Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (13 page)

Stroking a barely-visible moustache with thumb and forefinger, Randall raked shit-brown eyes along my frame, letting them come to rest on my breasts.

“Hell, I’ll throw in an extra grand if you make her suck me off after I beat her.” His grin made me drive my nails into my palms. “I always wanted to stick my cock down the throat of a Converse girl. I hear they teach good head at that place.”

He turned to meet Caine’s hard eyes and roared with laughter. “Does Daddy Warbucks know she lets you drive the car he bought her?”

Punch him right in the mouth, Caine. I’d hate to chip my nail polish.

But Caine said nothing.

Before I could open my mouth, the old man demanded, “Y’all got ten grand on ya?”

“We’re good for it, soon as the banks open,” Jonny assured him. “Ervin, you’ve known me half my life.”

“Ri-ight,” Randall jeered. “Like we ain’t never had nobody try to run that game on us before?” 

“I reckon I can make an exception, Randall. Me and Jonny go way back.” The old man lifted his ball cap and slid a palm over close-cropped brown hair, liberally salted with gray. “If’n you got a title to either one of them two high-dollar cars handy, Jet, we can ride.”

“Be right back.” Caine grabbed my arm, dragging me away. “Breathe, Shelby.” He patted my ass and urged me toward Caroline. “Calm her down before she hurts that poor bastard in ways I don’t intend.” He shoved me between her thighs and jogged to the passenger side of my car.

“Don’t you dare show him everything you got on those early practice runs. Let him commit in his head before you turn on the real speed.” She tapped my cheek with her palm. “Are you listening?”

Caine slammed the car door and strode our way. The flapping paper in his hand was smaller than a sheet of typing paper. When he shoved the page under my nose, I made out a faint version of the state seal of North Carolina in the center. “Win or lose, we redeem this tomorrow, okay?”

North Carolina Certificate of Title.

Owner.

Shelby Roberts
.

We just bet another car. My car.

I jumped to the side of Jonny’s Corvair in time to miss puking on Caroline’s boots.

From the corner of my eye, I watched Caine slap the title into the old man’s hand.

“Jonny, put the cash back in your pocket. Two hundred grand worth of car’s all the collateral we need, or I walk.” Caine rounded on the old man. “And you’re gonna need to show me your cash. Both of you.”

Caroline gathered my hair into icy fingers. I welcomed the cool touch on the back of my neck. “You okay?”

I heaved a second time, but the long-ago bites of Bear Claw had come up already. All I did was singe my esophagus with hot, sour liquid.

“Hey, I’ll still give you that extra grand if you let me bend her over after I blow her pretty little ass away,” the odious Randall yelled. “Under the circumstances, I’m not too sure I want my dick in her mouth.”

“I’m so fuckin’ pissed. We’ll take the deal,” Colt barked. “If she goes down, Caine, goddammit, she goes down twice. This is what happens when you bring a goddamn piece of ass to the drag strip. I don’t give a damn what she drives, she ain’t no fuckin’ driver.” He brought his fist down on the Mustang’s fender.

I jerked upright, staring at Colt in disbelief. A half step behind the leering Randall, Colt dropped one eyelid. I ached to punch his other eye until it swelled shut.

“No, I’m not okay.” I gasped, turning my back on the guys. Swiping my lips, I straightened, meeting Caroline’s troubled gaze. “I have nightmares about that wreck. Every night since I got back to town. Can’t sleep half the time. Today, I’d swear, I was literally in the ‘Cuda when it rolled over. But, actually, I was riding in Ernie’s truck. It’s so real, Caroline, you wouldn’t believe it. Driving to Jonny’s is the first time I’ve been behind a wheel since that night at the fairgrounds. And I just threw up the only thing I’ve eaten all day.” I held up trembling hands.

“Be right back with a cup of coffee.” Caroline sprinted for the concession stand.

“Wanna make it fifteen grand, Red? Do you get an allowance, sweetie pie? Or did Daddy spend all his money on the car?” Randall yelled.

“Randall, I’m bettin’ five. You’re bettin’ six so far. If you wanna bet another five, that’s on you, son.” The old man folded my title into thirds before he shoved it into the inside pocket of a worn green Carhartt jacket.

“All I got on me is six. You sure I ain’t good for the other four?” Randall kicked a loose stone, but reached for his wallet. “It’s free money, Ervin. It ain’t like I’m gonna lose to some arm candy.”

“Nope. Just the usual five.” The old man removed a cigarette pack from the same pocket, tapping the wrapper against a stained forefinger until a Marlboro slid out. 

Caroline rushed over, pressing the steaming cup into my hand.

I took the first sip and spat. “Damn, how much sugar’s in this?”

“’Bout half of what was in the shaker. Drink it.” Caroline pushed my hand toward my mouth again. The cheap powdered creamer made me gag, but after a moment, I felt the sip might stay down.

“The sugar’ll put somethin’ on your stomach. That’ll settle your nerves,” Caroline assured me. The concern in her hazel eyes reminded me how dire her situation was. Some might think she should sell the car for the cash it would bring, or say trying to hang onto it was selfish, but I knew to the roots of my soul why she’d do anything to keep it. Just the idea I might lose the car Dale helped me win—

I chugged down half the sweet brew.

Colt sauntered to my side. Slamming a huge hand to my back, he murmured. “Goddamn, you were perfect. I thought we’d have to race half the night to shake loose six grand. One and done? How sweet is that?” All the positive words were backed by facial expressions suggesting I’d just run over his favorite dog. He grabbed my left arm, giving me a rough jerk that spilled hot coffee onto my shirt.

“It might just teach you to keep your damn mouth shut if you haveta fuck that guy,” he yelled. I raised a hand to slap him. “How many damn times I gotta tell you, bouncin’ on my brother’s dick don’t give you the right to run your goddamn mouth at no race track, you stupid little rich girl?”

The guy driving the Cobra leaned against his car door. His laughter joined that of Randall and the old man. “If y’all got any cash left, I ain’t got no problem takin’ sloppy seconds.”

Colt’s the world’s best liar.
It still took everything I had to let my hand fall. “I’ll kick his ass and yours!” I shrieked.
Yours, too, if you don’t shut up right now, Colt Hannah.

“Shelby, get in the car. I guess you got yourself a race. Welcome to the big leagues.” Caine stalked past. I tossed the dripping cup into a nearby trash drum and stiffened my knees to walk toward the R8.

When I flung myself behind the wheel, Caine fiddled with some wires underneath the dash, but I was stunned to see Dale’s face on the screen.

“Hey, sugar.” His voice filled the speakers and he wore a wider grin now than he had in the photo of him in the recliner. “Caine tells me you’re pickin’ on the boys again.” He dragged his nails along his stubbled jaw. “I keep thinkin’ me and you should have a talk about that, but then I think, nah. Them boys prob’ly had it comin’.”

“Well, someone’s picking on Caroline again. So, here we are.”

He lifted his Ridenhour cap and scratched the red line across his forehead, left by the inner band. “I know what happened last time anyone picked on Caroline.” Settling the cap on his head again, he nodded. “Even you can’t take on Big Tobacco, but I hear some start-n-park driver volunteered to be your punchin’ bag instead.”

“He told me to go fetch the owner of this car and get him a cup of coffee.” I huffed, reaching for the outrage that had overwhelmed my fear, but my anger had evaporated.

“And you do not wanna know what Colt said.” Caine snickered. I gave him a look that shut his laughter right up.

Dale let out a low whistle that dragged my attention to the screen again. “When I said sling the car around a few curves and send me the video, I had no idea this thing would let me ride shotgun. Hell, yeah! I could get used to this.”

I turned to Caine, this time in horror. Losing would be bad enough. Losing while Dale might as well be seated next to me?

For one horrible second, I thought the coffee would come back up.
Please, don’t let that happen,
I begged the racing gods, assuming they’d deign to step foot on this raggedy-ass track. I turned the key. The engine caught on the first try. Where was total engine failure when I needed it?

The image onscreen jerked and Richard’s face appeared. “Give ‘em hell, Shelby. Tell that prick after the race that he can fetch you a cup of joe. Just don’t pour it on his Johnson. He might sue.”

“With my luck, he’ll show up at the bar where I work next week.” Boisterous male laughter filled the speakers when Dale pointed out, if that happened, I could piss in his drink. I made out more voices than just Dale and Richard’s.
Fabulous.

“Dad’s got the crew in the motor home.” Caine leaned across the console to mutter. “Guess you got a fan club bigger’n Colt’s.”

“Oh, no pressure there.” I shoved in the clutch and eased onto the left-hand lane. “Where’s my—”

Caine lifted the new helmet from between his feet.

I barely noted the Fiberglass hull sported the same color-change effect as the car before I slapped it on my head. The fit was tighter than the one I’d gotten for Christmas, to my relief. Adjusting the chin strap with shaking fingers, I made sure the helmet was snug. Fastening my restraint, I tried to hear the engine over the smack talk coming through the speakers, to no avail.

“Why the scowl?” Caine asked.

“Can’t... feel these goddamn engines.”

Caine lifted his hands, palms up. “It ain’t the ‘Cuda. It ain’t the twenty-two car engine. But you pass five thousand rpms and she’ll start singin’. Dad! Need y’all to hush up. She shifts by ear.”

Dale raised a brow. “You hear that, guys? My daughter ain’t never gonna cry about her tachometer goin’ down.” His tone made me think Kolby had used that excuse, but I had problems of my own and no sympathy for Kolby Barnes.

My armpits stung from sweat. I popped the stick into neutral and jerked up the hand brake. Three hours away, in Atlanta, Dale and his buddies fell silent.

The stench of hot rubber wafted into the car after a long romp on the gas to heat the tires—and forestall the inevitable. Swallowing hard, I nodded to the pit official. The Christmas tree lit. I sucked down a breath.

My head throbbed with each beat of my heart.
If my eyeballs explode, will I see them splatter the windshield?

“Shelby, breathe. This ain’t nothin’ but a quick jog to the end of the asphalt and back.”

I tried to smile for Dale, but the lights rolled through yellow straight to green. I let out the—
God, that’s a sweet clutch
—and hit the gas.

I geared down and tapped the brakes. Stacks of tires lined the track. Behind those, metal railings that reminded me of the bridge out on Old Cottonmouth Road gleamed dully.
No turn out?

As soon as I got stopped, the loudspeaker blared. “Fourteen three,” Ervin taunted. “Fellas, this here title I’m holdin’ says she’s a Roberts. I’m thinkin’ she might be related to Fireball Roberts.” The old man’s wheezing laugh made the loudspeakers shriek with feedback. “Real distant cousin, mebbe.”

“Way to fake his ass out,” Caine snapped.

Fourteen three? My grandmother used to drive faster on her way to church.

I slapped the gear shift into reverse. When I twisted in my seat to see out the back, all I saw was glare off the visor.

“Grr. I can’t see to back the fuck up.” I whipped forward in my seat.

Caine tapped the buttons on the console again. Dale’s face disappeared and the lane behind me appeared. “Use that. While Dad’s on mute, let me ask you somethin’.”

I eased off the clutch. The rear of the car immediately swerved left. I huffed, hoping to blow the hair out of my eyes. All that effort got me was a fogged face shield.

Get your shit together.
With Dale practically in my lap, getting a tune up from Caine to take my mind off the pressure was out of the question. Besides, Randall, Ervin, the guy in the Ford, and the pit official watched.

“You ever known Colt to clean up after himself, even once?”

I slammed the visor up and pressed the gas. Damn car took off like a rocket. Reversing in a straight line took all my concentration.

“No,” I snapped. “Hush, will you?”

“So, you don’t want me to tell you that, uh... thing... you threw into his trunk that one time is still there?”

I hit the brake about halfway to the tower, scowling. “What thing?”

“That thing you used on Colt that traumatized me for life.”

When I realized he meant the strap-on, I chuffed a weak laugh.

“I got a feeling Caroline might wanna take a turn in that harness when you bend this jackass over.” He rolled his eyes. “I doubt Jonny and Colt go anywhere without a day’s supply of lube, but it’d be a shame to waste any on Randall.”

I made a ten point five on the next run, followed by an eleven seven, thanks to the adrenaline rushing through my system. By the fourth run, I was able to reverse to the line without embarrassing myself.

I lined up for the last practice run. Gripping the wheel with both hands, I fanned my fingers, staring out the windshield.

Randall rolled up on my right. Caine lowered his window while the pit official helped my opponent set his nose on the line. When he was set, he stared in our direction, then puckered his lips and blew me a kiss.

“I can’t wait to hear you cry out my name, sweetheart. Just like every crowd from Shelby, North Carolina all the way to Simpsonville, S.C. calls my name, every damn time I race.”

With a snort, Caine punched the button to raise his window.

“Don’t matter how many times he wrecks, Kolby Barnes is the best driver on the track right now, and the whole world knows it.” I glanced at Dale’s face onscreen. “Rowdy placed fifth at Daytona in the season opener, in case you missed it. Third last week.” His affable expression dissolved into the trademark Dale Hannah smirk. Despite knowing Dale compared apples to oranges, I blew out a breath and nodded. I’d beaten both in short runs.