Revolution: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  I partially regretted the simple red silk sheath I’d ordered online. First, because after putting it on, I realized that I looked like a less-busty, more-athletic Jessica Rabbit. Red hair. Red dress. Red lips.

  But secondly, because it made me look far sexier than anything else I’d ever worn—ever owned. Which wasn’t my intention when I bought it, considering it was the simplest looking dress on the site I could find.

  Long, with a modest leg slit that landed just above my knee, it wasn’t too racy or revealing. The top sat straight across my chest. No deep V. Nothing plunging. Yet, the way it pulled tight across my breasts, pushing them up with how the straps wrapped over my shoulders and crisscrossed my back, made them look fuller against the thin fabric. Also because of the style of the back, I’d had to go with no bra and adhesive stickies instead.

  I couldn’t put my finger on what was so special about the dress. The only thing that came to mind was that it looked like I was wrapped in a red silk bow that was just itching to be torn off.

  I could only imagine—and did—what Garret and his tools would do to it.

  Shaking my head, I pushed him from my mind.

  He wasn’t here tonight. He was probably pulling an all-nighter at the garage to get that engine in while I was here—praying I didn’t trip on my strappy black heels, break another ankle, and add one more obstacle to our path.

  “Thank you,” I murmured as the car pulled to a stop at the end of what felt like an impossibly long stone drive.

  The door opened to reveal flashing lights, a shadow of a massive house somewhere behind them.

  I covered my eyes with my arm, for some crazy reason, not expecting the press to be here even though their presence made complete sense.

  It was a charity event.

  The way to raise more money was to showcase who was here, and how desirable it was to receive an invitation.

  “Miss Snyder, how does it feel to hit one of the highest speeds for qualifying in a decade?” A reporter came right up to me and asked.

  I smiled, wincing slightly as another flash caught me. “Good. Really good.”

  Before the same one could respond, another young man chimed in right next to her. “Miss Snyder, you didn’t participate in the qualifying rounds today but are still on the grid for the race. What happened?”

  “Just some engine trouble,” I assured the voice calmly. “It’s being fixed as we speak.”

  “Miss Snyder, rumor has it James Puglisi was upset that you were allowed to continue—” I turned as a third voice from behind me spoke the loudest.

  Before my mouth could open, there was another call for my attention. “Miss Snyder, do you think we’re going to see issues between you and—”

  My heart began to pound and I looked for an escape—for the entrance to the event before they ate me alive.

  “Miss Snyder, do you think they let you stay qualified because you’re the only woman and—”

  “Excuse me.” A voice boomed from the doorway, silencing the vulture voices that grabbed at me from every side. “Kacey Snyder?”

  “Yes.” I looked to my rescuer, my eyes adjusting now that the flashes were firing on him rather than me.

  I gaped at the handsome man in the doorframe.

  “Colton Donavan.” He smiled. “I’m so glad you could come.”

  It would’ve been better had I been sitting at that very moment, but his extended arm was the next best thing as he led me inside the house where, it quickly became evident, the press wasn’t allowed.

  “Thank you so much,” I managed as the door closed and sealed us inside.

  The mansion was glittering—with decor, with its construction, but most of all, with the guests.

  If I’d been worried the red or the style of my dress would make me stand out, I had no reason.

  There was silk of all colors. Dresses that revealed far more than they covered. Women dolled up in ways that, while so beautiful, were beyond what I’d ever want to look like. And the vibrant spots were broken up by men who stood like tuxedoed knights, ready to defend the colorful kingdom.

  “It’s nice to officially meet you.” His voice was a comforting rumble as we walked through the crowd. “Though I believe I ran into you on the track yesterday.”

  My steps faltered though my anchor onto his arm prevented any catastrophe.

  Thick brown hair, sparsed with a few strands of gray. Handsome face that won a few more lines since he’d left the driving scene. And kind eyes that still held a devious spark. I’d literally run into Colton Donavan.

  I groaned and pressed a hand to my mouth. “We did. I’m so sorry. There was an issue—”

  “I heard.” His low chuckle was comforting and I let out a relieved breath. “It’s fine. Are you okay?” He nodded over our shoulders to the entrance, indicating the incident with the reporters.

  I balked and dipped my chin, remembering where I was and who I was standing next to. “Yes. Sorry. That tends to happen a lot.”

  Colton laughed. “I can imagine.” And then, with a quieter voice, added, “I’ve had my fair share of bad press.”

  Vaguely, I remembered some mentions of pictures or a video that had leaked with him and his wife, but it was so many years ago, the scandal had been expertly topped, I was sure, by one Kardashian or another.

  “Honestly, I’d take no press over bad press,” I admitted wryly, accepting the flute of champagne he pulled from the tray of a passing waiter with a soft thank you.

  “Unfortunately, Miss Snyder, people like you and me rarely get that option.”

  I glanced at him as we continued to wander leisurely through the crowd. “You mean drivers?”

  His face scrunched momentarily before he shook his head. “Not quite.” His focus drifted as he spoke to an elderly couple we passed by before he returned to my question. “I’ve found, Miss Snyder—”

  “You can call me Kacey,” I broke in.

  He smiled and countered with an amused twinkle in his gaze, “I heard they call you Ace.”

  “On the track. Sometimes,” I confirmed. “You can call me that, too, if you’d rather.”

  I didn’t care if he called me Pippi Longstocking as long as he was giving us that engine.

  He laughed and shook his head, and it made me feel like I missed something, but before I could ask, he continued, “So, Kacey, what I’ve learned in my years dealing with things and people like that is that it’s not interesting when good people do good things. Just like it’s not really interesting when bad people do bad things.”

  He paused again to smile and kiss the cheek of a thin, elderly woman dripping with diamonds.

  “Those things are expected. Common,” he continued to me. “But people like us… good people who do wrong things… questionable things... we are fascinating—fascinating because we’re harder to understand. And people who are hard to understand always have the best damn stories.”

  His eyes twinkled as he pulled away from me, and I found the words slipping from my lips before I could stop them. “Is that why you gave us—me an engine?”

  This time, his head tipped back as a full laugh echoed through the room, making the atmosphere even more lively and welcoming for being so formal.

  “I’d say it’s why I’ve been watching your career,” he replied, setting his empty glass on a nearby cocktail table. “I’d say it’s why I was going to reach out to you after Daytona if Voigt hadn’t signed you first.”

  I sucked in a breath. Me.

  Colton Donavan wanted me to race for him.

  I didn’t have time to dwell, only to wash down my shock with another large gulp of champagne as he continued, “I didn’t feel right taking you from the man’s last season—his last brickyard race.”

  In the early nineteen-hundreds, the Indianapolis Speedway had been paved completely with bricks, earning it the name ‘the Brickyard.’ Since then, it was repaved with asphalt, but a one-yard strip of brick was kept at the finish line.

 
“But I can’t say it’s why I gave you the engine. Hell, I didn’t even know you had an engine problem until about one a.m. last night.” My eyes narrowed. One a.m.? “Don’t get me wrong.” He bent ever so slightly toward me with a conspiratorial look in his eyes. “From one Ace to another, you deserve to be in that race more than most of the grid.” One Ace to another? “That’s why I gave you the engine—because you’re a damn good driver. But I’d be lying if it wasn’t also because I got something in return.”

  “Of course.” I waded through the mass of compliments and locked onto the fact that he was paid or compensated in some way. “It’s such an expensive and important part. Of course—I’m glad you were—”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Colton broke in, looking at me with a curious expression I didn’t quite understand.

  “No. Renner didn’t tell me anything.” And it was really starting to annoy me.

  Colton shook his head and I swore I heard him mutter something about a damn idiot but with the crowd, it was hard to hear. “If you don’t know the details, Kacey. I have to say I doubt Voigt does either.”

  How would Voigt not know? It was his car. His team. His decision.

  I was left stunned as he stepped away from me and pulled a gorgeous woman into his arms, kissing her on the mouth and pulling her to him like he didn’t give a shit about the room full of people—she was the only important one.

  “Kacey.” He turned, holding the woman possessively against him. “This is my wife, Rylee. Rylee, this is Kacey Snyder.”

  The warmest, most unique violet eyes beamed at me as Rylee greeted me as though we were the oldest of friends. Her rich brown hair was swept up in a classic chignon and she wore an elegant floor-length black dress

  Meanwhile, the racing legend watched her with the kind of rapt fascination I’d only ever seen on one man’s face before.

  A grumpy mechanic.

  When he looked at me.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” I murmured as she pulled back from the immediate hug she’d given me.

  “Oh, please. Call me Rylee.” She squeezed my arm. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m such a huge fan.”

  “Fan?” I blinked. “Of me?”

  “She’s a big fan of Aces,” Colton replied with a wide smile and a hint of a chuckle.

  Her laugh was gentle as she linked her arms with mine. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal you away from my husband,” she teased, winking lovingly at him as she pulled me with her.

  “What did he mean?”

  Shaking her head, she explained, “When I first met Colton, I nicknamed him Ace—Arrogant. Conceited. Egomaniac.” She ticked off each characteristic by tapping on my arm, a wry smile lighting her face. “Now, Ace is an endearment, so please don’t take it as an insult. In fact, our youngest son is named Ace. But sometimes, relationships are like a firecracker. You have to survive the first explosion of hate before you get to the beautiful, colorful, world-lighting love.”

  My heart lurched, and my body must have too since Rylee looked at me with a keen eye.

  I smiled, struggling to find words when my mind was on someone else—who was somewhere else—somewhere I wanted to be.

  “I know what you mean.”

  I did dislike Garret. Explosively. For a good portion of the time I’d known him.

  But the more I thought about it, what I really hated was the change he brought about in me.

  Most people don’t like change. My dream was to drive around in a circle two hundred times, so maybe I was at the end of the change-averse spectrum.

  It was my only dream.

  And Garret, from the very start, he’d incited me to defend it. To push for it. To define it.

  And when I had to do those things… when I had to look past what seemed like a simple task—say like driving in a circle two hundred times—I had to see the complexities of how everything came together. The car. The track. The engine. The team. The driver. The engineer. And suddenly my dream wasn’t so simple anymore because it wasn’t my only dream; it was just the first gear I’d limited my life to.

  “I thought you might.”

  I blushed. “What gave it away?”

  “Well, I’m quite familiar with that look. Plus, Colton might’ve mentioned, oh just a thousand times, that this engine was going to be the start of his dream team.”

  I paused. “Dream team?”

  She placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m getting ahead of myself. You’re an excellent driver”—she put a hand up as though telling me a secret— “maybe even better than the original A.C.E., but don’t tell him that. Anyway, you’re something special, Kacey. An overcomer. Our team likes those—and likes to support those. So, I wouldn’t be surprised if you see an invitation to drive for us in the near future.”

  “Oh.” I sighed. “Yes, he may have mentioned something about that. Sorry, you said team and I was confused.”

  “It’s no problem,” she assured me. “I should’ve said driver. I guess he already secured his chief mechanic, so you’d be the last piece.”

  As quickly as relief settled over me, it was frozen out by cold concern.

  “Mechanic?”

  She smiled and greeted a group of women, answering me while she looked and waved to them. “Yes. The one who was here last night about your engine. Gallagher. Colton was like a little boy on Christmas this morning. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that name over the years, wishing… wanting… to have him working for the team.”

  Pain ripped a new path through my chest.

  My feet stopped moving—an improvement over their usual habit of tripping over themselves and causing disaster. Probably because the disaster was all internal.

  “Excuse me, Rylee,” I begged, a shadow of a smile all I could manage as I left her side and searched for her husband.

  Searched for answers.

  Why would he do this? What did he even do?

  From my head shaking and my rapid pace, strands of hair slipped out from where I’d pulled it back in a not-so-classy ponytail. Brushing them away, I felt the distinct damp trace of tears on my cheeks.

  Shit.

  “Mr. Don—Colton,” I called his name, my distress making him turn immediately.

  “Kacey. Is everything okay? Is it the press?” His face hardened.

  “What did he promise you?” I demanded, blowing right by his concern. “What did Garret give you in exchange for the engine?”

  “Shit.” He huffed. “I’m not supposed—how did you find out?” He searched my eyes. “My lovely wife.” Clearly, he hadn’t passed along the memo not to mention this little fact to me. Why would he need to?

  “What. Did. He. Give. You?” I clipped out, drawing a few curious stares at my harsh tone.

  With a brief acquiescing nod, he pulled me to the side of the room where we could speak in relative privacy.

  “I don’t have to tell you this,” he began. “I shouldn’t tell you this. It’s not official or announced—hell, it’s not anything except a damn engine for your car at the moment but—”

  “Please,” I begged quietly, my lip trembling.

  He exhaled slowly, painfully. “He insisted he wanted to be the one to tell you—I’m assuming at the right time. But… damn. Alright, I’m going to tell you two things—two facts, and you’re not going to leave before you hear both.”

  I nodded, feeling like a child being scolded by a parent.

  “First, yes, Gallagher agreed to come work for my team in exchange for the damn engine,” he ground out. “But second—and more important—I didn’t ask for it.” My heart stopped. “Hell, sometimes, I’m pretty fucking dumb, you’re welcome to confirm with my wife, but I can tell you with complete honestly that I wasn’t dumb enough to ask that from him after what happened to his brother.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  Garret signing away more of his life to this world when he was so close to escaping it. All for one engine. For a sin
gle day. For me.

  “He offered, Kacey. And another thing, Garret Gallagher is a pretty easy man to read when it comes to what’s important to him, and I can tell you, it seemed like he’d already gotten over the hurdle of coming back to this world—seemed like being back in the game was important to him.” He paused. “Or maybe it was being back in the game with you.”

  My gaze narrowed. “How long?”

  Colton’s jaw tightened and he coughed slightly. “Three years.”

  There was a sonic boom, but as I looked around the room, it seemed like I was the only one who heard it.

  Three years.

  Garret had promised three years of his life to Donavan—to racing.

  I told him I wouldn’t ask him to come back to this world for me. So the damn fool had gone and offered himself.

  “Kacey?”

  Donavan’s face swam in front of me. His voice was muffled like I was sitting under several feet of water.

  Clarity returned when he reached out and gave my shoulder a gentle shake.

  “Love makes us do crazy things,” he told me, and I saw Rylee joined his side and was looking at me with worry.

  I nodded, pulling my lower lip between my teeth.

  Sending up a silent apology to Renner for breaking my promise to behave, I looked at the couple—people I admired and hoped I wouldn’t offend too much in the next minute—and blurted out, “I’m sorry. Thank you so much for inviting me, but I have to go.”

  I didn’t wait nor did I try to distinguish anything they might’ve said above the noise from the crowd. Digging in my purse, I reached for my phone and prayed there were still taxis pulling up and dropping people off as I pushed back through the front doors and into the rainy night.

  I held my stupid small black purse over my head, the damn thing not even useful enough to shield me from the steady stream of fat raindrops let alone hold anything of use inside it.

  It took a second for the reporters to catch on that I was essentially fleeing the event, but by the time they did, I was already diving into the back seat of a cab that had just let off another couple and closed the door behind me.

  “Where to, miss?”