Declare (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #4) (11 page)

“Then, I’d move my mouth down to join my fingers. I’d taste you and lick you until you begged for me to fuck you.”

She grunted. “Oh, God, Dec, I want you. Tell me . . . tell me what you would do next.”

“Then, baby . . . then, I would worship every inch of you. I would kiss my way back up to your mouth and position myself at your entrance.” I hoped she realised this was where her little toy came into play. I heard the vibrations move further away from the phone. “I would touch your silky skin as I slid into your warmth. We would find our rhythm together, baby, the way that only we can. My cock would fill your tight pussy over and over and my lips would find yours.”

My voice was straining. It was thick with desire, and I was sure she would be able to hear the sounds my hands were making as I pictured my words. I was so close it wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge, especially not with the little moans and mews she made as the sound of humming undulated as she moved the vibrator rhythmically within her.

“Tell me how that feels.” I groaned. “Tell me how it feels when I fuck you.”

“It . . . it feels so good. I want you, Declan, I want you so badly. What . . . what now?”

“As I move inside you, my mouth would find your nipples again, and I would take my time playing with each one. I would suck them until you came, hard, squeezing tightly around me while I was still buried deep inside you.”

The undulating sound of the vibrator dipping in and out of her body buzzed through my ears. Her ragged breathing indicated she was just as close as I was.

“I’d make you come so fucking hard, baby,” I said. “Can you feel my fingers on you? My lips against yours?”

“Yes, Dec. Oh, God yes.”

“Fuck baby,” I cried out as I heard the sounds of her moans signalling her release a moment later. I groaned as I came over my hand and stomach. “Oh, fuck.”

We panted to each other for a few minutes before she giggled nervously.

“Well, that was different,” she said.

“Good different? Or bad different?”

“Good different.” She laughed then sighed. “Definitely good different.”

I was glad that she’d enjoyed it, because it meant that we would be able to do it again . . . and again . . . whenever I was away. After all, not all locations were close enough that she could fly out for the weekend.

We chatted for a few more minutes before we both needed to go. We both had early starts and huge days ahead of us. She had work and then negotiating a flight with Phoebe. I needed to be at the track by seven to prepare for my qualifying round and then I had a full afternoon of racing and working the pits.

Between talking to Alyssa and our little adventure, I felt almost relaxed and ready to sleep. I flicked on the TV to distract me long enough to settle completely. The next day couldn’t come soon enough.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: RIPPLE EFFECT

I WHIPPED THE car around the track, faster and faster each lap. A euphoria spread through my body as I poured my energy into the accelerator. The connection between me and the car was flawless. It responded to my touch the same way Alyssa’s body did.

I was on track for the perfect race.

The engine of another car roared behind me. A much bigger car, one I had no chance of outrunning, filled my rear-view mirror seconds later. I should have tried to get out of the way, but I was on track for such a good lap that I couldn’t.

Glancing up at my rear-view mirror, I saw the new Sinclair Racing ProV8. Hunter’s number, sixty-six, was printed on the windscreen. The car drifted closer and closer. I was surprised to see that Hunter wasn’t wearing any safety gear; not even a race suit. He snarled at me in the mirror before his car dropped away just as quickly as it had appeared.

The roar of his engine sounded again and then he was on me.

I heard the impact before I felt it.

The keening of metal on metal reverberated through my ears as I was pushed toward the cement barrier. As his car shunted mine roughly, I noticed a flash of colour out of the corner of my eye. Something was on the passenger seat of my car. I couldn’t turn to see what it was, because at that moment, my car collided roughly with the concrete barrier of the track and my forehead smashed against the steering wheel. I was tossed like a rag doll as the car barrel-rolled back onto the track.

After the car finally came to a rest back on all fours, I flicked my head around to see what had caused the flash I’d seen. Alyssa was curled on the seat beside me. She was completely still and her head slumped forward to her chest, causing her long hair to form curtains around her face. I couldn’t tell whether she was sleeping or something else; I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. I reached my hand over to touch her lightly.

She didn’t respond to my attempt to rouse her, so I shook her gently.

Still no response.

I grabbed her chin gently and turned her face toward me. The instant I saw her face, I gasped and choked with horror. Her lips were blue, her skin even paler than normal—grey and chalky—and her eyes looked through me, unfocused and unseeing. My heart stopped as the reality of it all struck me.

I was seeing the face of death.

My Alyssa was dead.

“NO!” I shouted the word into the empty hotel room as I jolted back to consciousness.

Tremors of shock ran through my body, each of my muscles quivering in response to the images that were still on replay in my head. Without thinking, I picked up the phone and dialled home. I waited as the phone rang; each extra ring caused the certainty that something had happened to her to grow and my panic to rise.

“Hello?” Alyssa’s sleepy, confused, and groggy voice was on the line.

Tears of relief sprung to my eyes. “Lys. Thank fuck,” I whispered.

“Dec?” she asked. I could tell she was still trying to shake off her slumber.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry for ringing so late, or early, I don’t fucking know.”

“Why are you calling? Is something wrong?” I could detect the panic rising within her.

“No,” I murmured. “I just had a . . .” I couldn’t finish, unable to admit that I had practically torn from the bed to call her just because of a nightmare. That would make me sound like a monumental pussy. I squeezed my eyes shut, but each time I did, all I saw were the images of her grey pallor and lifeless eyes. “Fuck, Lys, I can’t lose you.” My hand found my hair and I pulled hard at it, trying to force the images out of my mind.

“Declan? What is it?”

I sighed. I needed to get my shit under control. The dream was obviously a reaction to having to deal with Hunter at the track over the weekend, and a manifestation of the danger he posed to me and to Alyssa, but it had felt so real. Even now, fully awake and conscious, the images of her death were right behind my eyelids. “I love you,” I told her. “Never forget that. No matter what happens, you can’t forget that.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I am so, so sorry. I really don’t mean to scare you.” I couldn’t keep my voice level or my thoughts sane. I just kept picturing her face as I’d held it in my hands before I’d awakened. “I just don’t want anything to happen to me”—
or you
—“without you knowing just how much you mean to me.”

She gave a little sigh, but there wasn’t any frustration in the sound—more relief. I wondered if she had climbed back into bed while we were talking. “Don’t worry, I know.”

“Lys?” I asked. My voice still clung to my vocal cords as anxiety squeezed my throat.

“Mmm,” she hummed sleepily.

“I’m sorry for calling you so late. I just needed to know that you were okay.”

“I’m okay,” she whispered. She sounded incredibly tired, and I felt fresh guilt over waking her about something as silly as a dream, even if I could still see her hollow eyes staring past me.

For a few minutes, I sat on the bed quietly, holding the phone in my hand, and listened to Alyssa’s steady breathing. I was sure she was falling back to sleep. I waited the length of a few more peaceful breaths before I finally, begrudgingly, said goodbye and let her get back to sleep. I felt a little calmer, but there was no way I could risk going back to bed myself. It was easier to sneak down to the hotel gym and get a little bit of exercise in before it was time to head to the track.

When I reached the gym, I jumped on the treadmill and ran like a man possessed. It was as if I were trying to outrun all my demons, even though I knew it was impossible. I used the time to try to get my head together and concentrate on what I needed to do on the track and in the pits. The last thing I needed to do was start crashing out of races again.

Surely that wouldn’t happen now . . .

Would it?

I tried not to think about Hunter, or my mind would invariably wander back to his face in my dream, which would lead me back to Alyssa . . .

When it was a reasonable enough hour to head to the track, I packed up and left the hotel. It would be easier to put my nightmare out of my mind when I was surrounded by other people. Morgan and Eden met me at the track early. They weren’t required until much later in the day, but they were keen to watch my qualifying session and support me as much as they could from the sidelines. The other boys from my pit team were already in the garage when I arrived.

“It’ll be good crewing for a driver who’s head isn’t utterly up his arse,” Calem said as he did a final run over the car—even though nothing had changed since my previous session.

I laughed. “You do realise there isn’t any
actual
crewing involved, don’t you?” The races were too short for more fuel or extra tyres so the only reason I’d be in the pits at all would be if there was an accident, and usually there wasn’t time to get the car repaired and back out again in time to finish the race.

He shrugged. “We might not be in the pits like we would if you were in a V8, but we’ll be with you on the track in spirit. Our blood, sweat, and tears have gone into that car just as much as yours.”

“I know, man,” I said, slapping one hand on his shoulder and the other on Ryan’s. “And I can’t thank either of you enough.”

“You wanna thank us? Then get out there and kick arse!” Ryan enthused, handing me my helmet.

I stopped, my dream coming back to me full force as I looked over the car. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the nightmare out of my mind.

I climbed into my seat and glanced at the passenger side in my periphery—I was relieved, but not surprised, to see that no one was there. When I was satisfied that the circumstances of the dream were impossible, I drove out to meet my destiny.

CHAPTER TWELVE: LONG WEEKEND

I PULLED OFF my helmet and balaclava before shaking out my hair. Running my fingers through the sweaty tendrils, I brushed them back off my forehead while trying to force them into some kind of shape. Then I pulled down the zipper of my race suit, waited for the final confirmation of my results, and prepared for scrutineering to begin.

When I’d pulled the car back into the holding area, I was certain I’d had a good lap in my qualifying. I felt fast . . . or at least fast
ish
. It wasn’t nearly as speedy as the V8, but I’d felt the fun in the laps. More than that, I felt the joy of racing again. Something I hadn’t really experienced in such a long time; certainly not since I’d seen Alyssa with Flynn at Queensland Raceway, and perhaps not even for quite some time before then. Even if I hadn’t really realised at the time how much better it could be.

I could barely wait for my first race later in the afternoon. There was just my stint in the pits for Hunter to contend with first.

After the officials did the weigh-in and looked over my car, I was told that I’d qualified in second place. I couldn’t help the small disappointment I felt over the fact that I didn’t make it into first—especially with the London offer on the table for poling twice—but I was still fucking happy with the result. Especially when I hadn’t raced in so long, and never in a Mini. If I could translate it into success on the track in the afternoon, I would be over the moon.

After parking the Mini in the pits, I had very little to do for the day, so I spent as much of my time as possible in hiding. I retreated to the very back of the small garage and tinkered away on the car. I knew I would get more peace and quiet there than in the Sinclair Racing trailer or pits. I made appearances as needed at both the pit crew briefing and Danny’s little pre-practice pep-up that he always did. The second they were over, I hid away again.

The result was a slightly boring day—there wasn’t much to look at in the garage—but it also meant that I didn’t have a single run-in with Hunter. At least, not until it was time to pit for him.

Hunter’s practise laps didn’t go nearly as smoothly as he might have liked. Liam decided the first session was a good time to make a few adjustments to the car on the fly. My team did everything exactly as specified as Hunter ended up back in pit lane again and again. He began to curse us out each time Liam called him back in for another slight adjustment. I could almost understand his frustration at not being able to get a solid run on the track, but the changes were being made for his benefit. There was no need for him to be such an arse about it.

Once time was called on the practise, and I could be free of the pits, I ran straight for my garage. I only had a matter of minutes to get in my car and into the marshalling area for my first race. My stomach was full of butterflies at the thought of being back under proper race conditions again. I had eight laps—a little less than twenty minutes—to prove to the world, and myself, that I wasn’t a failure and that I could get around the track cleanly under full race conditions.

I felt the pressure bearing down on me, and it was almost enough to make my knees buckle. Bile rose in my throat as I started the car and put it in gear.

My heartbeat thumping in my ears was louder than the drone of the engine.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck!

Would an image of Alyssa haunt me now? I’d exorcised my demons, but would they return to attack while I was most susceptible? Would I see her face from my dream?

My fingers clenched around the steering wheel and I had to take some deep breaths to stop myself from hyperventilating. There was so much riding on this first race, it seemed impossible to overcome the pressure. And with the way my heart raced, I was going to have a fucking heart attack or something.

I wished that Alyssa were alongside me, but that thought brought back images from my horrendous dream in force. Squeezing my eyes shut for half a second, I took another deep breath and imagined instead that Alyssa was in the stands waiting patiently for me. I pictured her mouth turning up into a smile as I lined up on the grid. Instead of haunting me, it slowed my heart and let me breathe a little easier. It was just the inspiration I needed to put the car into gear and drive onto the track.

While I sat on the grid waiting for the green light, I focused only on the pedals at my feet, the gearstick to my left, and my hands firmly planted on the wheel. I closed my eyes in my usual pre-race ritual, allowing myself one second of solitude. I pressed my foot deep onto the floor, listening to the far too quiet buzz that issued from the Mini’s tiny engine. It didn’t block out the thoughts quite the way the V8 had during the same routine. I took a deep breath, then my eyes snapped open and it was time to go.

Ride on instinct.

Don’t think.

Don’t overthink.

I threw the Mini into gear, floored the accelerator, and mentally willed the car to go as fast as possible. I watched as the car beside me—driven by Randall Wilkins, the championship winner the previous year and the one touted as the one to watch this season—dropped away slightly.

At corner one, I had the inside line. If I could just make a clean dive for it, I would be in the best position possible for the rest of the lap. And the rest of the race.

This style of racing was completely different to the ProV8 series. In the bigger cars, there was so much strategy at play. Pit windows and mandatory stops. So much was outside of the driver’s control and everything could change in a heartbeat. In the Mini, it all came down to the skill of the driver, and getting to the front of the pack as quickly as possible really could be the difference between winning and losing.

I threw the car hard into the corner, braking as late as I could—using the knowledge I’d gained in my practise and qualifying sessions to my benefit. I edged Wilkins out and drove in hard across his nose. I knew I needed to leg it to turn two or he would have the line there. I scraped it in.

He rode my tail tightly as I charged through turns two and three. By turn four, I was just starting to put some distance between us.

I flicked the car around the hard right before banking straight across for the hard left to block anyone who could have dived around me on the inside. I hit the straight and gunned it. I pushed as hard as I could, wishing that I could find an extra kilometre or two per hour—just that little edge over my competitors—even though I knew the cars were all equal.

My car swept around the soft curve of turn eight, hitting the racing line perfectly. Then I braked hard and cut sharply inwards to get around the tight bend. My eyes flicked up to the overpass that extended over the track and I imagined Alyssa up there, watching and waving as I sped by. It gave me the boost I needed.

I passed the V8 paddock, refusing to give into the little niggle that started at the back of my head.
You could have been in one of those if things had gone differently.

If things
had
gone differently, I might not have had Alyssa back in my life. I would rather drive a Mini in every race until the end of eternity than give her up again.

I steadied the car, enjoying the freedom of my half-second buffer, and drove it hard around the last few turns, to finish the first lap in first place. When I did, I let out the breath I’d held tightly in my chest for the last quarter of the lap. I was one-eighth of the way to the end of the race. I was in first with a bit of a lead, and I didn’t have to worry about my concentration being invaded by guilt over leaving Alyssa or stress over her finding comfort with another.

Despite that, the next seven laps were not exactly a walk in the park. With the Minis being so evenly matched, one bump in the road or one misjudged corner and the game completely shifted. My buffer was reduced, and then eroded completely.

Before long, I was staring at the arse of another car. I began to panic about being unable to finish on podium. I needed a solid finish so badly for so many reasons. To reward Danny’s gamble, to silence the critics, but most of all, to earn Alyssa’s pride. She would love me no matter the outcome, but I wanted her to be proud of what I’d achieved. I wanted there to be a genuine reason for her coming to Adelaide to support me.

By the start of the eighth lap, I was door to door with Wilkins. He was taking the aggressive lines as often as he could, neither of us willing to give up our track position to the other. We drove side by side through turns eight, nine, and ten. Despite the tight grip I had on the wheel, the set of my teeth as I clenched them tightly, and my absolute focus on the track, I was actually having a lot of fun.

I knew turn fourteen was critical. Gaining control over that corner at that stage of the race would place me in either the winner’s or the loser’s seat, so I wanted to be out front when we hit it. I dropped back a little, pushing the car hard to the left side of the track. I took a deep breath—and a huge risk—drove in hard, broke late, and cut across the nose of Wilkins’s Mini just as he was entering the turn. I whipped my car around and exited the corner on the far right-hand side of the track. I didn’t even pause to breathe again as I moved my foot from brake to accelerator and smashed it to the ground. One hand steadied the wheel as my other snapped through the gears.

A smile graced my lips when I saw the gamble had paid off. I was ahead. By a few fucking whiskers, but that didn’t matter. Wilkins made a last-minute push for the line, but he was too late. The smile stretched into a mile-fucking-wide grin.

I was back.

I’d finished a race.

More than that, I’d won, and fuck if it didn’t feel fan-fucking-tastic.

Although I just wanted to celebrate, I didn’t have time to revel in the afterglow of my win. By the time I’d finished in scrutineering and parked the car back in the garage, I had less than a minute to sprint to the pits for Hunter’s second practise session. I was panting as I took my position, thankful that Ryan and Calem had covered my arse by having everything I needed ready and waiting.

I rolled my eyes as I heard Hunter’s complaints about his crew not being ready, knowing full well he was referring to my close-to-being-late arrival, but it wasn’t like he’d been delayed at all. The car was more than ready when he rolled out onto the track right on time.

Once Hunter had disappeared around the first corner and we knew we weren’t likely to see him again—it was Morgan’s turn for the bulk of the fine-tuning—I said a quiet thank-you to my boys. They in turn congratulated me on a job well done in the Mini.

“That looked like so much fun,” Calem said. “I wonder if I could convince Danny to put me in one next year.”

I grinned. “It was a fuckload of fun.”

Hunter only came into pit once during the thirty-minute practise and then only because he wanted to practise on the new soft-control tyre.

I was out of the pits the moment I was able to leave, retreating into the Mini garage once again. Not that I had anything to do there. Sure, I was being a coward, but at least I was a coward who was keeping my arse out of trouble, which was why I was so surprised when Mia dropped by and told me I needed to get up to the Sinclair Racing trailer to see Danny immediately.

At first, I thought maybe Danny wanted to congratulate me on the race, but his main priority for the rest of the day and into the evening was the V8s, so it didn’t really make sense.

My race was little more than a blip on the radar in the grand scheme of the weekend. I knew his schedule well enough from when I was in the V8. He would go over all the statistics, have a brief discussion about tactics with Liam, and then he would meet with the drivers and go over the plan for the qualifying run in the morning. At the same time, he would be meeting with sponsors, arranging grid girls, and organising meet-and-greets.

In other words, he was far too busy to be seeing me over something as trivial as my win.

As it turned out, it wasn’t Danny who wanted me at all. Hunter had decided to pull an impromptu meeting to discuss “tactics” of his own for the race. I openly objected to some of the suggestions he was making; some of what he was planning was sabotage thinly veiled as strategy. But even I had to admit that at least some of his requests were valid.

I tried to be the first to leave when he finished the meeting, but unfortunately he called my name. Ryan and Calem hung back a little when they realised I would be alone with him, but I waved them forward. If he wanted a confrontation, I’d give him one.

“I know your game,” he said, smiling his stupid smirk. “You think that by being the good boy of the team, you’ll get your shot in my car again. You’re wrong though. Danny wouldn’t let you touch the controls of a V8 with a ten-foot pole. But I don’t care what you think may or may not happen; you just better fucking watch yourself and your smart mouth when you pit for me tomorrow. If I lose, it’ll be on your head.”

I scoffed. “If you lose, it’ll be because your head is so far up your own arse that you can’t see the track.”

I turned and left the room as quickly as I could, taking just one brief second to enjoy the look on his face at my words. He obviously hadn’t expected me to fight back. As I pushed out of the room, my mobile rang. I smiled when I read Alyssa’s name on the screen.

I answered it, knowing that hearing her voice would be the icing on the cake for the pretty fantastic day I’d had. Especially when I suspected she was calling to let me know she was about to board the plane. “Hey, baby.”