Bad Boy's Last Race (6 page)

“I told you, Tyler.” I speak as calmly and evenly as I can. “It’s over.”

He laughs. That horrible, grating laugh of his, the one that oozes with confidence, with the smug certainty that the world spun solely on his terms. “I don’t think so. Not until I say it is.”

I hit End Call and bash my forehead against the steering wheel’s edge.

Fuck.
Why can’t he leave me alone? Haven’t I done enough? What the hell is it going it take to be rid of him for good?

Then another awful thought crosses my mind. I know all too well just what Tyler is capable of. But what the hell might he do if he finds out about Jagger?

W
hen I turn
up at Drazic Muscleworks, I’m expecting to feel—I don’t know. Lighter. We fucking killed it at the qualifiers, and the semifinals are coming up soon, so I should be focusing on those. But instead I just feel torn up. I wish I understood why Sophie was so goddamned hot and cold with me all the time. She gets me hard, she gets me revved, she keeps my thoughts churning with that razor wit of hers, but then just as quickly, she shuts it down. But shit. It’s not my problem—it can’t be. I got plenty else on my plate, and she doesn’t deserve even one spot.

If only the rest of the crew would let me forget.

“Hey, man.” Nash claps me on the shoulder as soon as I show up and steers me into the garage. The doors are open, letting the cool air circulate through the mechanical bay, where Elena’s got some paying client’s car up on the lifters while she checks the brake line. “We missed you at the race after party at the Crow the other night. Where the fuck were you?”

I shrug him off and pick up a chamois. Might as well do something useful with my hands while I’m here. Keep my mind occupied. “Just didn’t feel like it, I guess.”

“Dude, you fucking missed out.” Nash grins wide. “There were so many hot, tan young things crawling all over us. Uh—all of us except Lennox, obviously.” He holds a hand up to Elena, who’s rolling her eyes our way. “You could’ve had your pick, too. No one could shut up about you and Lennox leaving everyone in the dust.”

“I qualified, too,” Elena reminds him with another eye roll. “Where’s my lap dance?” But her expression looks easy and playful. I wonder if it’s weird for her to listen to Nash talk about scoring with other chicks when they dated for, like, three years. But then again, she’s the one who left him for Lennox, so I don’t know that has room to complain.

Nash is quiet a little too long, making it weird with an extra side of awkward, so I slide into Rockstar Jagger mode. “Listen, bro, I did you a fucking favor. If I turned up, you wouldn’t have gotten a second glance. Just lookin’ out for your dick.” I swing a quick sucker punch at his gut, but pull back at the last minute.

“Fucking tool.” Nash grapples me into a headlock. I toss the waxy chamois in his face and slip his grasp, then bounce onto my feet in boxer stance.

“Jags, you seem to be in a good mood.” Elena watches our play wrestling with a smirk, drumming a wrench against her lips. “I’m betting that you got your rocks off just fine.”

Cyrus finishes entering an invoice on the garage terminal and looks up at us. “I
knew
you were making a booty call! Tell Lennox he owes me ten.”

Nash waggles his eyebrows at me. “Booty call? Have you got a regular girl these days, Jags?”

“Ooh, who is she?” Elena asks.

I take a step back, narrowly avoiding back into the lifter. “Not your fucking concern.” I try to make it sound lighthearted, but even to my ears, I sound like a prick.

Nash and Cyrus exchange looks, and Nash holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, man, sorry. I didn’t know it was like that.”

“Sounds to me like our baby Jagger might actually have some feelings. What a Christmas miracle,” Elena says.

I sigh and pop my aviators down over my eyes. I’m so not in the mood for this shit. “It’s nothing. Seriously. She’s got her own baggage to deal with, or something.” Or something is right. She’s hauling all those bags around, but won’t even let me glimpse at what’s inside. “Whatever.” I force myself to smile again. “Plenty of other fine pieces of ass in the sea, am I right?”

Drazic bursts out of the main shop door and hops down the steps to the garage bay, a triumphant grin on his face. “And that’s the last piece of gear sold off. Thanks to Jagger and Cyrus.” He points toward us each in turn. “We’re going to have to do some more work real soon.”

Elena wrinkles her nose in disgust. I think she knows exactly what kind of ‘work’ her uncle’s talking about, but she tries not to get involved, all the same.

“You like the darkweb shit me and Jagger set up?” Cyrus grins. “I told you, we’ll be moving it faster than you can count it.”

“It gets the job done, all right.” Drazic walks over to me and Cyrus and crosses his arms, his beefy muscles bulging from his waffle shirt. “When do we want to make our next haul?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. I wonder how Sophie would feel about me doing this kind of work. It’s not like we rip off anyone who can’t afford it. But I’m sure she’d have some bullshit psychoanalysis response to me and my ‘skills.’ Something about my broken childhood, need for validation, blah, blah. Worst part is, she wouldn’t be wrong.

“Let’s focus on the semifinals this weekend, first. I know all three of us have some work to do to tighten up our circuits, and I don’t want any distractions.”

Drazic nods. “Fair enough. You free to run some circuits tomorrow afternoon?”

“You got it,” I say.

Elena pokes her head out from under the car she’s working on. “Lennox and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Excellent. See you boys and girls then.” He winks at his niece and heads back for the office.

I grab my gear to go—I’m feeling like a few circuits on my own might be just the thing to clear my head—but Elena taps me on the arm. “Hey.”

“What’s up, sis?” I spin toward her with another easy grin.

“You really dig this chick, don’t you?” she asks. Her voice is soft, low enough the other guys can’t hear. “You’re worried about what she might think of you.”

“Fucking hell. It’s not like that,” I grumble, then shove my hands in my jean pockets.

Elena laughs, bright and hard. “Oh, my god. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

I exhale loudly. “It’s really not worth talking about.”

“C’mon.” She straddles a workbench, boots dangling just off the ground. “Try me.”

I lope toward her and plop onto the bench next to her. “Look, she just keeps getting . . . spooked, I guess. She’s afraid of something, and I—”

“Listen.” Elena smiles. “If she’s really worth it to you, if she’s as scared as it sounds like she is, then just be there for her. She needs someone to hold her hand through it.” Elena nudges me with her shoulder. “Sounds like the perfect role for you.”

Someone to hold her hand. Hold her baggage. I don’t know the first goddamned thing about doing any of that. But I suppose I can try. I pat Elena’s thigh and pull myself to my feet, ready to call Sophie. “Thanks.”

* * *

S
ophie’s waiting
for me with her arms wrapped tight around her when I pull up at her sister’s place. She’s wearing this simple blue wrap dress that looks ridiculously hot against her creamy skin and red-gold hair, hugging her tits and hips like a vice grip, and it’s all I can do not to think how it might look when I unwrap it. But her expression is lethal—a stone wall perfectly designed to keep out invaders, complete with arrows and hot oil. All I can do is deploy Rockstar Jagger Swagger and hope for the best.

I climb out of the car, walk around, and open the passenger’s door for her. “You look incredible.” I give her a peck on the cheek as she slides into the passenger seat, though what I really want to do is bend her over the fucking diner counter. “Though I’m pretty sure you’d make a paper bag look hot.”

She smirks. “Thanks.”

I close the door for her and climb into the driver’s seat. “Thanks for agreeing to this.” I ease us onto the neighborhood road and wind my way along the Ridgecrest hills.

Sophie sighs and stretches her arms out in front of her. “Yeah, well . . . I know I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with.” When I laugh, she grins and adds, “Understatement of the fucking year, yes, I know.”

“You said it, not me.” I wink.

She eases back in her seat. “You’re a good guy, Jagger. Well, maybe not ‘good’ in the sense of well-behaved, clean, or remotely appropriate for human consumption . . . but good. Honest. Direct. A hell of a lot better than I’m used to.”

I raise one eyebrow. I don’t get that too much from chicks, but I’m not about to tell her that now.

“I don’t mean to take you for a ride,” she continues. “I just have a lot of shit to work through right now. None of it’s your fault, but it’s still a lot of shit.”

“Well, I’m here for you if you want to talk about it.” I slide my hand up her thigh. “Or, y’know, provide you with a distraction.”

She laughs and swats my hand away, but she’s smiling while she does it. I guess we’re okay, then. For now. I grip the gearshift as we head downhill, and Sophie laces her fingers into mine on top of it.

“Thank you. Seriously,” she says. “Now . . . Where the hell are we going?” she asks.

I grin. “I believe you still owe me some French toast from Peg’s Diner.”

* * *

P
eg’s Diner
is as old school a diner as they come, but with a distinctive high-desert twist. Southwestern omelets that are actually fresh, chicken-fried steak that’s actually made with real chicken, just enough grease on everything to keep you honest, and coffee that’ll punch through even the fiercest hangover. I save Sophie, narrowly, from catching the hem of her dress on the cacti in the entryway and usher her to an open pair of stools at the dining counter.

“Cute,” Sophie says, looking around at the décor. Pueblo knickknacks and turquois everything lines the high shelving that runs along the walls, interspersed with sparkling cut quartz, rose rocks, and baby cacti.

“Peg’s is a classic. I’m surprised you haven’t been here before.”

I’m prying and I know it, but I’m just trying to give her an opening. She obviously has some family ties to Ridgecrest.

“I went to school on the other side of the mountain, in Eagle’s Plain. Hung out with all those preppy kids . . .” She trails off. I get it. Her life was a hell of a lot more charmed than mine. Rich hippies and retired stockbrokers. Explains the nice house her sister’s got. And Sophie’s nearly finished grad school degree.

I order my usual—French toast and bacon—but Sophie opts for a slab of hanger steak and eggs. “Fuck. You weren’t lying about the French toast.” She moans after I let her try a bite of mine, drizzled with Peg’s bourbon vanilla maple syrup. “I know what I’m getting next time.”

“I know all the best dives on this side of the mountain.” I wink.

Sophie’s gaze turns serious while she nurses her coffee. Every time the front door chimes, her eyes would dart that way and her shoulders would tense up, and she’d catch me noticing it with a nervous laugh. “Listen . . . I guess I owe you a bit more of an explanation.”

I lay down my fork. My first instinct is to pop off with something smart, as usual, but I’m trying to reel that in.

“I got out of a bad . . . situation pretty recently.” She lowers her head, letting her soft curls drape in front of her face.

“Situation?” I raise one eyebrow. “That’s a pretty broad word.”

Sophie nods, looking down.

“What’re we talking about, Sophie? Crushing debt? Head stuck in a peanut butter jar? Bad relationship?”

Sophie laughs at the peanut butter jar one. “Okay, so it was a bad relationship.” She blows out through her lips, sending one curl billowing. “I know, I know. So fucking cliché, right? But it’s true.”

“Hey, we’ve all got our shit to work through,” I say.

But Sophie shakes her head. “It wasn’t just bad. It was . . .” She huffs out her breath. “I’d been seeing Tyler since my junior year in college. At first he was really great—showering me with gifts and affection, making me feel like the luckiest girl on earth. He treated me like a queen.” Her hand starts shaking as she grips her coffee mug. “But then he made sure I knew who was the real royalty. Who was really in charge. And if I tried to resist, even a little bit . . .”

I grit my teeth, fuming. “I’ve seen a few guys like that—think a woman isn’t special unless they own her wholly, right?” Sophie nods. “Yeah. Those assholes know exactly what they’re doing, too. They brag about it to the other guys, like they’re so fucking clever by messing with someone’s head.”

Sophie smiles sadly. “Yeah, that sounds about right. And Tyler was the worst kind—the kind with just enough power to back up all his bravado. He was all too good at maneuvering the world around me, keeping me trapped in his sick little world.”