Faster (Stark Ink, #3) (3 page)

She squeezed in between Ava and the newbie, running her hand along his thigh as she made her way to the front. When she got in front of the bikes, she turned and shook her tits at him. The newbie grinned at her.

Ava groaned, though, as they jiggled awkwardly. There was no way they were real. The skank batted her eyes and pursed her kewpie-doll lips. This was probably the thrill of her life, counting off races. This particular skank had started every race since Ava had discovered them. Usually, she had a hate-on for Ava, determined as she was to screw every race winner. But Ava won more often than she lost these days and, apparently, screwing the second-place finisher was a shitty consolation prize in the skank’s estimation.

Tonight, though, the girl actually seemed oblivious to Ava’s presence. Apparently, screwing on a Honda Interceptor was on her Fuckit list and she was prepared to overlook the fact that the rider was about to place no better than second in this race. If he finished at all.

Engines revved and tensions were high. Everyone was anxious to get the show on the road. Everyone, that was, except for the skank and the newbie racer. They were too busy making eyes at each other to notice the ticking clock.

The skank peeled off the silk scarf around her neck slowly, as if it were only the first thing to go. The newbie grinned and nodded his appreciation of her assets. Suddenly, Ava wasn’t sure if this was a race or an orgy. The Interceptor’s rider didn’t seem certain, either. He seemed happy enough to ditch the race altogether and ride off into the sunset with the girl in front of them.

Ava wouldn’t be sorry to see them go.

The skank raised her arms and her tits threatened to pop out of her shirt. She giggled as though it was a distinct possibility.

Ava gunned her engine to remind her why they were here. It earned her an Eat-Shit-And-Die glare. The Interceptor’s rider laughed.

Almost reluctantly, the skank finally dropped the silk. Ava leaned hard on the gas and shot forward, leaving her and Number Two to their budding romance.

A
s predicted, the summer sun had baked the canyon bone dry, despite last night’s rain. Dust kicked up when their tires raked across it and the Interceptor’s rider was forced to reach up and slam down his visor. The move cost him precious seconds of lead-time, though. Ava made it out ahead of him as The Wolf came up hard on his other side.

Ava lay on the gas hard and shifted through her Honda’s gears quickly, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. She knew the Badlands and she knew the racers, unlike this newbie behind her. She knew The Wolf, too, if not his name. She knew the most important thing anyone needed to know about The Wolf.

The Wolf was a cheater.

He had apparently spent all his money on his matching helmet and chassis and forgot that he actually needed a tricked-out bike to win a race. He made up for his lack of a high-grade fuel injector and oxygen-rich intake mixer by focusing all his efforts into running his opponents off the goddamn road.

Ava had found that out the hard way once.

Luckily, she’d walked away with only a scratched-up bike and bruised pride. Someday, though, someone might not be so lucky. Weasel didn’t seem to give a shit, though, and let the asshole continue to line up so long as he could pay his entry fee.

True to form, instead of pulling ahead, The Wolf closed in on the Interceptor and tried to crowd it out. He got close, too close, to the Interceptor’s rear tire, forcing the rider to swerve sharply to avoid collision. The road was dry but loose and Ava was sure the Interceptor would wipe out on recovery. Miraculously, he didn’t, though.

As she hit the first turn, she risked a look back. He’d recovered nicely and was coming up hard on The Wolf. Possibly looking for revenge. Ava shrugged and turned back to the road ahead. Revenge might feel good, but it was a loser’s game.

To make up for the lack of streetlights, Weasel had the fire road lined with road flares. Their bright red glow zipped past her vision as she continued to lie on the gas. Now wasn’t the time to worry about the other riders. The only thing in her sights now was the finish line.

They approached the final, hairpin turn, the last before the straightaway to the finish line. Ava hit the brakes and The Wolf surged past her, trying to take it wide. Ava knew that would be a costly mistake. She, herself, skidded left and had to put her foot down to keep the Honda upright. She’d misjudged how much she’d need to decelerate. The Wolf hadn’t known he’d need to slow down at all, and when he hit the turn at top speed, his bike slid and lost all traction.

Ava didn’t see him hit the wall of the canyon; she was too far out in front to risk a look back. She heard it, though, and knew there was some chance that he might not walk away from that one.

Karma’s a bitch,
she thought as she picked up speed. One day Weasel would get his, too. Someday Ava would get him alone, grease his sphincter with motor oil, and shove that rake up his ass.

For all his shortcomings, Weasel knew the odds... and how to stack them in his favor.

Ava managed to keep her Honda in check down the final stretch. At least the straightaway was clean, thankfully, because Weasel had to have a big finish to keep the lookie-loos and the bunnies happy. No one felt like a champ if they had to wobble their way across the finish line.

Ava leaned forward and kicked her bike into high gear. Over her shoulder, she saw the Interceptor coming up hard. He was flanked, though, by the fourth rider, who’d managed to make it through the sabotaged hairpin as well. Unsure of what to expect from this last competitor, the Interceptor gave him a wide berth.

Too distracted by another would-be cheater, the Interceptor’s rider missed the chance to open up his bike and overtake Ava down to the finish line. God knew his bike was better than hers, but he was too new, too unfamiliar with the track and its players. Racing wasn’t just about driving fast, but he hadn’t figured that out just yet.

Ava was the first over the line at a cruising speed of almost 65 miles per hour, pretty ballsy considering the terrain they were on. The crowd was a mix of elated cheers and people lobbing half-full beer cans to the ground in anger at their lost money.

Ava ignored all of them and let the Honda slow gradually as she looked for Weasel. She still wasn’t sure if she’d just take his money or run him over. She spotted him holding court near his truck and nosed her bike in his direction. She pulled to a stop just a few feet away from the gathered crowd of bettors and parked.

The sound of an engine rumbled in her ears, despite the fact that she was still wearing her helmet. She turned to see the Interceptor come to a sliding stop just a few feet away from her. Its rider jumped off the bike, tore off his helmet, and stalked toward Weasel. “What the hell was that? You fucked up that track!” he accused.

Weasel merely shrugged and continued counting the stack of money in his hand. The crowd around him thinned out. The looks on people’s faces directly correlated to the amount of money they had crammed into their fists. The rider ignored them as they dispersed, zeroing in on Weasel.

“And that asshole...” The guy jerked his thumb to The Wolf who was pushing his bike down the final stretch.

Ava was a little irritated to see he could still walk.

“That asshole tried to run the rest of us off the damn road!”

Weasel grinned at him while the guy seethed. “Assholes aren’t my specialty.”

“You sure about that?” the guy snapped back.

Some people laughed and Weasel glared at him. “Ain’t my problem. The people come here for a show and I give ‘em one.” He separated some bills from the stack, folded them up and started toward Ava. Over his shoulder, he called, “Look, you lost, esé
.
” Weasel sneered at Ava. “And, yeah, I get how that would sting, considering...”

He held out the wad of bills and she took it from him, rolling her eyes at him from behind her visor. Weasel turned back to the guy. “You can’t handle it, then I guess this’ll be your first and last race, won’t it? Capisce?”

Ava snorted. She wasn’t surprised that Weasel could somehow manage to piss off two ethnic groups with one spectacularly ignorant comment. He walked past the incensed newbie, a little too close in Ava’s opinion. She watched to see if the new guy would reach out and collar him, but he didn’t. In an admirable feat of self-restraint, he let Weasel wander away toward the bonfire, unscathed.

The newbie turned his gaze to Ava. “Gonna celebrate?” he asked.

She didn’t respond as she shoved the money into her inside zipper pocket. Sadly, no. She chipped in for the bills at the house and anything leftover, she squirreled away. One day she’d get out of here, just for a little while, and see whatever was out there that was worth seeing.

The rider tucked his helmet under his arm and strode toward her. He grinned and extended his arm. “Gonna shake my hand, at least?”

Ava hesitated, then figured what the hell. Instead of taking the offered hand, she reached up and unsnapped the strap on her helmet.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

She took off her helmet and shook out her long blond hair. The night breeze felt good against the back of her face. She turned and grinned slyly. “Surprised?”

He shook his head as he smirked at her. “Nah, chica. Not surprised.” He made a show of looking her up and down. Ava suppressed a shiver, trying to play it cool. “No dude’s got an ass like that. I’m just happy you’re so hot.” He gestured to the helmet she held in her hand. “Could’ve been anything under there. Gap teeth, big nose... I’m not surprised, I’m relieved.”

She laughed.

“What do you say we ditch this crowd?” he suggested. “Go for a ride, just the two of us.”

She tossed him a sharp look. “Like some starry-eyed Start-line Skank?”

For a moment, his brows knitted together. “A what?” Then he turned and glanced over his shoulders toward the bunnies. “Oh, them. Yeah, I’m not looking at them, chica. I’m only seeing you. And I’d like to see more of you.”

Ava shook her head and rolled her helmet in her hands. She’d like to see more of him, too, out of all that leather. But it would be supremely stupid to go anywhere alone with a guy she just met. Ava was fast, in every sense of the word, but she wasn’t dumb. They could stay here, though, in the relative safety of the gathered crowd. They could compare... bikes.

“How about a drink?” she offered, tossing a glance at the keg someone had rolled out to the end of the bed of their F-150. Usually Ava avoided that swill, but for this guy she’d make an exception.

He wrinkled his nose. “Hair of the dog, huh? You sure I won’t go blind?”

She shrugged. “If you haven’t by now, you probably won’t. Oh, wait—hair of the
dog!
Oh, sorry! Thought you said hairy
palms
.”

His gaze darkened. “Careful. I’m in a mood, chica. I lost my first race, nearly crashed my bike. Any lip you give me better come with tongue attached.”

Ava smirked at him. “Sounds like you’re giving orders.”

“I’m setting expectations. I want a cold drink and a hot woman, and the way I see it, you’re offering both. Now, we can stay here, but I prefer my place. I’d tell you to hop on, but you’ve got your own set of wheels. Nice ones, at that,” he declared, but he wasn’t looking at her bike. “You want to follow me home, chica? Get something with a little more power between your thighs? If you can keep up, that is.”

Ava gaped at him. “Hey, who lost, asshole?! ‘Cause it wasn’t
me
!”

He grinned. “You’re cute when you’re angry. Your cheeks match your lips: fiery red.” He lowered his voice so that only she could hear him. She didn’t think privacy was what he was after. His tone was intimate. “I like red but, you know, pink’s my favorite color.”

Ava’s core ached at his words and she somehow knew a night with him would be different than anything she’d experienced so far.

“Say yes,” he whispered.

Ava licked her lips as she stared at his. It was such a bad idea. But, then again, so was racing in the Badlands.

She drew in a breath to answer. “I— ”

An engine revved and caught her attention. She turned to see a green BMW 1000 rolling up slowly. “Shit,” she whispered.

“Friend of yours?”

“I gotta go,” she told him, face burning with disappointment and irritation.

“Wait a minute.”

Ava didn’t wait. She brought her Honda’s engine to life, slammed on her helmet, and turned away. A quick glance back revealed the BMW was following her. She didn’t head toward the main road; instead, she circled the revelers and took the fire road. The canyons were a labyrinth of access roads and hiking trails. Ava took a familiar turn and sped off to the next one before the BMW could catch up. After a few twists and turns, her front tire hit the two-lane road that led back to the interstate. She gunned the engine and disappeared into the night.

R
apid City this late at night was considerably quieter than the race rally she’d just left. Instead of flares, her street was lined with streetlights, sending a warm and familiar yellow haze over the neighborhood. Up ahead, Ava saw Calla’s Mustang parked at the curb.

Ava slid her Honda into a small empty space in the driveway and crept up the porch steps. She didn’t have a curfew, per se, but neither did she want to barge into the house making lots of noise, waking everyone up. Pop needed sleep on a regular schedule and Ava always did her very best to make sure he got it.

The living room was empty save for Calla’s familiar white album opened and spread out over the coffee table. Sample napkins in various shades of white and cream were scattered everywhere. Ava plucked one up and peered at it.

Adam and Calla, Dalton and Zoey

June 26
^th
, 2015

Not much time left. Ava hoped they had everything hammered out by this point. The Stark house had become the War Room for the Wedding of the Century, or at least as far as her family was concerned. What Calla and Zoey achieved through compromise and cooperation, Adam and Dalton quickly undid by arguing over neckties and nuptials.