionaire, since I actually did own a car, but then he pointed out that he owned a plane. I told him planes didn't count as cars, so I still had more.

Every vehicle seemed to belong to someone important. Or at least someone wealthy enough to want others to think they were important. My eyes wandered from one car to another , I found myself creating stories about their owners. That black SUV probably belonged to a politician. The silver sedan looked like something a corporate executive would drive. One particularly expensive sports car practically screamed midlife crisis. The thought made me chuckle quietly. Anything to keep myself entertained. A few minutes later, movement caught my attention.

I want her to remember that she belongs to me. The apartment looks like it did the last time I was here. It is neat and tidy. A few toys are scattered on the floor in front of the TV and on the side table to her bed lies a book. It’s a romantic drama set in the late nineteenth century. I walk into Nicholas’ room to take a more thorough check. He seems to be mostly interested in superheroes and cars. On one shelf he has lined up seven cars that look brand new. No scratches or peeling paint. These must be his favorites. Something he got that was brand new. Well. When they finally come home he can get any car he wants. Small cars, big cars, a car he can drive by himself. I will buy them all for

He said sarcastically. Okay, maybe he is right. "How did I not recognize you? Your face is all over the magazines and..." I trailed off. Carter Automobiles is a well know car dealer in New York City. His designs are always top notch and well too expensive for people like myself to purchase. The last car he designed was a bomb. The media went crazy over it and well let us just say he and his car design was the hot topic in the whole of New York for like a month.