Revved

by Samantha Towle

  OTHER CONTEMPORARY NOVELS BY SAMANTHA TOWLE

  Trouble

  THE STORM SERIES

  The Mighty Storm

  Wethering the Storm

  Taming the Storm

  PARANORMAL ROMANCES BY SAMANTHA TOWLE

  The Bringer

  THE ALEXANDRA JONES SERIES

  First Bitten

  Original Sin

  Copyright © 2015 by Samantha Towle

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Designer: Najla Qamber Designs

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit my website at www.samanthatowle.co.uk

  For Trishy and Sali.

  My adoration for you both is immeasurable.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  I LOOK UP AT MY MUM. She looks worried, and she’s holding my hand tight. She always does this when Dad’s racing, but I don’t mind. I know she gets nervous, so I let her squish the life out of my hand because I know holding it makes her feel better.

  I don’t know why she gets nervous though. I don’t get nervous, ever, simply because my dad is the best driver in the world. He’s the champion, and he’s about to be the champion again.

  I wriggle my fingers a little as they start to feel funny.

  “Sorry, darling.” Mum smiles down at me. It’s a tight, worried smile.

  I wish she wouldn’t worry so much.

  I smile up at her, trying to make her feel better.

  She’s really beautiful, my mum, and very tall. She used to be a model, but she gave it up when she had me.

  I’m going to be tall like her. I’m already tall for my age. I hate it. I’m ten and taller than most of the boys in my class. I’m all limbs and gangly. Ugh. I wish I were small and petite, like the other girls in my class.

  Everyone says that I look just like my mum though, which is a nice thing because she’s the most beautiful person in the world.

  My dad says I look like her, too, and that he’s in for a nightmare when I grow up. Apparently, he’s going to keep a cricket bat by the front door to beat away any boyfriends I might have.

  He’s crazy. Like I’ll ever have a boyfriend. I won’t have time for boys when I’m older.

  I want to race like Dad does or maybe even be a mechanic like Uncle John. He’s not my real uncle, but I always call him that. He’s my dad’s best friend and my godfather.

  I love when Uncle John lets me work on the cars with him, and I get all covered in oil and dirt. Mum gets mad though when I get it on my clothes, but I don’t care.

  Mum doesn’t say it, but I know she doesn’t want me to work on cars, and she definitely won’t want me to race. I think she’d be happy if I did what she used to—be a model.

  But I’m not into pretty things like her. I’m like my dad. I love cars.

  And Dad says I can do anything I want as long as I put my mind to it and work hard in school.

  “And he’s set to do it! Coming in on the final lap!”

  At the sound of the announcer’s voice, I look up at the screens and see that my dad is on the last lap, leading and heading for the finish line.

  I get that excited feeling in my stomach like I always do when I see him racing, and I start jigging on the spot.

  “Our reigning champion, William Wolfe, is set to take home the trophy again. Wait—something’s happening. Wrong…oh God, no. There-there looks to be a problem with the car. Fire’s coming from the back of his car…”

  I watch helplessly as my dad’s car tailspins out of control, the back end on fire, and he crashes into the barrier.

  I feel his impact like it’s my own body hitting that barrier.

  Then, everything happens so fast yet so incredibly slow.

  I can hear Mum screaming. And people are yelling. On the screens above, I see the marshals running to his car.

  I can’t move. I don’t want to move or look away from the screens in case I miss anything.

  Please be okay, Daddy. Please.

  Then, without warning, I’m being picked up from behind and carried away.

  Uncle John.

  He turns me in his arms, pressing my face into his chest, so I can’t see anything. He moves quickly through the garage, taking me away from the screens, away from the track.

  Away from my dad.

  I’m yelling, “No!”

  I’m trying to fight him. I have to be here. I have to see that my dad is okay.

  Then, I hear the bang. It’s so loud that it hurts my ears through my headphones.

  Uncle John stops moving.

  He slowly turns with me in his arms. Every muscle in his body goes rigid.

  Fighting free, I look at the screens, and that’s when I see it.

  My dad’s car is gone.

  Replaced with flames. And smoke.

  Thick black smoke, billowing up into the sky above.

  “I’M GOING TO MISS YOU SO MUCH, DARLING.”

  The emotional edge in my mother’s voice has my lips wobbling and my eyes misting with tears.

  “I’m going to miss you, too.” I hug her tighter.

  Leaning back, she takes my face in her hands, staring into my eyes. She’s crying. I hate seeing her cry.

  “Are you absolutely sure you have to go?”

  We’ve had this conversation a lot over the past few weeks. I know I’m hurting her—I hate that I am—but I have to do this. If I don’t, I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

  “Mum, this is an amazing opportunity for me,” I say softly. “I know you’re worried, but I’ll be fine. I’ll be with Uncle John, and it’s not like I’m actually getting in the race cars and driving them.”

  “I know…” She sighs.

  It’s a worrisome sigh, and I know where it comes from. I know my leaving is hurting her for many reasons—mostly because she’s going to miss me, but largely because of where I’m going. It’s stirring up painful memories for her.

  “I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say softly. “I just…I have to do this.”

  “I know.” She kisses my forehead. “You are so much like your father. He would be so proud of you, you know.”

  Well, that just sets me off, and a tear spills down my cheek.

  Mum wipes it away wi
th her thumb. “I’m just being a silly clucky mother. I don’t want to let my baby girl go.”

  “I’m coming back,” I reassure her. “I’m not leaving forever.”

  “I know. Just take care of yourself, and be careful. You’re going to be in a lot of strange countries. You have that rape alarm I bought for you?”

  “Yes. It’s in my bag.”

  “And you won’t walk anywhere alone, especially at night.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And if you must take a cab, then check that it’s a city-approved cab.”

  “I will.”

  “And you’ll check in with me every day?”

  “I will. I promise.” I give her another tight squeeze. “Don’t worry.” I pick up my bag from the floor, hanging it on my shoulder. “I’m going to go. Otherwise, I’ll miss check-in.”

  “Okay.” She stifles her tears. “Bye, darling. Have a safe flight.”

  “I’ll be home for a visit as soon as I can. I love you.”

  I start walking backward toward the check-in gate, my chest heavy with emotion.

  “I love you, too,” she says, wiping her face with a tissue.

  “I’ll text as soon as I land.”

  “Okay. I’ll miss you, darling.”

  “Miss you, too.”

  Then, I turn and walk away. Swiping a tear from my face, I hand my ticket to the guard and go through security.

  I think I’d be exhausted after hours in an airport, waiting for my flight, which was delayed, before taking a twelve-hour flight from São Paulo to Luton, and now, it’s one p.m., UK time. My body clock is a little all over the place, but as I drag my suitcase along, pushing through the door into Arrivals, I’m filled with a sense of excitement that’s been building the whole journey here.

  I’m thrilled to be back in England, buzzed at the prospect of starting my new job. But most of all, I just can’t wait to see Uncle John. It’s been a while since I last saw him.

  I do a quick scan over the horde of people, looking for Uncle John, and then I see him. He’s a hard guy to miss—built like a bear with a head full of salt-and-pepper hair.

  He catches sight of me, his face breaking out into a huge smile. He waves a hand. I pick up speed to him as he moves toward me, his arms opening wide for a hug.

  I jump into that hug like a little kid.

  Uncle John has always had that way of making me feel like I’m ten years old again.

  “Hey, kiddo.” Releasing me, he smiles down at me, his eyes showing their age at the corners. Uncle John is in his late forties, but he looks good for it.

  “Hey.” I beam.

  “How was your flight?” He bends to take my suitcase from me.

  “Good. Long.”

  We start heading toward the exit.

  “I’m just parked in the waiting area, so not far to walk.”

  “Thank God.”

  I shiver as the door opens, and a gush of good old English cold air hits me. I wrap my leather biker jacket around me, not that it’s providing much warmth. I’m just glad that I thought ahead and changed in the airplane restroom, out of the shorts and tank that I left Brazil in and into the skinny jeans and T-shirt that I’m now wearing. I’m also glad I freshened up with wet wipes and spray of deodorant. There’s nothing worse than feeling stale after a flight.

  I forgot what it’s like to live in England, how chilly it is here in February. I used to be acclimatized to it, but it’s been fourteen years since I was last here.

  I was born in England. I lived here until I was ten. After we lost Dad, Mum and I moved to Brazil, her home country.

  “I’d offer you my jacket if I were wearing one.” Uncle John chuckles while he walks along in a short-sleeved shirt.

  “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

  “Sure, but I’ll get the heat on in the car as soon as the engine warms up.”

  I adore Uncle John. After Dad died and Mum and I moved away, he stayed in our lives with regular phone calls and emails, and he visited every time he was in Brazil.

  Uncle John is the chief engineer for Rybell’s Formula 1 team—well, Carrick Ryan’s team. Each Formula 1 team has two drivers. Rybell’s other is Nico Tresler, a seasoned driver from Germany.

  And Carrick Ryan is the playboy from Ireland, but he’s one insanely talented driver.

  He’s way too handsome for any woman’s good. He’s a total womanizer and party boy. He’s in the press more for his late-night antics and bedroom play than he is for his driving abilities. He acts more like a rock star than a Formula 1 driver.

  He doesn’t seem to have a sense of discipline that can be seen from other drivers. But his talent is unmistakable. His advancement in racing was so quick that he was making his debut with Formula 1 at twenty and taking home the trophy that same year. Now, five years later, he’s only lost one championship.

  I’m going to be working on Carrick’s team, thanks to Uncle John. One of their mechanics quit suddenly a few weeks ago, and Uncle John offered me the job.

  If you haven’t guessed, I’m a mechanic.

  Ever since I started working for the Brazil Stock Car team three years ago, Uncle John has been saying that I should come and work in Formula 1, and the minute he got an opening, it was mine.

  He wasn’t kidding, and here I am.

  Formula 1 jobs don’t come up easily, especially not on Carrick’s team. He keeps everything close-knit, so I know how lucky I am to get the position.

  “How’s your mum doing?” Uncle John asks.

  “She’s okay…struggling with me leaving. Worried. You know how she is.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckles. “I know how Katia gets.”

  “Uncle John…you haven’t told anyone at Rybell who my dad was, have you?”

  “No. You asked me not to, so I haven’t. I get why you want to keep it a secret, but honestly, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

  For me, it is. My dad is regarded as one of the greatest drivers of all time. He was like the Messiah of Formula 1. People in the industry worshiped him—they still do—especially here in the UK. And I don’t want people thinking that, as a twenty-four-year-old female mechanic, I got the job off the back of my father’s name. I’d rather them think I was hired for my looks than that. So, while I’m here, I’m using my mother’s maiden name, Amaro, and telling no one that I’m William Wolfe’s daughter.

  “I just want to prove myself without people knowing who my dad was.”

  “Not necessary,” he reiterates.

  I give him a look. “It is necessary. People will think I got the job because of my surname.”

  “No, they won’t. You got the job because you’re one hell of a mechanic and no other reason.”

  “You know that, but other people don’t. I just want the chance to prove myself before everyone knows who my dad was.”

  “Okay.” He lets out a defeated sigh. “It’s your call. I’ll keep my mouth shut until you tell me I can open it.”

  “Thank you.” I smile appreciatively at him.

  Uncle John knows almost everyone in Formula 1, so asking him to keep this a secret is a big ask.

  Uncle John has been with Carrick since he started karting when he was fourteen. That’s how Uncle John ended up back in Formula 1.

  After my dad’s accident, Uncle John left Formula 1 and went to work in karting. I think being there, after my dad, was too hard for him. It was hard for everyone.

  But when Carrick progressed and Uncle John saw the talent in him, Carrick and Owen Ryan—Carrick’s father and manager—persuaded Uncle John to move back to Formula 1 with them, so he did.

  Working for Carrick is going to be such an honor.

  Am I concerned about his reputation? Sure I am. But lucky for me, I’m used to horny drivers. Being a woman in a man’s world, I have to be. I’ve worked around men for long enough to know how to put them in their place. Getting involved with a driver is not an option for me.

  After seeing what losing my dad did to my mu
m, I’m not exactly a relationship person. I tend to date here and there—a couple of months, maximum. It’s not that I’m averse to having a boyfriend. I just haven’t found anyone who I want to spend a lot of time with. And with my job, I travel around a lot, so it’s not really viable.

  I’m either with other mechanics, who are all male—and I don’t get involved with coworkers, too messy—or I’m around drivers.

  And I definitely don’t ever get involved with drivers. Ever.

  They’re a slippery slope to heartbreak.

  Uncle John comes to a stop outside a car I recognize instantly because I spent a lot of time driving around in it as a kid.

  “Is that…your old Ford Capri?” I smile wide.

  Uncle John had this car when I left for Brazil. A 1987 black Ford Capri with a red racing stripe down the side. I can’t believe he still has it.

  “Yep, I still have her.” He grins. Popping the trunk, he hauls my suitcase into it.

  “I can’t believe she’s still running.”

  “You doubt the master.” He gives me a cheeky look before climbing into the driver’s side.

  I get in the passenger side, putting my belt on. “No, I just thought you’d have upgraded by now.”

  “You can never replace your first love.” He lovingly pats the steering wheel. Then, he turns the ignition, and she hums to life. “Okay, so where are we going?”

  I give him a questionable look. “I thought you’d know that.”

  “Well, I just thought I’d check and see if you’d changed into a normal person, one who just arrived here after traveling for the better part of a day and might want to go to her new apartment and get some rest.”

  Uncle John has rented me a little furnished one-bedroom apartment, near Rybell’s headquarters in Heath and Reach, which is a little village in Bedfordshire.

  “But if I’m guessing right and you’re not normal—like me—then I’m taking it, we’re going straight to Rybell?”

  I look at him, a grin sliding on my face. “You guessed right.”

  On the drive to Rybell, Uncle John talks to me about work and what I’m going to be doing when I start tomorrow.

  He’s telling me the names of people I’m going to be working with, and I’m not remembering one of them, but I’m sure they’ll stick once I have a face to put with the name.