Becoming the Old Lady of My Ex's Mortal Enemy

Harley POV:

"From now on, you're mine." The mob boss's violently possessive declaration still echoed in my ears. I pulled the heavy leather cut tighter around myself, the potent scent of tobacco and blood clinging to it, and strode out of The Pit.

The worn leather felt like it weighed a ton, but it gave me an unprecedented sense of absolute confidence. Now it was time to go back, cut ties with my messy past, and take back everything that was mine.

I hopped on my bike, sped all the way back to Tammy's rundown trailer, and kicked open the flimsy door.

Tammy was squatting on the floor, agonizing over sweeping up the broken glass.

When she saw me walk in, she lunged at me like a rabid dog whose tail just got stepped on, her face contorted in a shrieking rage.

"You money-losing brat, how dare you show your face here?!

I told you to go appease those bosses to pay off the loan sharks, and you ran?! You worthless little disappointment, you can't even fetch a good price! All you do is cost me money, what's the point of raising you?!"

I easily sidestepped her claw-like hands reaching for my hair. She stumbled and ate dirt, crashing hard onto the floor.

I looked down at her coldly, like staring at a pile of rotting, stinking garbage.

Her eyes suddenly locked onto the black leather cut I was wearing.

Even though she didn't recognize the specific Grim Reaper patch, after years of hanging around the club scene, her snobby dog eyes instantly recognized the murderous aura and absolute authority that a piece of leather like this represented.

Her shrieking stopped dead.

"Where... where did you get that cut?" Tammy stammered, her finger trembling as she pointed at the vest.

I didn't bother wasting breath on her. I reached into the inner pocket of the cut, pulled out a worn, grease-stained ledger, and slammed it onto the table in front of her. The heavy thud echoed in the room.

It was the ultimate trump card my father secretly left me before he died. It detailed exactly how Tammy had been secretly skimming kickbacks from the local Italian mafia's laundered drug money over the years.

"What is this?" her voice shook.

Instead of answering, I pulled a sharp tactical dagger from my boot and slammed it down with all my might! "BANG!" The blade sank deep into the tabletop, quivering violently, the tip less than an inch from the ledger.

Tammy screamed in sheer terror and scrambled backward into the corner. When her eyes finally focused on the cover of the book, every drop of color drained from her face. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. "No... impossible... how do you have that..."

I walked to the table and tapped my knuckles against the ledger's cover, my voice dropping like a death sentence.

"If I mail these dirty accounts to the mafia bosses, I guarantee you, tonight they will chop you into pieces, stuff you in a gasoline barrel filled with concrete, and sink you to the bottom of the East River to feed the fish."

I stared dead into her terrified eyes. "Now, you have two choices."

From my other pocket, I pulled out a legal agreement I had the Reapers' mob lawyer draft on the spot just twenty minutes ago at the bar—a document unconditionally transferring all ownership rights of Winston Customs.

A foul, sharp stench filled the air in the trailer. Tammy's body trembled uncontrollably like a leaf in a hurricane, a dark wet stain spreading across her pants. The greedy, money-grubbing idiot had finally pissed herself in sheer terror.

She crawled to my feet like a beaten dog, desperately hugging my legs, snot and tears streaming down her face as she wailed, "Harley, my sweet baby, you can't do this to me! I'm your own mother!"

Disgusted, I kicked her off me like she was a virus. "The second you tried to sell me to those loan-shark scumbags for some dirty money, you became dead to me."

I threw the agreement and a pen right at her face. "Sign, or die. Your choice."

Under the crushing fear of being butchered by the mob, Tammy's hand shook so violently she could barely hold the pen. She scrambled to grab it and scribbled a messy signature on the dotted line.

I picked up the agreement, verified the signature, and nodded in satisfaction. Then, I walked over to the rusty wood-burning stove and tossed the ledger into the flames without a second thought.

The paper curled, blackened, and turned to ash. I kept my promise not to kill her, but only to ensure she had absolutely zero leverage and would never dare come near me again, like the leech she was.

I turned back to the pathetic, stinking heap on the floor and delivered my final eviction notice. "Take your garbage and get the hell out! If I ever see your face again, you're dead!"

I didn't even wait for a response. I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the trailer like a dead dog, throwing her and her few trashy bags straight into the mud pit outside.

"From today on, this place and the garage have absolutely nothing to do with you!"

I slammed the door shut with a loud crash and locked it. Leaning against the back of the door, I listened as her curses turned into desperate sobs, fading further and further away until there was only dead silence.

I took off the heavy, domineering leather cut and folded it carefully on the table. It had perfectly served its purpose.

From this day forward, I, Harley Winston, was no one's daughter, and no one's bitch. I was my own queen.

My garage, my empire, was waiting for me to reclaim it. Tomorrow is day one of the fiery rebirth of Winston Customs!