by Parker, Ali
I could smell Ginny’s perfume as she poked her head between Benji and me. “It’s been six months since she left him, right? Maybe he’s finally in the right headspace to get back behind the wheel.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Benji? You see him the most. How’s he been?” Ginny asked.
Benji shrugged one shoulder as we turned down to one of the lower roads that led down to the docks. I craned my neck to peer down the winding hill. Shipping containers and dark ocean were on my right side as we went beneath an overpass and emerged in an open area filled with cars and people. My stomach rolled with excitement as Benji drove up to a spot with a banner labeled “Drivers.” He put the car in park and looked at me and Ginny. “He’s as good as can be expected. If I were you, I wouldn’t ask him about it. The fact that he’s showing up tonight is enough for me to believe he’s finally got his shit together. Rick was the one who talked him into it, and his own brother wouldn’t push him into this if he didn’t think he was ready.”
I double-checked my lipstick in the mirror as Ginny and Benji got out of the car. Poor Mason. I’d only seen him a few times after his breakup with Evelyn. If one could call it a breakup. It was more of an explosive, dramatic, heart-wrenching disaster. The first time I saw him was a week and a half later when Benji brought him back to his place after finding him shitfaced at a bar. He’d been so drunk that by the time Benji got him down on the couch, he had passed out right away.
The two times after that had been much the same, except he was conscious and angry. Very angry.
For as long as I’d known Mason, which was a good ten years or so, I’d heard rumors that he was a scary dude. I never believed them because what I saw of him was good. He had a big heart and strong morals. He stood up for what was right and fought hard for the people he cared about—like my brother and his own brother, Rick.
When people told me stories about him, I always thought they were lying or exaggerating. I knew stories of fights he’d been in and the damage he’d inflicted on other men. I knew scary people who were afraid of him.
I realized how wrong I’d been when I saw him angry and drunk those times after Evelyn had left him. It was enough to fill me with nauseating fear. Benji and Rick had both had to hold him down once when he went off. None of them knew what triggered it, but we were out having a couple of drinks when he tried to start a fight with a bunch of bikers who looked like the sort who would wipe the pavement with him. Mason didn’t care. He wanted the pain.
If not for Benji and Rick, that night would have gone very, very badly. They managed to subdue Mason and get him out of the bar. Then, naturally, Mason wanted to fight them. And he did. It was bloody and terrible and one of the worst memories I had.
But I still trusted him.
It was weird. But not crazy. Rick and Benji still trusted him too. They didn’t fear him. They understood him, and I was pretty sure I did too.
His heart had been broken by the one person he’d ever let his guard down around. He was angry. Betrayed. Destroyed.
I was happy to hear that things were looking up for him.
I got out of the car and followed Benji and Ginny over to the registration booth. There were too many people crowded around for me to see the end of the line, but Benji was a seasoned pro at this. He knew where to stand and wait.
As Ginny and I stood with him, we looked around. More people were arriving by the second. The hum of running engines filled our ears as those who weren’t racing popped open their hoods to display the masterpieces beneath. Women walked around in skimpy outfits—legitimate ones, not just crop tops and pants—and flashed sexy smiles at the drivers.
The rain really started to fall after standing in line for fifteen minutes or so. I ran my fingers through my thick brown hair to slick it back. I’d taken the time to straighten it, and now the rain would just make it wavy again.
I stretched up to the tips of my toes to peer down the line to the registration table. I couldn’t make out any familiar faces, and I was hoping to see Mason somewhere in the crowd.
“He’s not here yet,” Benji said.
I glanced up at him.
“Mason,” Benji clarified. “He’s not here.”
“Oh. I wasn’t looking for him. I was just—”
“Uh-huh,” Benji said, giving me that brotherly I-don’t-believe-you sigh. He nodded his head at Ginny. “Why don’t the two of you take a lap and check out the scene. Maybe you’ll recognize some people. I’ll be here a while.”
I looked at Ginny. “Do you want to wander?”
She grinned. “Hell yes.”
I took her by the hand and waved at Benji as we slipped away through the scantily clad taut bodies. We broke free from the crowd around the registration area and decided to work our way over to where the race would start. I always liked to scope out the starting line before all the cars were there.
A line had been painted on the black asphalt with red spray paint. There was a red flag draped over the back of a chair to the side of the track, and I knew it would be mine to use when the time came. Men and women had already gathered around the edges of the road to secure the perfect spot to watch the race start and end. The cars would leave from this point and circle back, making their way along the marked track up and over the overpass and through the route that had been planned by Harley. She had an in with the police department and knew what streets would be cop-free and when to keep our little racing ring on the down-low. Of course, police still caught wind of the races and would bust us every now and then, but we were usually able to get away.
Butterflies took flight in my stomach. It had been too long since I was at one of these. I was looking forward to seeing the cars and who was racing. The drivers always determined how thrilling a race would be.
If Mason really was coming tonight, it would be a spectacle and a half. The people on the sidelines had no idea how real their night was about to get.
Ginny and I turned to make our way down a line of cars with popped hoods. I stopped beside a purple Skyline and was about to talk to the driver when I caught sight of a man who made my skin crawl.
Sid Paul. The rat of the underground racing scene.
He was standing three cars down from me and Ginny. There was a smirk on his thin lips as he stroked his stubble-lined jaw and laughed about something with the driver, who was a young thin guy who looked more than a little nervous. Anyone would be nervous talking to Sid. He was a slimy, mean cheat who would do anything to win—including but not limited to trying to kill you. He wasn’t opposed to horribly maiming you either. He had a rough record with the police and had been to prison on charges of assault, illegal racing, and theft.
I swallowed and grabbed Ginny by the hand. “Come on. I don’t want that guy to see me.”
“Which guy?” she asked as I tugged her along behind me.
“The one by the blue car. With the earrings and the tattoos. He’s bad news, Gin. If he ever comes around you, go the other way. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, sounding a little unsure as she stumbled along behind me.
If Mason was coming to this thing tonight, he wouldn’t be happy to run into Sid. He wouldn’t be happy at all.
Chapter 3
Mason
“Holy fuck,” I murmured as Rick drove us beneath the overpass and to the clearing where all the drivers and members of the underground scene were gathered.
There was a shit ton of people. At least two hundred and fifty. This was way bigger than what I’d expected, and a bit of anxiety started chewing at my insides.
Rick slowed to a crawl as we drove through the swarm of bodies. People got out of our way for the most part, and I was glad the Fastback had blacked-out windows. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be recognized yet.
Eyes were drawn to the green car like moths to a flame. People stopped and pointed, and Rick revved the engine a bit.
“Knock that shit off,” I said.
“What? I’m just giving th
em a show.”
“I don’t want to tip anyone off as to what’s under our hood. Slow and steady.”
Rick grumbled about how I was no fun at all, but I didn’t care. He found a spot to park and turned off the engine. He tossed me the keys, and I slid them into my pocket. “What’s the plan?”
I craned around and looked out the back window. We had driven past the registration table where I knew Harley would be collecting information from all the drivers. “I’m going to go register. You stay with the car. Like I said, I don’t want anyone knowing what’s under her hood. That’s only for us to know.”
“It’s better to be underestimated than overestimated, right?” Rick winked.
I chuckled. “You’re catching on.”
Rick got out of the car. People were already gathering around the Mustang and wanting to ask questions. Rick directed their attention to him, saying he was the owner, and I heard him turning down requests to see under the hood as I slid out of the passenger side and ducked through the crowd to make my way to the registration table.
I cut in front of a young kid who shot me a dirty look but didn’t say anything. There were perks to looking the way I did.
I only had to wait a couple minutes before I stepped up to the table. A beautiful woman was sitting there alone with her head down as she filled out the last bits of information from the previous driver. Her hair was red. Not a natural red or a fire engine red, but a deep almost purple sort of red. It was long and thick and hung in a curtain in front of her face as her hand moved frantically from side to side as she wrote.
“Next,” she said, not bothering to look up.
“That’s all I get? ‘Next’?”
Harley looked up with a smile curling her mouth. “Well, I’ll be damned. Mason Thomas. You panty-soaking bastard.” She got to her feet and walked around the table to wrap her arms around me. Her rather large breasts crushed against my chest, and when we parted, she kissed my cheek. “How have you been?”
“I’m good. You look great.”
“I’d better,” she said, putting a hand on her hip and batting her lashes at me. “This body takes a lot of work.”
“I can only imagine,” I said. Harley was a beautiful woman. She was the sort of woman men couldn’t keep their eyes off of when she walked into a room. Her features were fierce, her eyes calculating and intelligent, and she had a mouth on her that would curl any Girl Next Door’s hair.
“If you’re ever looking for someone to keep you company at night, you have my number,” she purred as she dragged her finger down my chest.
I caught her wrist and flashed her a seductive smile of my own. “I think we both know that would be a bad idea.”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged. Then she walked around the table and took her seat. “You’re here to race, not flirt with me, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What are you driving?”
“A ‘67 Mustang Fastback.”
Her eyebrows lifted as she looked up at me. “And you plan on winning tonight?”
“I’m not here to lose.”
“The other cars are faster, Mason. We’ve got Skylines and RSs all souped to shit. I can pull strings, but I can’t help you win a race if you’re driving an old box.”
I chuckled. “Just write it down, Harley.”
She clicked her tongue at me. “That confidence. Always such a turn-on.” She picked up a yellow badge from beside her with the number seventeen on it. “Good luck out there, Mason.”
“Thanks.”
As I turned to leave, she called out to me, and I looked back at her. She winked. “It’s good to see you back. Put it all out there, won’t you?”
“You know who you’re talking to, right?”
She smirked and disappeared from my view as the next driver stepped up to register.
I cut through the crowd and drew eyes as I went. People were recognizing me and bowing their heads together in whispers they probably thought I couldn't hear.
“Holy shit. Is that Mason Thomas?”
“Who’s Mason Thomas?”
“That’s the guy who won The Streets five years in a row. The one with the beef with Mark Denning.”
“Hey, look. That’s Mason Thomas!”
“He’s the one who married Evelyn Thomas.”
“He’s the Street King.”
I kept my attention straight ahead and ignored the attention. When I made it back to my car, Rick was there with another guy. They shook hands and bumped shoulders as I came around the hood. It was Benji, my best friend, and he threw an arm around my shoulders.
“Mason! Shit, man, it’s good to see you. A little weird to be back, huh?”
“A little bit,” I said, jabbing him in the ribs with my elbow to get him to release me.
He grunted and rubbed at his side as his arm fell from my shoulders. “You register already?”
“Yes.”
“Did Harley try to put her moves on you?”
“Of course she did,” I said.
Benji scowled. “What I wouldn’t give to have that woman look at me the way she looks at you. It’s bullshit, man.”
Rick raked his fingers through his wet, blond hair. The rain was picking up. “Harley would eat you up for breakfast, Benji. Be realistic. She’s a serpent. You’re a mouse.”
“Get bent, Rick.”
My brother laughed and nodded at me. “Bump into anyone you know out there besides Harley?”
“No,” I said.
“Maybe we lucked out. Maybe Mark and Sid aren’t here tonight.”
“I don’t think we’re that lucky,” I said. “They’ll be here.”
Benji scratched the back of his neck. “I was hoping they wouldn’t be. I’m not keen on racing against them tonight.”
“You’re driving tonight?” I asked.
My friend nodded. “Yeah. Got a souped-up coupe parked just over there. I’d have a shot of placing high if Mark and Sid don’t show.”
“The night is still young,” Rick said.
Two young women burst free of the crowd as we discussed Benji’s chances of finishing the race in the top five. I recognized the beautiful brunette immediately. Laina, Benji’s sister, skidded to a stop beside the car and swept her mane of dark wet hair over her shoulder. She smiled at Rick in greeting, and then her big blue eyes slid over to meet mine.
“Mason,” she breathed, “it’s good to see you.”
She closed the distance between us in two strides and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I hugged her back and caught Benji eyeing me. I was mindful of where I put my hands on her back. Not too low. Although that ass of hers looked phenomenal in her leather leggings.
She pulled away and nodded at the girl beside her. “This is my best friend Ginny. I think you guys met a while back at some of the old races.”
“I remember,” I said. “Nice to see you, Ginny.”
“You too,” she said. Her cheeks were bright pink. She was a cute little package with short brown hair, fair skin, and more freckles than a man could count. She looked everywhere but at me as I turned to Laina.
Laina Harris. Damn. I’d never seen her looking like this before. The last time I saw her, she was wearing blue jeans and tennis shoes. Now she was dressed like a vixen with heeled boots and a crop top that showed off a lean stomach and a bit of perky cleavage.
“Hey, Mason,” Benji said, “stop checking out my sister.”
I laughed. So did Laina. The sound of her giggles was like water bubbling out of a fountain. Youthful and free. She slapped her brother’s arm. “Leave him alone, Benji. I’m the flag girl. I’m here to be ogled, aren’t I?”
“Flag girl?” I asked.
Laina nodded and put her hands on her hips. “Yep. What do you think? Do I look the part?”
“Definitely.” I nodded.
Benji sighed. “He’s going to start drooling soon, Laina. Knock that shit out. Do your jacket up.”
Laina stuck her tong
ue out at her brother and then flashed me a sexy smile.
When had Benji’s little sister become such a babe?
Chapter 4
Laina
There was something about the way Mason looked at me that had me getting wetter by the second—and it wasn’t from the rain. His electric blue eyes lingered at my hips and tits and at the bare strip of skin between my crop top and leggings.
I didn’t want to cover myself up. I wanted him to look. I was shocked by how much I wanted him to look. Had my brother not been there, I might have taken my jacket off and fallen into his arms and begged him to fuck me in the back seat of his car. The windows were tinted. It would be fine. Right?
I shook my head.
Get a grip, Laina. You’re not that kind of girl. You’re the kind of girl a man takes home to his family. The kind of girl who makes soup on Sundays and prefers jeans over dresses.
But Mason was a whole other level of sexy.
His blue eyes were just the start. He had sharp, square, masculine features and the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow forming along his jaw and neck. His hair was short and blond and slicked back off his forehead from the rain. A bead of water formed at the tip of his nose and fell as if in slow motion to the pavement.
I watched him as he chatted with my brother and Rick. They were laughing. I couldn’t look away from his Adam’s apple or his mouth. Good lord. What was wrong with me? I’d seen him plenty of times before, but I’d never been drawn to him like this. This was… madness.
A loud whistle cut through the crowd. Mason fell silent and turned, putting his back to me, as everyone faced the direction of registration. Harriott Cross, known as Harley by the drivers, was standing on top of her table with her hands cupped to her mouth. She announced that it was quarter to midnight and drivers should be bringing their cars to their starting places.
Mason shrugged out of his jacket, and I had a hard time keeping from drooling as I stared at his back.
His shoulders were broad, and his waist tapered in but not dramatically so. His shirt was navy blue and thin enough to show every rippling muscle beneath the fabric as he moved. His shoulder blades were prominent, and I let my gaze wander down his arms, which were thick with muscle and lined with veins that disappeared beneath the sleeves of his shirt.