Revolution: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Pulling my hands through my hair, I rose from the box I’d been resting on and walked over to the apartment door, knocking softly.

  The shuffling above me stopped. Waiting. Questioning.

  Air spilled into my lungs—into all the places in my chest I’d closed off for almost a decade, slowly but surely bringing them back to life.

  I knocked louder.

  A few seconds and distinctly weighted steps later, the door inched open. Bright green eyes surprised to see me.

  “Garret?” she asked, cracking the door more to reveal her bare legs and the same long white tee she’d worn the other night. “What are you still doing here?” Her nose scrunched adorably at the question. “I thought you left.”

  My eyes dragged over her. “Did ye?” I grumbled. “So then you always answer yer door fer strangers wearin’ nothing but a shirt?”

  Her cheeks pinkened, making my dick throb even harder. Fire flashed in her gaze as she responded, “I said I thought you left. I never said I didn’t know who was knocking at my door.” She folded her arms under her breasts, pushing them up and on display, her nipples poking through the fabric of her shirt. “Renner’s truck wasn’t outside and if someone was breaking in, I don’t think they’d stop to knock on my door.” She paused and the color in her cheeks deepened as she added huskily, “And there’s only one other person with a key.”

  “So, it’s just fer me then that you answer like this?” My voice was hoarse with desire.

  She shifted her weight, the edge of her shirt riding high on her right thigh.

  “Why are you here, Garret?”

  I cleared my throat, my cock solid as a rock and wedged demandingly against the front of my jeans. “We should talk, lass.”

  She regarded me for a second before nodding and stepping back from the door so I could follow her upstairs.

  “How angry was Renner?” she asked over her shoulder.

  Not as angry as my cock.

  Her damp hair clung in thick ropes down her back, drawing my eye to the swell of her ass—and how, if I let her take just one more step ahead of me, I might get a glimpse of the temptingly soft flesh I’d felt earlier.

  I grunted in response, forcing my eyes to my feet for a second.

  “I’m making some grilled cheese. Do you want some?”

  I looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of the bare curve of her ass. My fist reached out and gripped the railing, clinging to anything so I didn’t reach for her.

  Her lips parted as she sucked in a breath, seeing how she’d tormented me.

  “No. I’m fine,” I said through tight teeth and thankfully, she took determined steps into the kitchen, putting some space between the two of us.

  I took a quick look around the apartment. Everything was open. No walls. All windows. No privacy.

  No seclusion.

  Good thing I hadn’t taken Voigt up on his offer.

  Renner had mentioned it was available if I needed but between workin’ here and bein’ at the hospital, I was either sleepin’ in my truck or takin’ up the couch in Janet’s house.

  I wandered over to the kitchen, making sure to hold my ground on the other side of the small island as Kacey pulled her dinner out of the toaster and set it on a paper towel.

  Once again, I’d pegged her wrong.

  Content with grilled cheese on a napkin.

  For some reason, knowin’ she went to some fancy college and then decided to race made me view her as spoiled. A little rich girl who was playing dangerous games. But that was obviously my own prejudice against this sport and everyone in it.

  “What is it?” she asked, noticing the way I looked at her.

  I reached out and gripped the edge of the counter. “What happened, lass?”

  Her eyes fell. “What do you mean?” she murmured before taking a bite of her food.

  “What did Claire say that made you run, Kacey? That made you demand a drink?” he growled, inching closer. “I’m sorry for whatever it was. She might no’ get out much, but she’s damned fearless with that mouth of hers.”

  I watched the unsteady flutter of her pulse against the slope of her neck. The way she subtly pushed the paper towel away as though she could push the question along with it.

  “Nothing,” she said as she swallowed. “It’s fine.” The color in her cheeks deepened and spread—and I followed everywhere it touched.

  “It’s no’ fine, lass.”

  She chewed through a few more bites while I waited in silence. I didn’t know what to say, but I’d wait forever for her to feel comfortable enough to finally speak.

  “Tell me.”

  Balling up the napkin, she shook her head forcefully and turned away.

  Before I could stop myself, I rounded the island. She wasn’t going to run from me. Not now.

  “Dammit, Kacey.” I reached for her, hauling her to face me, her stricken eyes burrowing in my chest like a dull knife. “What did she do? It’s obviously no’ right what she—”

  “No!” she cried out, surprising me. “No, it wasn’t her fault.”

  Even with the dim lighting, the tears in the corners of her eyes flickered like twinkle lights, catching my attention—and wrenching on my heart.

  “Kacey, lass, you have to tell me,” I rasped, my chest not having felt this raw since the day we told Claire she had cancer and would have to be staying in the hospital for a while.

  And they shared the same expression—a fragile courage laced with unwavering determination.

  The twinkle lights in her eyes dripped a few streams down her tinted cheeks. Her raw beauty, even when pained, was the most devastatin’ thing I’d ever beheld.

  Seconds or maybe minutes ticked by, the only sound echoing the vast empty space was the callous skin of my fingers as they slid up the outsides of her arms, along the curve of her neck, landing gently on the sides of her face.

  I knew her skin was made of silk because the roughness of my fingers always caught on it, like Velcro against silk, it latched onto all the soft cells and held on for dear life.

  “Whatever it is, lass, ye can tell me,” I begged hoarsely, turning her face up to mine.

  Another wave of twinkling tears slid underneath my fingertips as she sucked in a ragged breath, her shoulders slumping from the invisible weight they’d been carrying.

  “She said I was brave, Garret,” Kacey confessed with a rush and bitter laugh.

  I fought to keep my expression stable. I would’ve sworn brave was a compliment, but the look on her face said it was anything but.

  “And yer not?” I clarified.

  Her head shook forcefully.

  “I don’t believe that,” I rasped, my thumbs working full-time to clear tears from her cheeks. “She thinks yer brave fer racing cars, lass. And ye are.”

  “No!” She stepped back and shoved me away, her eyes filled with frenzied fire. “I’m not brave, Garret. I’m not brave because I’ve stayed silent.”

  “What?” I gaped. “What are ye talkin’ about, Kacey?”

  She stepped back as I stepped toward her, and the slight motion twisted the knife already wedged between my ribs. I just wanted to hold her, afraid she’d twist her beautiful face clear off her neck the way her head wouldn’t stop shaking.

  “Tell me, lass. I’m beggin’ ye,” I drawled, my words pungently pleading.

  Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as she spoke so softly I almost didn’t hear her. “He touched me.” She shuddered. “He touched me.”

  My fist tightened. “I know he did. I saw him. That’s why I beat him, lass, because he was feckin’ scum fer—”

  “No,” she broke in. “Not him, Garret.” Devastated eyes met mine. “Joey Puglisi…” My heart stopped. “He touched me at Daytona.”

  Rage spread like a virus through my veins, infecting… mutating… making me sick with the violent urge for vengeance.

  “What?”

  She covered her mouth and continued to let her head drift from side t
o side, like a car trying to avoid dangerous debris.

  Kacey was lost. Drowning in a truth I needed to know.

  She winced when I cupped her cheeks, her head stopping partially turned into my left palm.

  “Tell me what happened, lass,” I half-begged, half-demanded, closing the space between us. There was only so much tenderness I could show with the amount of anger coursing through my blood. I needed the truth. And I needed it now.

  “I was going to walk away,” she began brokenly. “It was stupid—foolish for me to approach him. I knew he didn’t like me, but I-I couldn’t get over how he edged me out on purpose.”

  Her eyes moved back and forth, reliving the memory as she spoke.

  “He told me that was how the sport worked. He told me if I drove like a man I wouldn’t have had any problems. He told me I was being emotional.”

  I gritted my teeth, hearing how my own words echoed those of that piece of shit.

  Joey Puglisi was exactly the kind of self-righteous, self-centered cocksucker that drove me from this world.

  “I went to walk away and he reached for me—for my shoulder. I thought I could handle whatever else he was going to say, I really did,” she went on hollowly. “But then he was close to me, whispering in my ear.” She shuddered. “He told me he knew why I was really there, and that if I wanted to take his dick for a drive, all I had to do was say the word.”

  My jaw clenched so hard I thought it might crack.

  “While he said that, he reached down in the small space between us where no one could see and grabbed my ass. And then, as he slid his fingers forward between my legs, toward my—he told me that a pretty girl like me belonged on his cock and not in the cockpit,” she spat the last out as though the words were poison, her breaths heaving now that the truth was out even in this small measure. “I saw red. I’ve never seen red before. And I panicked. I’ve never panicked before.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I drive cars at over two-hundred miles per hour, and I’ve never panicked, Garret. And I just turned and swung—I don’t even think I knew what I was doing as I was doing it. I just swung.”

  Tears were streaming down her face now. Uninhibited. Unrestrained.

  And though I hated that fucker with every vibrating inch of my being, I hated myself more.

  I hated myself for my selfish cruelty.

  “Christ, lass—”

  “No,” she broke in. “You were right. I was emotional. I wasn’t thinking. There were better ways—”

  “Goddammit, Kacey,” I swore. “I just beat the life out of three men because they insulted you—touched you. If ye think, knowin’ all this, that I still think ye were rash to take a swing at Puglisi, yer wrong, lass.”

  I tipped her chin up in a motion that was rougher than it should’ve been. But that was who I was. Too rough. Too coarse. Too brash for something as fine as her.

  Too infuriated to be gentle with anything.

  Hardened from bein’ alone fer too long to know how to be soft.

  “I wasna right, lass. I was angry,” I confessed harshly. “I was angry ‘bout bein’ back in this world. I saw the news and I judged ye—I judged ye through the lenses I left this world with, and it wasna right. It wasna fair. But most important, it wasna the truth.”

  And what I said wasn’t enough.

  Tears continued to spill down her face, dammed up inside her for so long, I had to wonder how many people knew the truth. I had to wonder why she’d chosen to bear this alone.

  “I’m not brave, G. She said I was brave, and I’m not. I made a choice, and I chose to keep my mouth shut.”

  My jaw tightened. She’d obviously already worked this all out in her head and I was just playing catch-up.

  “It’s no’ brave that ye fought back? That ye leveled him good fer tryin’ ta touch ye?” I rasped, leading her with my words—giving her the stepping stones to speak whatever felt as though it were too insurmountable to say.

  She tried to shake her head in my hands, but I refused to let it budge.

  Kacey sucked in a long breath—the kind one takes after being underwater for too long. Or the kind one takes when you know you’re about to be submerged again.

  “I…I don’t know.” Her voice grew unsteady. “After what happened on the track… after punching him… I could’ve told them what happened. It probably would’ve altered my suspension.” Her lip trembled. “But it would’ve changed everything.”

  My lips drew together tightly. “I don’t understand.”

  “Because you’re a man,” she replied softly… sadly. “In this world, I’m an outsider. I’m unwelcome. Unwanted. I’m already judged as being lesser—of less talent, of less skill. A novelty that’s not taken seriously. And this… to press charges… do I have to tell you the story that would’ve been written?”

  “Kacey—”

  She reached up and balled her fists into my shirt, twisting the fabric as though it could unfurl the knots inside her.

  “They’ll say this is what I needed to do to get ahead. ‘When in doubt, just accuse your competitors of sexual assault to gain an advantage,’” she mocked bitterly. “They’ll say I was the one to use the gender card—the victim card.”

  The wrench in my throat grew because I couldn’t argue with her. I saw the media react to her punching Puglisi—I’d believed it.

  “But that’s not even the worst of it, G,” she went on. “If I spoke up, the narrative of my career would be carved in stone as the woman who accused the driver who caused her to crash with assault.” Sharp eyes sliced to mine. “It doesn’t matter that it’s the truth—it wouldn’t matter if it was proven. My career—my dream would’ve been forever marked as NASCAR’s woman driver who was assaulted. No matter how good I am. No matter what I do—what wins I have. Nothing will ever overshadow it.”

  I wiped her tears away, afraid to take a breath if it might stop her confession—and keep this all bottled up inside.

  “I thought about it. I thought about giving my side of the story especially when things got bad. But then, I had nightmares, Garret. Of the end of my career… ten—fifteen years down the line. I’d finish with a win. Complete satisfaction coursing through me. I’d take the trophy, turn to the press, and the first question I’d get was if my assault changed my career? If it contributed to my success?”

  I couldn’t move.

  I couldn’t fuckin’ imagine.

  Actually, no. That was a lie. I could imagine because I’d seen somethin’ similar happen once before.

  I’d seen a man’s reputation defined by a single accusation—and I’d watched it destroy him.

  “It would define me—” She broke off with a small sob. “In the sickest twist of fate, it would define my career. I would become that girl. And worst of all, that disgusting pervert would define my dream without my consent.” She pressed closer, trying to escape herself. “And that, to me, would be the greatest assault of all.”

  “Kacey—”

  “I won’t, Garret. I won’t let him be the shadow forever clouding my dream,” she swore violently, and it was a gauntlet thrown, a flag dropped. A dare to defy her.

  Silence beat almost as heavy as heartbeats in the moments that followed. Heavy with the truth. Heavy with desire.

  She was warm and soft, brimming with an energy that looked to me to diffuse it.

  “Then don’t, lass,” I growled, unwilling to let her think I disapproved of her choice—her impossible choice.

  She trembled.

  “At some point, they’ll forget about how I punched him,” she murmured. “They’ll never forget if I accuse him of groping me—they’ll never let me forget.”

  My tongue lay like a mallet in my mouth, once a weapon now rested with dead weight, unable to find the words to comfort the woman who faced an impossible choice in an intolerant world.

  “I know, Kacey,” I repeated. “I’m no tellin’ ya that yer wrong. These are no’ easy decisions.”

  After what happened to my br
other, I’d walked away from the job I loved—the world I loved—because I couldn’t escape what happened.

  “How do I look Claire in the eyes and let her think I’m brave when I’ve chosen to stay silent? Am I selfish?” Her voice grew thready and weak. “Is it selfish to not want this—him to scar my future?”

  “The most important thing is not lettin’ someone else have power over ye. And maybe fer most, stayin’ silent is givin’ a man that power—lettin’ em hold that weight over the future. But maybe fer you, speakin’ up gives him power—gives him a role in yer dream that he doesna deserve.” I let out a long sigh. “I heard ye tell Claire that courage isn’t the absence of fear… Maybe that’s how ye know yer being brave now.”

  “Garret—” she began to protest.

  “The only question ye need ta answer fer yerself is which choice gives ye the power over the situation? And if that’s speakin’ it, then we’ll call the news tomorrow. But if it’s not… if it’s leavin’ his name out of yer dream and out of yer legacy… if it’s drivin’ that damn car as fast as you fuckin’ can and bestin’ his pathetic arse out on that track and lettin’ that speak—scream—yer retribution, then that is how ye revolt lass.”

  “You think I’m right?”

  I grunted. The only way she could’ve been more right would’ve been to run that motherfucker over with her car. “Well, not fer nothin’, lass, but punchin’ that feckin’ asshole in his face isn’t quite what I would call ‘stayin’ silent’. Ye could’ve held back—let him touch what he wanted and walk away without a scene. Worse—ye could’ve listened to him and quit racin’ right then and there. But ye didn’t.”

  Her breath caught as my words latched onto the fear inside her that she wasn’t enough and ate away at it. But it was her gaze as it skated over my features that arrested me—as though I was the first person to tell her she was still brave for the choice she’d made—to silence him on the track rather than in a courtroom.

  “Sure, ye may have walked away with a punishment that coulda changed if ye came forward, but I canna argue with ye, Kacey. I canna argue that comin’ forward might’ve been winnin’ the battle but sacrificin’ the war.”