Junkie: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  “We’re at a Go Kart Track, Cash. How am I going to learn anything at a—whoa!”

  I’m pulled out of the car, his hand scooping to secure mine, and he all but drags me through the parking lot until we’re purchasing tickets and standing in front of a row of Go Karts. “Cash, seriously—”

  “Listen. It’s important you pay attention,” he starts, grabbing two helmets. “Remember to brake hard and early. Keep your hands at nine and three. Not all corners are created equal, so when you’re coming around the track at a high speed, cut the wheel, but don’t release the gas. And last, take no prisoners. Got it?”

  Is this guy serious right now? I fight my annoyance, but his damn smirk outweighs any frustration, and I find myself smiling back. “You realize I’m going to crush you, right?”

  I savor in his laugh as he reaches out to hand me a helmet. “I look forward to the challenge. But right now, I suggest you put your money where your mouth is.”

  There’s a spark in the air, loud and crackling, that snaps between us at his comment. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I lick along my lower lip, sucking it between my teeth.

  “Distracting the racer before a race. Now that’s cheating.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tomorrow’s lesson will be on safety.”

  “Tomorrow’s lesson?” He plans on there being a tomorrow for us?

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure the way I’m staring at you right now is causing your creep radar to go off, so I’ll definitely need another day to convince you I’m not a creep.”

  Is it wrong to admit I think he’s far from a creep? Kind, funny, attractive…

  “But I don’t—”

  “Okay, enough chitchat. It’s time to race.” He places his helmet over his head. I’m a bit delayed but kick into gear and follow suit, putting on my helmet as I stare at the go-kart. I can’t remember the last time I went go-karting. The memories are too long and faded in my mind to recall. “Don’t be a chicken, Luna. I won’t whoop you too bad.”

  Oh no, he didn’t. I may be a lot of things, but a chicken isn’t one of them. His smile morphs into a sexy chuckle as I storm over to my go-kart and climb in. I lock myself in place and grip the wheel, ready to whoop him. Chicken my ass. He may be a hotshot on the track, but I’m a hotshot on the streets. The red light on the side begins to blink, signaling the race is about to start. We both turn to take one last glance at one another before the light flashes green and we’re off. I hit the gas and fly forward, hitting a quick thirty miles an hour. Cash and I are neck and neck when we hit the first bend. Not used to a track, I make a rookie move and let off the gas as I make the turn, allowing him a solid lead. “Shit,” I cuss, hitting the gas harder, bringing up my speed. When I make the next turn, I brake hard, easing into the bend. I keep my hands steady at nine and three as I smooth out my kart, hitting the gas to an impressive speed. Cash is way ahead, and we take our last bend before crossing the finish line.

  Cash stops and pops off his helmet. “You took your foot off the gas. You should never—”

  “Best out of three!” I yell and take off past him. This time, I don’t mess up. Each turn is taken with precision, and I never take my foot off the gas. By the time I cross the finish line, my face hurts from smiling so wide. I ease off my pedal when Cash—“Shit!”

  What was I thinking? I’m the one who said best out of three! I fight the track, pushing my kart hard, but there’s no chance of beating him. He is a professional Indy racer and all. Knowing I’ve lost this race, I focus on the track and enjoy the feel of the air whipping past me, the power that radiates under my palms gripping the steering wheel and dominating the kart with each turn. God, I love this. I could stay out here forever. The finish line comes into view, and I ease up on the gas, crossing over and stopping next to Cash. He climbs out, and I do the same, pulling off my helmet.

  “Never pinged you as a dirty player.” Cash walks up to me, taking my helmet. My cheeks are flushed with happiness, my own smile filled with contentment.

  “Never pinged you for a whiner. Can’t handle a little competition?” My cheeks burst with mischief, humor dancing in my eyes. His expression morphs into a mixture of amazement and challenge. He takes a step toward me, and I wish I had kept my mouth shut.

  “Whiner, huh?” Another step. Shit, what is he doing?

  “Yeah. Are you going to cry about it?” What am I doing? Don’t egg this on.

  Another step. Another quick intake of breath. I’m no longer seeing this as a game but a whole different kind of chase. This isn’t a good idea. It could be. It won’t be. The last thing I need is this distraction. And him kissing me and confirming just how wonderful his mouth would feel consuming mine most definitely would be a distraction. With that sinful thought in mind, my eyes dip to his mouth, and I can’t help but suck my lower lip between my teeth and bite down at how satisfying it would be to let go and surrender myself to him.

  Another step, and I concede. With all this fucked up shit going on, tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. And if I might not be here tomorrow, taking the risk today would be worth it. Maybe knowing how it feels to be wanted for the first time in my life isn’t a bad thing.

  He’s so close, our toes touch. He reaches out, and my eyelids fall to half-mast. Cash leans into me, his head dipping and blocking the strong sun, and I know—I just know this is going to be the best kiss I’ve ever had. Or maybe the best almost kiss I’ve ever experienced. Something changes in him, and he pulls back.

  “I am far from a whiner—or a loser. What I am is fair. So…best out of five.” He hands me back my helmet, climbs into his kart, and takes off.

  I stand frozen for what feels like eons as my heart works to tame itself. When I shake off the shame of misreading his signs, I break into action and slide my helmet back on my head. I’m definitely no quitter. Jumping into my kart, I hit the gas.

  Cash

  The second I drop her off, I drive straight to a bar. Any bar. One that serves tons of strong alcohol. What am I doing? Today was fucking amazing. The way her face lit up at the track. Her laughter. Our banter. The five laps that rolled into almost twenty. She would have kept going too if they hadn’t kicked us out. For a second, I debated throwing in every cent I’ve ever made and buying the damn place just so we didn’t have to leave. Luna, this stranger I’ve known for less than a week, has found a way to shut off my dark thoughts. Not once did I think of him. Of the anniversary. Everything about her captivated me, stealing my focus. Her voice. The glimmer in her eyes. The flushness of her cheeks. A million times over, I wanted to grab her and cuddle her in my arms. Steal her warmth and use her for comfort. I wanted to know everything about her—every dark corner and bright light that shines from her eyes.

  Fuck, I almost kissed her.

  I wanted so damn bad to kiss her. And there’s no doubt she wanted it too. Then why the fuck didn’t you? Because I’m not blind. She’s hiding something. And I’m not sure throwing myself into the mix is what’s best for her. I’m no stranger to pain. I see the suffering in her eyes—the same suffering I’ve seen in the mirror every day for the past year. Instead of backing off, I have this strong urge to save her. Peel back all her layers until I expose all her fears and find out what she’s hiding from. What I wouldn’t do to peel back other things too. Fuck. I need to stop. This is…not right…but…I can’t let it go.

  I pull up to a dive bar and find a seat, signaling the bartender for shots of tequila and to keep them coming.

  I want to take her in my arms and dominate those sweet plump lips, coaxing her into surrender. I want to gift myself with the sweetness I bet she possesses. Fuck her with all my might. Make love to her slowly.

  I throw back a shot.

  This is so messed up. She’s a goddamn runaway. You don’t know that. Her staying at The House tells me enough. She’s running from something. I need to take a step back and focus on my training. Racing. Yeah, the training you totally blew off today to be with her? Beckett is going to have m
y ass. I have the chance to race and win the Grand Prix in a few weeks. I need my head on straight.

  A little pussy never distracted you before.

  Another shot.

  But she’s not a normal lay. She’s…different. She’s this light in my darkness. Since the moment I tackled her, there’s been this shift in my life. Yeah, it’s called not getting laid recently. Don’t be a dick, dick. It’s not like that with her. Yeah, I’d strip her bare and bask in the beauty of her nakedness, tasting every single inch of her. But it’s more the drive to learn every single detail of her life, break down her enigmatic persona. Understand the sadness behind that honey gaze.

  Another shot.

  I’m a motherfucker and need to keep my dick in my pants. She doesn’t need a creep like me harassing her. I’m not a creep though. Yes you are.

  Another shot.

  But maybe she does. She seems to enjoy my… eccentric ways.

  Another shot.

  Followed by another thought. Leading to another bad idea. I pick up my phone and dial a number.

  “The House.”

  “Hey, Jackson, it’s Cash,” I say, way too boisterous. Dude, no more shots.

  “Hey. Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” My voice couldn’t have hitched any higher.

  “Well…it’s just late.” Shit, I check my phone for the time. It’s almost midnight. I should hang up and claim I accidently butt dialed—

  “Is Luna around?” Idiot.

  There’s a short pause. “Yeah, but it’s late, and—”

  “I’ll be real quick. It’s about her volunteer work.” Another pause, then a long sigh breaks through the phone.

  “All right. Hold on.” Mentally, I fist pump and reach for another shot, which I thankfully decide is a bad idea and pass on. There’s shuffling through the phone, and I hear a knock on the door. “Hey, Luna, sorry to bother you, but you have a phone call. Cash Huntington.” A few moments pass, and I slump down on my bar stool, thinking she’s refusing my call.

  “Hello?” her voice seems off.

  “Hey, princess.”

  “Cash?”

  “Yeah, did I wake you? Sorry, I should have probably waited ’til tomorrow or not have—”

  “No, it’s okay. I wasn’t asleep.” There’s a long pause before her soft voice breaks our silence. “Did you…uh, call for a reason?”

  Yes.

  No.

  I want you to tell me why you’re hurting so I can take away all your pain.

  “Yeah, of course…uh, tomorrow. Just wanted to make sure you’re ready. It’s going to be hard. Real hard.” Jesus, where am I going here?

  “Cash?”

  “Yep? Yeah?”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Nope.” Yes. “Can I ask you something?” Shut up, Cash.

  “I don’t know…”

  “What causes that pain behind your eyes?”

  Her breathing is the only response I get before she disconnects the line.

  Good job, dumbass.

  Luna

  I haven’t slept a wink.

  My eyelids feel like they have mini weights attached to them. I fight to keep them open. My nerves are rattled. Not a single peep on the dark web about races. Maybe Santa Monica isn’t a hot spot for street racing. I thought I got a bite, but Jackson knocked on my door, saying I had a call, and by the time I went back, the chatter had died.

  Cash’s call.

  What causes that pain behind your eyes?

  Why did he have to ask me that? Why does he have to pry?

  There was this enormous urge to confess the mess I’ve created for myself. Finally admit how I hate the life I’ve lived, and the trouble that has consumed so much of my being that I just want it all to end.

  Instead, I hung up.

  How foolish would it be of me to confide in a complete stranger? Because maybe he can help? How? Dial 9-1-1 when he finds out I’m a criminal? Murderer? I need to snap out of this stupid fairytale fantasy where I’m here to find love and this racecar driver whisks me away to a better life. That shit doesn’t happen. Especially not to me. He wouldn’t think I was so great if he knew the things I’ve done—the horror of my past.

  I shoot out of bed, needing a distraction and for my mind to take a different route. Anything other than Cash Huntington or the pity parade that’s banging loud and proud against my psyche. I grab my toiletries and head toward the shower, hoping to clean off all the bad memories lingering in the back of my head. On my way back, I round the corner and scream as two hands grab me.

  “Ahhh!” Cash squeals just as loud. “Jesus, I think I just wet myself.”

  I gape up to see Cash looking as unnerved as I feel. “You? You just scared the shit out of me.”

  “Sounds like we’re a complete mess. Stinks you just showered. ’Cause you smell nice—not that I’m smelling you—creep alert!” Shut up, Cash. “Where were you going?”

  He’s so weird. My nerves begin to calm. I shake off his heated grip even though it feels amazing and take a step back. “I was, uh…”

  “Going to meet me for today’s lesson?”

  More like running away from you and everything you’re making me feel. “Sure, that.”

  “Great. Let’s go.” Just like yesterday, he grabs my hand and hustles out the door, waving to yet another curious Jackson.

  “Shouldn’t you be racing? You blew off yesterday—”

  “Beckett pushed out training ’til this afternoon. My morning is all for you.” He catches the double meaning as the words leave his lips. “For our lesson. The pact.” He doesn’t look at me but opens his car door for me to slide in. When we’re off, I try to be sly about it and sneak a peek at him. A flutter in my chest steals my breath at how gorgeous he looks. His eyes are hidden behind his aviators, but that doesn’t deter my vision from basking in the rest of him. Today, he’s dressed in a white t-shirt with a racing logo on his right peck, and fitted jeans, that leave no questions about how well-endowed he is in the lower region. Jesus! Perv. I divert my attention from his crotch and stare ahead, curious where we’re going. A ping of excitement sifts through me, hoping we’re going back to the go-karts. I can’t remember the last time I had such a great time.

  “So, what’s today’s lesson? I know you mentioned safety.” I laugh.

  “Ahhh, yes. Safety. A little lesson before we hit our destination. Learning how to drive off the course is just as important as learning on the course.” My brows raise in interest. “I spent some time in Paris when I first got started, testing out their simulation facility. Pretty cool for a virtual racetrack. The simulators replicated the effects of aerodynamics or mechanical changes while racing at high speeds. Shit like tire wear and weather changes. It was just like being on the track, minus a bit of motion sickness, but it allowed me to develop my skills in taking turns, adjusting my curb angles, testing track surfaces. Basically, my brother said it was cheaper and safer for me to be reckless and learn from my mistakes on one of these simulated machines than being careless on the track and losing my life. I think his words were, ‘lacking maturity,’” he says with humor in his tone. “And he was right. Blowing out a tire going one-seventy can be some scary shit. It didn’t hurt to have some experience in a safer setting before getting on the track inexperienced.”

  “Have you ever blown a tire in a race?” I ask, worried for him.

  “I have. It’s not any less scary in real life, but I had a bit more knowledge of how to handle my car. What it helps with though is possible collisions. I wanna race, not crash into people, but it’s something you always have to be prepared for. Sometimes after a driver gets back into the car after a bad crash, they spend some time on simulators getting past the fear of it happening again.”

  His mood slightly shifts, and I’m now curious as to why. Gaging the topic, I ask, “Have you ever crashed?” Not even the sunglasses can hide the pain etched in his eyes.

  “No,” is al
l he replies with. His mood change shifts the energy in the car, and he doesn’t say anything after that. Assuming our pre-lesson is over, I focus on the scenery outside my window. When we pull off into a large parking lot, I read the sign in front of me.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He’s back on his game, a soft laugh filling the car as he parks and jumps out. My door opens just as I say, “Why are we at an arcade?”

  Unlatching my seatbelt and grabbing my hand, he says, “Simulation training, princess. Let’s go.” I’m speechless as he walks us up to the young kid waiting for us at the door.

  “What’s up, Andrew? Thanks for doing this.”

  The kid lights up, sticking his hand out to shake Cash’s. “Dude, no, thank you! My girlfriend is going to flip when she sees all the autographed stuff.”

  Cash waves him off, along with my curiosity. “The machines are on and ready, just have to be out by eleven when my boss comes in.”

  Cash nods, slapping the kid on the back, and tugs me forward, my mouth still open in shock. What is he—“Stop. You’re not serious?” He lifts his chin up proudly and he smiles at me, then looks back at the supercar arcade game. “This is my simulation lesson?”

  “You bet your ass it is. Now, left or right? Actually, I want right, you get left.” He doesn’t wait for me to protest before sitting inside the simulator racecar game and clicking the start button. What is it with this guy? I shake my head, unable to grasp his dedication to teaching me and the childish way he’s going about it. I can’t help but laugh, a spark of excitement bursting through me as I climb in next to him.

  “Pick your car.”

  “Yes, sir.” I laugh, offering him my bright smile. God, I feel like I already won getting his in return. We both pick our cars, him going for a Mazda Turbo while I choose a Mustang. The game chooses a street course, and I mentally do a happy dance. I got this in the bag.

  The countdown begins, and before I know it, the simulator starts and we’re off. It has us in some version of Tokyo Drift. After three laps, I smoke him, coming in first, him third.