Be All, End All

Back in her car following Gregg in the Nissan she chewed over what Ian had said. The invitation was there, though if he was too impressionable to approach her while his cronies were watching, then he probably wasn’t worth the time. The part that had nearly slipped her up was *Toretto*. He’d called Dom *Toretto*.

As in Dominic Toretto? How was that possible? *The* Dominic Toretto? Well, this was an unsavory development. How had she been working with the guy for two days and not heard his name?

Thousands of garages across the country, and the majority of those that worked on high performance cars were probably right here in SoCal. Had she picked one that she’d be anonymous in, to just be another grease monkey? No. She’d run straight to the one person who’d get rid of her for just knowing who she knew.

Well, shit.

She had to smile though. Brian hadn’t said how good-looking Dom was. There was probably a reason there.

It had been a while since she’d seen Brian. At least a couple of months. Last she’d heard he was hanging out in Florida, soaking up sun, races and as many dollars as he could, on the run for letting ol’ Dom here go months before that. Then suddenly Rome had gone down there. He’d been under house arrest since he was released from prison, so there was most likely some police involvement there. Brian, Rome, and some cops. Darynn couldn’t help but wonder at the why of all of that.

Ah, the webs we weave.

How would Brian feel if, or more likely *when* he learned she was working for Dominic? Obviously he’d care, but how much? He and Dom had shared something for Brian to throw away his rising career and chance with the FBI to let Dom go. She’d gotten the quick and easy version of the story. Trucks jacked, Brian under cover, realizing it was Dom and his team, jack gone wrong, some sort of shooting, a race with Dom that ended in a wreck, then fatefully handing over the keys.

She frowned in thought and then gasped when things connected. Vince’s arm. Had that been from the jack gone wrong? She couldn’t remember now if Bri had told her what had happened during that, but obviously they would have all been there.

She should walk away. Just get her shit and say good-bye. Don’t explain, don’t question it. Just leave. But as she followed Greg to the garage and pulled up on the street she *so* did not want to do that.

The Nissan stopping at the bay door brought the team out. Darynn watched them talking and then their attention turned to her still sitting in her car. Vince and Dom broke away from the others and came toward her.

The look on Dom’s face touched her more than it should have. He looked worried. Did he think the confrontation with Che’ had upset her? And if so, did he care? Shit! She had to stop thinking like that.

“Hey, sister, you sittin’ in that rod all day?”

She climbed out at Vince’s smart-ass greeting. “Only if it means I don’t have to be around your stink.”

He pretended shock, “I don’t smell! I showered this month. I think.”

She laughed at his dumb ass and let him drape his arm around her shoulders as they turned to face Dom.

“Che’ sorry to see you leave?”

Darynn considered for a moment, “No, I think he’s sorry to have ever met me.”

“You? But you’re such a sweet thing.”

She shrugged, “Puking in the dirt can make a girl do things that others might regret.”

His eyes narrowed at her, but he left it at that.


Days working in a hot dirty garage quickly turned to weeks. Long hours, quick meals and exhausted sleep blurred one day into the next until few things stood out.

She was helping with the bigger jobs. Hydraulics, body kits, custom paint jobs, fuel and air intakes, major engine repairs, interior customizing. In other words, she wasn’t just doing oil changes and tire rotations. Each car she helped complete was a memory. Watching it roll out of the garage bay and having a new one come in.

The paychecks were memorable. Not often had people handed her stacks of cash or four and five digit paychecks. Yeah, the money was good.

Meals, either grabbed quickly at work or after at the Toretto house, were a good thing. Darynn had always enjoyed to eat but was put to shame by the unstoppable force of hunger the guys’ shared. Men she’d known in the past, including her brother, were all pigs with gusto, but Dom’s team seemed to enjoy glutting themselves on whatever they could get their hands on. Balanced diets weren’t a consideration, so as she started joining them for meals more often, she also started adding something to the meal, usually a vegetable. Certain meals weren’t really notable, but as a whole these were good times.

In general the thing that stood out the most were the races. Every weekend, or as often as possible there was a race somewhere in the city. A handful of people set it up, rolling with the needed radios, weapons and spray paint needed to get a race started and keep it civil. The team went to every one of them, either the whole team or as many as could.

Darynn made it regularly. It was good to see the other cars, to see the other fanatics, to hang with people that she had something in common with. And it felt damn good to show up in the classic V formation with the Toretto team. It was an aphrodisiac that had her puffing with pride as she stepped out of her silver bullet before all those people.

She’d never been a ‘girlie’ girl. Let the racer chicks that didn’t know the spark plug from the oil cap cram themselves into outfits that degraded women as a whole. She wasn’t there for the fashion show, a point that caused her a touch of humiliation. Men were all alike, looking for the eye candy, in both cars and women. Yeah, she had C-cup breasts, and her stomach was flat with the first hints of washboard abs, and her ass was tight, and her legs were long and curved just where she thought they should be. But she wasn’t going to market it. She could probably even suck dick better than any woman present, swallow and come back for seconds, but that no one could get past the baggy pants, shapeless tees and unstyled hair left such talent in the dark, which suited her better anyway.

Watching any of the races was adrenaline pumping, and racing herself was like an orgasm behind the wheel, but what topped all that was watching Dom race. He was beauty and power and arrogance. Perfect motion and timing in an exquisite man and machine.

He didn’t race often, limiting himself. Why? It had to be for the other racers, to leave them the opportunity to race, or to save his reputation. The King of Street Race couldn’t go every time and still be expected to win! Darynn could see that it killed him. Pride and excitement for someone in his team was one thing, but there was still that crease in his brow, like he’d rather be the one behind the wheel. And never was he more in his element than when he was accepting his winnings, surrounded by fans and whores. He accepted their attentions with the grace of a born celebrity.

A member of Dom’s team raced in about half the races, and they hardly ever lost, but it did happen. Once Vince lost because of a problem with his NOS. Another time Greg blew a tire and couldn’t finish the race. Darynn had even had problems. Another racer at the starting line had spun out and slammed into her, shoving her quarter panel into the tire and keeping her from ever leaving the starting line. Out of respect and fairness she was given back her 2G wager. The other racer, a kid out for one of his first times, was so apologetic it was embarrassing.

Those were the *official* races. There were others. Several times a week the team went out to race or to find a new place to. A deserted neighborhood with good streets, a big parking lot, a back road, anything. All they needed was a quarter mile of good pavement, and hopefully some privacy. When they found a good spot they had their own tourneys, usually without wagers. Leon and Vince liked to keep score, but mostly it was done in fun. And here Dom raced, nearly ever time! He hardly ever sat out.

Darynn was dealing with a life that she could never have imagined. *Five* gorgeous men surrounded her for hours every day. They were rude, vulgar, and commonly obtuse, as was expected of men, but they each could be a perfect friend and gentleman too. Add to that she was working with them, doing what she’d always wanted to do and earning more than she ever could have hoped. Yeah, it was good.

So she’d made some ground rules. No hanky-panky. Flirting came with the territory. You didn’t hang with five mountains of testosterone and *not* get flirted with or do some in return. But that’s where she drew the line. She valued the relative ‘peace’ she had with the team too much to ruin it by doing any of them.

But damn could she look! Never was it harder to avoid temptation than after those private races. Grinning like idiots, boasting, strutting, and generally making asses of themselves. Showing off what their car, and its driver, could do was what they lived for, and in those times as the only female she often became the center of attention for unknown, or obvious reasons.

The most attractive of them all, to her, was Dom, and on those nights, puffing with pride and for once not wearing a scowl of frustration, he was beautiful. Eyes shining, skin glowing, those full lips stretched into a smile for long periods of time. She went out with them *just* to see the effect on him, yet it was the hardest part of it too.

They each made sure she understood that all she need do was ask and they’d be her next sexual partner. But Dom… Dom didn’t joke about it, or make outright offers that could be laughed off. He just gave her *that look*. Oh, God! She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t what it was. That the light was strange, that she was mistaken, that the Earth was turning too fast and fucking with her head. Anything!! That tiny half smile, an extra pouting of his lip, a lowered glance, a brief look that lasted a second too long. It was killing her and she loved it!! She had no idea how she managed to keep from throwing herself down for him right there whenever it happened.

Annoyingly, when the team found a good place to race privately it never lasted long. They were always found out eventually. For a couple nights they were alone, free to race as much or as little as they wanted, no rules to follow, and no one to impress. Then they’d be discovered and for another night or two they raced with the newcomers. But as soon as more than two cars showed up or if anyone was at the spot before they got there it was time to find a new spot.


Darynn had never made the conscious decision to stay, but she’d never left either. Weeks went by and she didn’t hear from either Brian or Rome, which wasn’t that unheard of. It made it easier to ignore that she should leave. She did get a call from her brother, just letting her know how he was and what was going on.

Her and her twin Paul had nearly lived in a garage as kids. Barstow had racetracks, dirt tracks, and innumerable garages. Her, Paul, Brian, and Roman had been friends since… Well, when hadn’t they been friends? Raised around cars, in cars, under cars, they’d joined together because of their common interests, their father’s interests, and their age. All within a year of the same age, it had just been easier to be friends than not.

Circumstances had worked to separate them as they’d gotten older. Rome was one of those boys that had always been in some sort of trouble. When Brian had left to go to police academy training Rome had only gotten worse. He was arrested just a few months later, booked on auto theft and resisting arrest. Then her dad had died, leaving her and Paul a garage and a few debts. They’d agreed that the best route under the circumstances was to sell out. Those couple years without Brian and Roman showed them that neither wanted to spend the rest of their lives in Barstow in some ancient garage waiting for the next bunch of racers to come through.

Paul hadn’t cared about any of it, but Darynn had. She’d gone through the garage before they’d sold and put a lot of stuff into a rented storage unit. Tool chests, equipment, parts, signs and memorabilia. After all, she’d grown up there and didn’t want it all to just go to the next guy.

They’d gotten quite a bit for the garage, which they split and then they’d both taken off. Paul to culinary school, no less, in New York. And she’d gone cross-country in a beat-up RV she’d bartered for. The Mazda was literally hers, but both her and Paul had had street machines. His had been a ’90 Civic. A great little racer, but he’d never put the wrench time in on it like she had her Mazda. Since he didn’t need it where he was he’d let her trade it for the RV.

Her intention had been to not come back to California. But from the Midwest all the way down to Florida, back up through the southern states, she just hadn’t found what she was looking for. In the end she’d headed back to California.

To this.