Gemotions

The mechanic had just finished the tune-up. Mark had been so pleased, envisioning a smooth ride home. Now, nothing. Just a gaping void where his beat-up station wagon had been parked. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end, a reflection of his internal turmoil. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound he barely recognized.

He stomped back inside, slamming the door so hard the framed photo of his children on the wall tilted precariously. He needed to make some calls. He needed answers. He needed to get his car back. This was an affront. A personal attack. And someone would regret it.