Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture rough and impatient. His sister, a woman who had never seemed to care about history or tradition, was talking about selling the antique car. The car was his father's prize possession and was left for him.

His jaw tightened. He crossed his arms, studying the faded paintwork of the vehicle in his memory. "Why now?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

She shrugged, her voice casual. “Need the cash.” He could feel a flush creeping up his neck. He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting to keep a lid on his emotions. The idea of her making the call to get rid of the car made him sick.