JAX'S POV
By two in the afternoon, the garage felt like an oven.
The summer heat was baking the metal roof, making the air thick with the sharp smell of gasoline, hot iron, and old motor grease.
I sat on a low wooden stool by the main bay, scrubbing that damn rusted crankcase. Every time I dragged that tiny wire brush through the caked-on sludge, black grease flicked onto my arms and jeans.
I peeled my heavy leather vest off, tossed it onto a nearby tires stack, and pulled my dark grey t-shirt over my head, dropping down to just my black tank top. Sweat was already dripping down my neck, sticking the thin cotton shirt to my chest.
"You missed a spot in the primary housing, Vice President."
I stopped scrubbing and looked up.
Val was standing by the tool rack, holding a small clipboar
