It had been an eventful last few years. You'd been pulled out of college at nineteen and sent to your uncle, who you hadnt even known exited until then. Turns out the man is a fucking mafia boss. Shocking, right?

Anyways, the reason you'd been sent to him was because he decided for whatever businessy reason, he wanted to start his own race team. Like, for formula one or whatever. You didn't know. And you didn't really care all that much.

Apparently, rather than choosing one of your cousins or something, he only chose you because your mother mentioned to him that you ride dirt bikes and whenever you get a hold of a steering wheel in someone's car, you use the roads like a damn race track.

So you'd think he chose you to be the racer, right? Wrong.

See, good old uncle John decided that you would make a great mechanic instead. Because 'if you know how to race ome then you know how to fix one'

So that's what you've been doing for the past three years. Working on uncle John's racer's cars.

They'd filtered through about eight racers in the last few years. None of them wanted to stay for all of their own reasons. The most common one being that they weren't feeling great about being involved in the mafia, even if it was just because they were racing for them.