Spare Parts (Dark Romance) (Parts of Me Book 1)

by J A Wynters

  This was the best day of my life.

  I didn't know it then, but it was also the worst.

  I never really questioned why Tony ‘The Hand’ Albertelli took pity on me. Chances are, he was pimping out my mother and needed me out of the way.

  Either way, that bacon-smelling grease monkey taught me everything I knew about cars, bikes, and cold meats. The man loved his sandwiches almost as much as the garage. Some called it a chop shop, but it wasn’t really that. Sure, there were the late-night disassembling of vehicles and disposing of parts. But in reality, the shop was legitimate—a legitimate money laundering operation.

  Much later, after everything happened and I bought the shop, all that illegal stuff stopped. There was a price to pay, a buy out if you will.

  See, I figured I have lived in a prison all my life. I was a prisoner of hunger and suffering, of loneliness and desperation, of circumstance and childishness. In adulthood, I wasn’t going to owe a damn thing to anyone. Not a single motherfucker. I would pay my debts and carve my own way under my own terms.

  I was never going to be held prisoner again.

  Back then I was naïve, thinking that if I just did the right thing and paid my debts it would all be over. No more prisons, no more walls. I was an idiot. But then again, aren’t we naïve before we fall in love?

  Love. A prison of your own device. Cracked, grey walls that keep out the light and sound. In the stillness and darkness you could lose yourself completely, disoriented by the design, your soul a suffering agonised inmate.

  I was fucked.

  Locked up.

  Chained down.

  And totally lost.

  Thinking of her, that very first time we met, still makes my spine shiver and my skin crawl. My life changed the minute she walked into it. A point of no return. A veritable fork in the road.

  But we’ll get to that.

  To her.

  Even thinking of her gets me all muddled up, and here I am trying to keep all my ducks in a row, to tell a singular story in the most linear of ways. You’ll have to excuse me. Just the thought of her tugs me in all directions.

  As I was saying….

  ‘The Hand’ was not a good guy, but he was a good teacher. About a week after I moved in, he finally summoned me up to his office.

  His enlarged body spilt over his sagging chair as his piggy eyes pierced through me. With a single sausage finger, he bid me over.

  All people give off a smell and, whether or not we are aware of it, our noses catch it. It is a singular and particular odour that each human wears that feeds our instincts. It tells us if we should be attracted or repelled, enchanted or repulsed. In Tony’s case, it told me I should be petrified. He had the smell of a predator, of something that could hurt and maim—not kill—just enjoy the pain of others. Cold liquid ran up my spine. My legs turned to jelly as I forced myself nearer the danger.

  “So, you’re the kid?”

  I nodded, uncertain. He reached for my face, his fingers clasped around my jaw. Tony examined me like he would a horse. Turning my head in all directions, pulling at my hair, searching for lice, prying my mouth open. He didn’t look at my teeth, just ran a finger along the base of my tongue, pushing it until I gagged. He smiled, I shivered.

  “Do you like your new home?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good. Your mother and I came to an arrangement.”

  I waited for more. There was always more.

  “The boys will stay after work today and help clear out that room. There’s a bed coming, and I have a guy that will fit a shower head for you. We have to keep you clean if you’re going to work for me.”

  “Yes sir.”

  A crooked smile stretched across his face, pulling the sagging cheeks. “There is only one rule here, Gabriel.”

  He nodded to Salvatore who approached us from the door. Without warning, he grabbed my wrist and spun me around slamming me against the heavy, maple table. With a huff, my lungs emptied of air and pain shot through my abdomen. Salvatore twisted my arm, pulling and pushing it against my back, the pain screaming to my shoulder. He tugged, I cried out.

  Tony leaned against me, his chair groaning beneath him. His hot breath in my ear, a hint of peppered salami coated my upper lip.

  “All you need to do is do as you’re told, and keep your mouth shut.” Salvatore tugged at my wrist, and I yelped with the pain.

  “Do you understand?” Tony’s voice was even and unperturbed.

  “Yes sir.” I managed through gritted teeth.

  “Good.” Tony’s form moved away, yet Salvatore did not release me. He held me like a rag doll, adjusting the pull on my shoulder and the angle of my wrist. I whimpered, the hand around me tightening.

  Black stains tainted my vision, and my breathing grew heavier. I concentrated on the table, the film of dust and coffee mug rings, the delicate grain of the wood, a blue pen. I sucked in breath and yelled. The effort of filling my lungs pushed against my rib cage, forcing my shoulder to move. I could see the black, it was coming and with it would come relief.

  “Let him go.” In an instant the grip around me relented, and my body slumped unsupported to the ground. I sucked in lungfuls of air, rolling my aching shoulder. “Get him out of here. We all have work to do.”

  Salvatore’s strong arms reached for my shirt, and he yanked me off the floor. Our eyes met for a split second and in it, I realised that I was all alone. Maybe in the turbulent water of his eyes I was looking for an apology, empathy, or remorse. All I found was a gaping, endless, dark hole.

  He shuffled me out of the room and into my new life.

  PART II

  That first year I was running errands for him, and he gave me a bed and threw food my way. The man ate enough for six people. Food was a commodity I was happy to trade. To be honest, I was grateful. I was too short and too skinny for my age; my skin was unhealthy and my hair thinning out. The other benefit? My mom never tried to steal my food. All I had to do was keep my head down and mouth shut.

  I had been working at the shop for close to a year, and maybe that’s how long it took to prove your loyalty to Tony. It’s not that I ever felt like he was testing me, but I had eyes and ears. And even with the little education I had, I knew everything that was going on.

  Everything.

  All I had to do was keep my mouth shut.

  Sealed.

  Vaulted.

  I just wanted to eat and stay warm and safe. You would have done the same.

  The Hand called me into his office. He sat behind his desk, a red ketchup stain smeared the collar of his shirt that pushed up around his pudgy neck. His face was peppered with meat sweats and he wore a crooked smile.

  He waved me in and offered me a seat.

  “Gabriel, my boy. Happy birthday.” He pushed away from his chair and popped out of it like a Champagne cork.

  “It’s my birthday?” My heart fought the sensation of caving into itself. Joy marred with pain.

  “Sit.” Tony pointed at the chair across from his table, then proceeded to open his top drawer and pull something from it. He rounded his table, carrying the plate.

  My eyes watered as he lit the single candle on the slice, and I remember the tears stinging my cheeks. I couldn’t unglue my eyes from that flame as it got closer and closer. He was heaving by the time he shoved it in my face and was bursting at the seams. Tony told me to blow.

  I must have looked a sight. A sorry skinny thing, a burbling crying mess over a single piece of cake. He pretended that he didn’t notice the tears, that my pain didn’t smash against the walls of his office and that my joy was ordinary.

  I wondered if he knew it was the first cake anyone had ever gotten me for my birthday, and one of the few birthdays that had ever been celebrated up to that point in my life.

  My mind shot to Alice, and the one time she took me to a restaurant. She was dressed in her best shirt and short jeans that were shorn on the bottom. Her handbag dangled from
her bony shoulders and she led us inside. She’d been promising me a burger on my birthday for days and when she woke me up that day to celebrate, I jumped through my skin. She licked the stains from my face, and we left the house. At that time, we were staying with one of her friends. We were allowed, as long as he didn’t see me. The feeling was mutual. I remember standing at the door, the smell of cooked meat and oiled chips ripped through my stomach and made my mouth water. And I remember how she shouted at the man who didn’t let us in. She screamed at him and shoved money in his face. And I remember the eyes—so many eyes looking at her, at me.

  I shook away the memory. Tony let me finish my sniffling and swept all my emotion under the table, asking me to eat. In truth, I had no appetite. I was too overwhelmed but refusing was not an option.

  That first bite was an explosion of sweet on sweet. Vanilla and chocolate danced on my tongue, delicate creams and crunchy biscuits, flaky chocolate and buttery sponge. It was heavenly. The most exquisite thing I had ever tasted, and I wanted it to last forever. I wanted to savour that slice, as much as I wanted to devour it.

  The Hand watched me eat, licking his lip with each of my mouthfuls, sweat rolling down his face, plummeting into the depths of his neck coils.

  I put the empty plate on his desk, thanked him and was getting ready to leave.

  “Gabriel, can you read?”

  A hot flush crept along my cheeks at the question, the sweet cream of the cake soured in my mouth. “A little,” I mumbled, my hand curled around my middle.

  “And math?”

  “I know numbers.”

  “Can you add?”

  “Some.” I looked at my hands, the bony fingers rubbing against one another.

  “Well, that’s just not good enough.”

  In the silence, I could sense his impatience growing. My eyes shot to his face and he continued. “If you are going to work here, you need to know how to read and write and how to add numbers and do math. We have inventory to take and parts to order, there are books to be kept and people to deal with, and if any of those people even get a sniff of your lack of ability, they will try to find a way to fuck you around.” He took a long breath in and hissed it out. “I don’t like getting fucked around.”

  “No, Tony.” I nodded.

  “You need to go to school.”

  I opened my mouth to interrupt, but he held up his hand silencing me. He knew all my objections even before I named them.

  “You will earn your schooling, in the same way that you have earned your board and food. You will work every day after school, and you will continue to keep your mouth shut.”

  I remember vaguely feeling faint. Petrified. I know I should have felt grateful, but school meant so many things I couldn’t fathom. To begin with, other kids; kids that ate, and had money, and probably knew how to read and write.

  Then, there would be the pressure. What If I could never really learn? What would Tony do, if after a few months, I still couldn’t spell or add? How would I do homework and shop work? My mind collapsed in on itself.

  I don’t remember speaking or protesting, crying or fighting. But I do remember Tony declaring the case closed.

  He told me school started in a few months and, until it did, I would have a tutor coming to the shop three times a week to teach me the basics.

  I stumbled out of his office. Gloom clouded the rest of that day. At the time, I didn’t realise the magnitude of the gift Tony gave me. Sometimes I wish he was still alive, so I could thank him properly. But not often. That son of a bitch is best on his back six feet under.

  The rest of the summer I worked like a dog. Hell, I wasn’t much better than a dog. I was often dirty, fed in rations and often slept on a mattress harder than the floor—and I was scared. I didn’t have to be on a leash to be scared. I felt trapped, I owed him.

  There was a lot of backbreaking work. You might laugh about it today but for a scrawny fourteen-year-old, packing boxes full of parts and hauling mystery boxes into the night, was hard work. Backbreaking.

  But then, I met Rita.

  Rita was my tutor and my first wet dream. Not at first, but later and frequently. She was tall for eighteen and blonde; the kind of lush, shiny hair rich girls had, the kind that smelt artificially fruity and clean.

  She had a thing for those high sweaters—you know those that stop well above the belly button—and jeans that were torn around the knees. She was the right kind of sexy. Not slutty, not in your face—just confident.

  Of course, with me, she was like a big sister.

  At first.

  She showed up at the garage every other day at four o’clock. She was never late and never unprepared. I guess that’s why Tony picked her.

  He gave us his office for an hour and a half and I have to admit, I surprised myself. I wonder if I progressed so quickly because I was actually smart, or because I was afraid of letting Tony down. Maybe I was just trying to impress Rita. Really, it doesn’t matter. In a month I was reading fluently. I started with words like cat and hat, progressed to thunderous and instantaneous, and calamity and monumental.

  In that same month, I could suddenly see numbers in my head. Ones and twos added up and then hundreds and thousands. Math made sense and, all of a sudden, I was privy to a whole new world. A world I didn’t know existed. A world of books and words, of intellects and storytellers. It was beautiful, it was magical, and I’m pretty sure, it saved my life.

  At the end of that summer, Rita and I parted ways. She gave me a peck on the cheek and told me how proud she was of me.

  My cheeks burned and my stomach coiled. I realised I would miss her.

  A week before school started, Tony bought me two sets of uniforms—summer and winter. In no uncertain terms, he explained they would be the only ones he would purchase.

  They were my prized possession and my responsibility.

  The night before my formal education began, I barely slept. The hard bed felt like a log floating on a river bed. And no matter how much I tossed and tried, there was no comfort, no warmth. My mind was plagued with thoughts of Alice, of the future. The shop creaked and moaned, metal squealed and the darkness bore down on me as I sweated and shivered.

  That first day of school was one of the scariest days of my life. It was worse than that day I found Alice blue and foaming at the mouth. Because losing her would have been a relief. Death was final. School was going to last for four long, torturous years.

  I was picked as a target the second I stepped foot on the stairs of that damn school. I mean if I was Archie Bolton, I would have picked on me too.

  He smelt like money, like laziness that came with having everyone doing the hard work for him. His mouth was tinged with the scent of the silver spoon he’s been sucking on, and his clothes were sewn from entitlement.

  And me? I didn’t belong in this place and he knew it, just as much as I did.

  My hair was all kinds of wrong, unruly and undisciplined. My body didn’t fit the uniform that sagged off me, like old skin that grew too weary of its bones.

  I can go into great detail about those four years, but I won’t. Because, that’s not why you are here. I will tell you about the only four significant events you do need to know about.

  The first? Despite what you might think, Archie didn’t lay a hand on me. He tried, that fucker. I was small, but damnit if I wasn’t feisty. To survive on the street, one must pick up a set of skills that ensured you did just that—survive. A spoilt fucker like Archie only knew how to swing a fist. He didn’t know how to eat one. He also didn’t know how to defend himself against low blows. He was an idiot, thinking I wouldn’t use them. After that first beat down, that asshole didn’t come within a ten-meter diameter of me. On the first day of school, I spent half of my lunch break in the toilet washing blood off my blazer. He was cowering in the courtyard behind his friends and his father’s money. Turns out that his father’s money didn’t reach as far as Tony’s.

  Archie Bolton never cam
e near me again. He barely acknowledged my existence. I, in turn, did the same. Not because I wanted to. I wanted to break that fucker, tear him limb from limb, and rearrange that precious face of his that was always so meticulous. Yeah, Archie Bolton didn’t touch a hair on my body.

  But Salvatore did.

  At the end of my first day of school, Tony summoned me to his office. His round face pink, and his eyes sunken under a furrowed brow.

  “First day of school and you’re already getting into trouble?” His voice was sharp and low, and a chill ran down my spine.

  “But Tony…”

  “Grab him.” His eyes flickered to the wall, and in seconds Salvatore lunged at me and had me in his grip. I struggled against him and he held me as if I was nothing but a wisp of smoke.

  “Hold him down.”

  Ever the obedient soldier, Salvatore dragged my flailing body over the table. With my wrists clasped in his hand, he pushed at the small of my back, forcing my upper body against the wood.

  “Tony, please—I…”

  “Do you know how much I had to pay to get you into that fucking school?”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see his large shape moving. His chair moaning as he stood up. I pulled against Salvatore’s grip, but it was like fighting steel. “Tony, I’m sorry…” I pleaded, but he ignored me.

  “Do you know, little boy, how much I had to pay to keep you in that fucking school?”

  “Tony…” the words choked in my mouth as a pair of hands reached for my pants and yanked them off my body. Cool air tickling my ass and balls as they hung exposed . My heart pumped wildly as I tried to no avail to thrash and fight against Salvatore’s iron grip. “Tony, please…” I could feel tears as they fell across my nose. My cheek chaffed against the wood.

  I yelped as the heavy belt left my buttocks, the sting sharp crackled against my skin.

  “You have one job boy.”

  The belt licked at my skin with force. I thrashed against the table to no avail.