Dirt Driven (Racing on the Edge Book 11)

by Shey Stahl

  I was fucking pissed and I knew Rager probably felt the same.

  Kinsley and I both jumped to our feet in the stands. My view of Rager’s car was obscured by the track safety crew pulling up to his car. I couldn’t breathe waiting to see if they could get him out. Anger shot through me immediately. I also couldn’t fucking believe Easton did that.

  Once out of the car, Rager refused the ride in the ambulance and stood in the middle of the track. My heart was in my throat, beating about a million miles an hour with him standing so close to moving cars.

  Don’t get hit by a car. Please, do not get hit by a car!

  “What the fuck is he doing?” I yelled, throwing my hands up in the air as I watch Easton’s car approaching. Fans around us began cheering when he did that, probably excited to see some emotion on the track. That was one thing fans loved. Crashes and fights.

  “This won’t go over well,” Kinsley noted at the same time Rager threw his helmet at Easton’s car when he drove by. His helmet bounced off the wing and onto the track where he picked it up. Fifteen minutes later, the race was finished. Caden won leaving him four points ahead of Rager in the run for the championship. All because of Easton. A driver who had no business even racing here tonight.

  Kinsley rushed down to the track to celebrate with Caden and I headed back to the pits to deal with Rager.

  “That sucked,” Lane grumbled, staring at his car as they brought it in on the tow truck.

  Rager paced the space in front of the hauler, hands in his hair and cursing under his breath.

  “Are you okay?” I attempted to reach out to Rager, touch him, remind him I was here for him, but he wasn’t having it and side-stepped me when he noticed Easton pulling into the pits, four other cars following behind him, a cloud of dirt kicking up in the wake.

  Rager at least waited for him to remove himself from the car before he was in his face.

  Naturally, that was all the time Easton had. Uncle Spencer surfaced from the hauler, his hands on Easton’s chest. “Don’t do anything stupid, E.”

  Easton looked past Uncle Spencer and smirked, his eyes on mine. “I wo—”

  “You better have a good goddamn reason as to why you pulled that shit out there!” Rager shouted at him, shoving him back against his car.

  “That’s enough, you two,” Uncle Spencer urged, his eyes darting between the two of them, and then to my dad who stood beside me. “Are you going to do something?”

  Dad grinned. “Nope.”

  Uncle Spencer sighed, keeping himself positioned next to Easton. “Nice, Jameson.”

  “What’s the matter with you?” Easton asked, catching himself against the side of his car. “It’s just racing.”

  “I don’t fucking think so.” Rager shoved him again. “You wrecked me. That wasn’t racing. You did that shit on purpose and you fucking know it.” Rager wasn’t in the mood, his voice sharp. I could tell from the beginning when he got in Easton’s face and towered over him that tonight he wouldn’t back down. “You got a problem with me? Say it to my fucking face.”

  “I do.” Easton straightened his posture, his jaw clenching in what I only assumed was anger for being pushed twice now. “You drive like an asshole out there with little regard for anyone else around you. That shit wouldn’t fly at any professional level.”

  Rager laughed. “Last time I checked, I get paid to race. Maybe not NASCAR money, but you can be goddamn sure I can still outrace you any day.”

  Easton chuckled, eyeing Rager’s car. “Yeah, looks like it.”

  “You hit me, asshole. Looks to me like you’re the one with little regard for anyone else around you.”

  Dad handed me a beer, his racing suit pulled down around his waist, his hat on backward. “I don’t feel like stopping them. I know it’s the moral thing to do, but I’m getting too old for this shit.” Then he raised his own beer to his lips, smiling mischievously, his loops of wavy hair peeking out from under the hat. “Fifty says Rager knocks his teeth out.”

  I shouldn’t bet on this. I’m the PR rep for JAR Racing, which means I’ll have to answer to the media for what’s about to take place. It didn’t stop Casten from betting though. God no. Why would it.

  “I don’t know.” Casten eyed the two of them. “I think E can handle his own. Rager might be taller but E, he’s a backyard brawler.” Casten waited about a minute, then withdrew his money and pocketing the twenty-dollar bill he had. “On second thought, I’m not betting against Rager. That was a douche bag move out there. I hope he breaks his jaw.”

  Dad nodded. “Right? What the fuck was that?”

  Axel surfaced, a beer in his hand. “No way Easton stands a chance against Rager.”

  Great. My entire family is betting on this.

  Rager has always had a temper. Despite being married and a father now, if pushed enough, it would come out in all its raging glory… like now. He shoved Easton against the side of his car, again, and this time Easton’s head snapped back against the top wing. “What’s the matter, nothing to fucking say now?”

  Dad propped his arm on my shoulder, leaning into me when Uncle Spencer started yelling at him. “Should I stop them?”

  “Probably.” I downed my beer. All of it. Seeing how I was still breast feeding, I shouldn’t be drinking. But I chugged the motherfucker and then threw the can at the back of my husband’s head. Naturally, I missed and it hit the dirt like a girl threw it.

  Dad looked at the can, then me. “You throw like a girl.”

  “Shut up. You’re the team owner. Stop them.”

  “Nah.” And then he laughed. My dad laughed in my face and shook his head, his cheeks red from the heat of the night. “I want to see him hit Easton. It’d make my night actually.”

  It’d make mine too. With my back pressed against the hauler, I could see Rager’s face in the glimmer of the pit lights. A few fans in the pits noticed the altercation and stopped to watch, pointing and talking amongst themselves. Even took pictures, and though I knew I’d have to explain this later, I didn’t stop them.

  I tried to get a good look at Easton to see if he was serious about this, but I couldn’t because he was wearing sunglasses. At night. He really hadn’t changed much.

  “That’s entertaining.” Rager smirked, taunting, and reached for Easton, but he took a step back. “You think because you’re a NASCAR driver you can come here and take me out?”

  Easton relaxed against his car, shrugging. “It’s not my fault you got in the way.”

  That was the worst thing he could have said to him right then. The worst!

  Rager raised his hands and gave Easton another hard shove. “Is that so, Hollywood?”

  “Hollywood.” Dad laughed beside me and tipped his beer toward them, nudging Casten in the ribs. “Now that’s funny.”

  I think Rager knew he could only shove Easton a few times before he reacted. And he did. He swung at Rager and missed. Rager got the first hit in, a heavy blow that connected with Easton’s jaw and then another knocking those stupid fucking sunglasses off his face. He certainly wasn’t wasting any time, was he?

  I tried to think back to the last time these two had any interaction together and I could only remember when I was married to Easton and they were constantly at it. Maybe this had something to do with it. Easton would always hold a grudge against Rager because in his mind, Easton thought Rager stole me from him.

  In Rager’s mind, I was never Easton’s to begin with. In all honesty, I side with Rager. Especially finding out Easton has a five-year-old son. Which meant the kid was born while we were still married. Conceived well before he asked for a divorce.

  Regardless, the intensity of the next few moments were breathtaking.

  I’d seen Rager in a handful of fights over the years, but this seemed… different. It went back to the history between them.

  They collided and fell to the ground, wrestling around in the dirt, still in their driving suits, taking swings.

  Spencer groane
d, trying to stop them and then started yelling at Dad. “Do something, Jameson.”

  Dad rolled his eyes. “What am I going to do? They’re grown men. Let them fight.”

  Rager’s swings came quick and with a force I never imagined he was capable of. I’d been on the receiving end of his passionate strength, but never the angry strength being fueled by rage and pent-up emotion he’d obviously had buried for Easton until now.

  There was something more here than Easton taking him out in the race. Each blow confirmed that this was something else entirely. And Easton, he was trying to prove he was something to consider still, though he was married and had a son.

  To outsiders, this altercation would have appeared to be total chaos of men battling for dominance when, in reality, Rager exerted complete control over every hit. He wasn’t going to let Easton walk away without getting the vengeance that was rightfully his to recover after that race.

  I could hear the officials making their way over and about thirty fans surrounding us, all taking pictures and videos. Jessie, who had been in Easton’s hauler, was screaming for them to stop, and at me. My dad, Axel and Casten were watching, tossing money back and forth with Tommy and there I was, stunned stupid at what was happening.

  I could imagine the headlines. Outlaw vs. NASCAR.

  “Rager, stop!” I shouted, but between the rush of my blood and my pounding heart, it sounded like a whisper. I looked to my dad, still shaking his head. He was drunk, but I thought he knew if we didn’t step in soon, something bad was going to happen.

  Rager’s head turned when he heard me, the back of his hand sweeping over his busted mouth, and easily pulled away from Easton who had gotten a hold of the front of his racing suit.

  They exchanged a look. I couldn’t see Rager’s eyes in the darkness of night, but I could see Easton’s, and he was backing down, spitting blood and in obvious pain.

  Easton then smiled, holding up his palms to Rager, Spencer, and two track officials separating them. Easton reached down to retrieve his sunglasses in the dirt but Rager kicked them away from him.

  You could see the torment in Rager’s eyes—he didn’t want to stop. I knew then he didn’t think Easton had paid enough.

  When he turned around to face me, his face was red, his mouth and hands bleeding, eyes swollen with a busted lip. Blood drenched the front of his suit but his eyes, oh God, those eyes. They asked so many fucking questions I didn’t know what to say to him.

  With a renewed sense of urgency, and a feeling of testosterone-laden accomplishment, Rager twisted around to Easton, after stepping on his sunglasses and gruffly said, “You mess with me or her again, and I’ll shove those fuckin’ sunglasses down your goddamn throat.”

  Rager reached for me next, his hands on my waist, pulling me into him, his breathing heavy and intense as he attempted to control himself. His eyes met mine as his face twisted into a tight grimace of pain and regret. His head shook, giving me a look I didn’t understand.

  I didn’t know what to say, or do, so I stood there, my hands at my sides. I swallowed, feeling as if I was trying to swallow sand.

  His eyes searched mine. “You mad?”

  Was I? I didn’t even know. Honestly, I was kind of turned on by it.

  “No, she’s not,” Casten answered for me, handing Rager a beer. He took it and held it at his side, keeping one hand on my hip.

  Finally reacting, I kicked Casten’s shin. “Go away.” And then I stared at my husband some more. The thing was, I wasn’t mad. Rager had every right to be mad at what Easton pulled on the track. Though I’d have some explaining to do in the morning for him, I certainly wasn’t mad at him.

  Reaching up with my free hand, I gently touched my fingers to his bloody lip. “Was that about the wreck or me?”

  Rager’s jaw clenched, then relaxed, his eyes narrowing. “You think I didn’t notice the way he was staring at you all night? I saw him approach you earlier.”

  My voice trembled around the words, “He wasn’t staring at me.” But it was a lie. Every time I walked by tonight, Easton’s eyes lingered.

  He looked at me with dark eyes, his breathing heavy, his anger slowing. “He was,” he pointed out, his breathing beginning to even out but the grip on my hips tightened as his chest made contact with mine. The cool metal of the hauler caused me to jump slightly in his arms. “He knows he fucked up letting you go.” His dominating stare moved from mine to my lips, then back to my eyes. “He’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m going to let him stare at you in front of me.”

  “Is that why you hit him?”

  Rager laughed, but his eyes told me it wasn’t from amusement. “What do you think?”

  “No. You hit him because he wrecked you….”

  He shook his head, stepping back with a heavy sigh. “I hit him because he looked at you. I kept going because he wrecked me.” Sighing, he pushed his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “It’s bullshit. We have to be in Tulare tomorrow night. I was leading the points, but now we have a six-hour drive ahead of us and I have a bent fuckin’ car.”

  Like I said, Rager had every right to be mad at what happened out there tonight. And he was right, we had to be in Tulare tomorrow for a two-night show and it would take hours to fix what was broken on the car.

  Behind my back, inside our hauler, Lane, Willie and Dave were in there frantically trying to load up and get going, yet here we were, lost in a moment together.

  Rager shifted his stance, his brows drawn together in what seemed like confusion when he noticed my stare over his shoulder at Easton walking away. “Don’t tell me you were having second thoughts about him.”

  Did Easton knock him in the head a little too hard? What a fucker for asking that.

  What did I do?

  I actually smacked his face. Not hard. Playfully. Like a love tap. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why would you ask that?”

  It must have hurt when I hit his cheek though because he pushed me up against the hauler gently and grabbed my wrists, trapping my arms at my sides. “Don’t hit me.”

  “Well, don’t ask stupid shit.”

  We stared at one another, neither one of us wanting to back down, but then he cracked a smile. “How about we try out the pit bleachers before we leave?”

  I made a face. “No. Last time we did that I ended up in the ER getting a sliver the size of a nail out of my ass.”

  “No, it was actually a nail. Don’t you remember? You had to get a tetanus shot.”

  I laughed and finally he freed my wrists. “No wonder it hurt so bad.” Wrapping my arms around his neck, I brought our bodies together again. “Rager, you know I married you for a reason and had your babies. I love you, not him.”

  He nodded but his mouth was suddenly busy against my neck. “I know.” And he did, but it didn’t stop the man inside him from needing a reminder every once in a while.

  Dad made his way over to us. “I wonder if I can order Riley-Harris Racing to fix this shit?” Dad flicked his hand to Rager’s junked car. “His fucking driver did it. I bet I could get away with that, couldn’t I?”

  “Technically, you’re still partial owner in Riley-Harris Racing,” I pointed out. “When you think about it, Mom owns a quarter of the company, so….”

  Dad’s eyes lit up. “I knew I did that for a reason.”

  “That’s not in the contract,” Spencer yelled from Easton’s pit.

  “Bullshit it isn’t,” Dad argued, walking over to him.

  He left and once again I was alone with Rager, who hadn’t really stopped kissing my neck. He seemed determined to let me know who I belonged to. I definitely wasn’t doing it in the bleachers again, but there was a reason we had a locking door on our bedroom in the motor coach.

  I pushed against his shoulders before it became too obvious what we were doing over here. Hell, there were still fans taking pictures for Christ’s sake.

  “Come on, dude. Let’s get you some attention.”

  “Let me
help the guys load this hunk of junk and I’ll meet you back at the motor home.” Rager never let the crew guys do all the work. He wasn’t the kind of driver who showed up to race and that was all. He was all hands on, no matter what it was.

  Smiling, I nodded. “Okay, and then we’ll pick up the kids from my mom.” Our eyes met and I hoped he picked up on my plan.

  “Good idea.” He turned, and then twisted back around, kissed me once more and said, “I’ll meet you back there.”

  Reaching for my phone in my back pocket, I looked down at it as I made my way toward the parking lot. I had a hundred different messages all asking what was going on in the pits tonight, but I chose to ignore them for now.

  Easton caught up to me, his bag in his hand and dressed in street clothes again. “Can I talk to you?”

  “No.” I snorted, disgusted with him. God, the nerve of this fucking guy never ceases to amaze me. “Not after you pulled that shit.”

  “Arie, please.” His hand grasped mine, trying to stop me. “Just wait.”

  Stopping, I turned around, my eyes snapping to his hold on my hand. Wiggling my hand loose, I backed up, my arms crossed over my chest. “What? What the fuck do you even want? Was this all some kind of stunt to you? He was leading the points and you took him out for the night. You could have hurt him.”

  He couldn’t keep the agony off his face, and the blood and swollen face only made him look even more pathetic. “I did wrong by you, for a long time. And I don’t know that I ever apologized.”

  Oh, Jesus. Really dude? Anger shot through my body in an instant. “It doesn’t change anything. The past is the past.”

  His eyes searched mine in the darkness.

  I fought back laughter and the instinct to face palm myself. “Did you think it would?”

  “No.”

  Liar. “Easton.” I shifted my weight, my hand on my hip as I watched the haulers filing out of the pits. “If I told you that I still loved you, what would you do?”

  He cleared his throat, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. “Do you?”

  “I love you in the sense that you gave me the strength to know when a relationship isn’t what it should be, you move on.”