Flaming Crimes

by Chrys Fey

  “Who said Donovan would win?” a deep voice asked.

  Donovan turned to see his friends Smith and Gordon approaching. Smith’s usual Mohawk was flat against his scalp. He had on a blue fire suit. Gordan’s thick beard touched the collar of his white and black fire suit. Both men were grinning from ear to ear.

  Donovan clapped their hands, and Beth hugged them.

  “You better not be dreaming about my trophy, Goldwyn,” Smith said.

  “Ha! You boys are going to be choking on my fumes,” Gordan claimed.

  Donovan smiled. “Ah, friendly competition. Why don’t you guys make sure you brought your trucks and not your grandmother’s cars?”

  “Whatever, man.”

  “We’ll see who’s laughing when I leave ya’ll in the dust.”

  Donovan chuckled as his friends left. Horsing around with Smith and Gordon before any competition, big or small, had become a ritual.

  He turned back to Beth as a group of girls circled him, blocking her.

  “Hey, Donovan.” They giggled as they pressed closer. The smell of five different perfumes filled his nose, nauseating him. “Can we get your autograph?”

  He signed pictures of himself and passed them back. The final girl flung her blonde hair over her shoulder and pushed out her breasts. “Can you sign me?” Her voice oozed seduction.

  If he were younger, single, and foolish, he would’ve signed the woman’s breasts and included his phone number, but he wasn’t that reckless boy anymore. His eyes didn’t even lower to her low-cut T-shirt. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t do that.”

  She pouted with lips that shone from too much gloss. “Then my arm?” She stuck out her arm.

  Sighing, mouth set, he took her wrist with two fingers and signed her forearm.

  “Thanks.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

  The five girls left, giggling up a storm.

  Grimacing, he looked at Beth. Her eyes were locked on the girls as they left.

  “Sorry about that.” He wrapped his arms around her waist.

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize. I’ve gotten used to women drooling after you at the grocery store, but this is your arena. You’re a star here. I’m just going to have to get used to women throwing their goodies at you.”

  He shifted uncomfortably.

  She took the side of his fire suit in her hands and looked up into his face. “I trust you, Donovan.”

  “Thanks.” He pressed his lips to hers.

  Mitch stepped up them. “It’s almost time.”

  Donovan nodded, and Beth zipped his suit up the rest of the way. After she snapped the collar into place, he reached behind her neck to undo the necklace she wore. He took off his wedding ring and slide it onto the chain. He closed the clasp and draped the necklace over her head so the ring rested over her heart. Before every competition, he did this. It wasn’t good to have metal against your skin in case of a fire, and he liked knowing Beth would hold his promise until he could put it back on his finger.

  She handed him his gloves. He slipped his hands in one at a time.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late.” Thorn came up to them.

  Thorn was a good friend of theirs. He had their back when they went to San Francisco searching for Buck, one of Donovan’s brother’s killers, and came to their rescue in Oahu after the tsunami. If it weren’t for him, Donovan wouldn’t have known Beth was alive, had been kidnapped, and waited for him to find her.

  “Thanks for making it,” Donovan said.

  “I wouldn’t have missed this.” He slung his arm around Beth. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Beth nudged him in his side. “Maybe later, boyfriend.” She sent Donovan a teasing smile.

  Ever since Thorn came into their lives, he never failed to flirt with Beth and push Donovan’s buttons. He knew they were close but would never be as close as Beth and Donovan were. Because he knew that, their antics no longer bothered him. Much.

  “Just don’t get her drunk,” Donovan said and climbed into his truck.

  Beth stepped onto the rail and leaned in through the opening. She waited for him to buckle the harness into place. She tugged on it as became her custom since the first time she attended one of his competitions. Satisfied he was secure, she lay her hands on either side of his face. “Good luck and be safe.” She kissed him, deepening it with a bit of tongue.

  “Mm. That’ll definitely bring me luck,” he said and winked.

  When Beth hopped down, he shut the door and placed his helmet on his head. Through the shield that protected his eyes, he saw Thorn escorting Beth to the first row where they’d watch the competition.

  Mitch gave him a thumbs-up.

  Donovan drove out onto the track to his place next to his competitor. He was in the first race. If he won, he’d move onto the second round to face the driver who won the next race. He’d do this again and again until he was eliminated, or won the tournament.

  He couldn’t hear the cheers over the rumble of his engine, but a glance at the stands showed rows and rows of people with their fists and beers in the air. He peered back at the track. His hands clutched the steering wheel with a death grip. The truck beside him revved its engine, an intimidation factor, but he paid it no mind. He tuned out the other truck and zeroed in on the stretch of brown dirt in front of him. Nothing could disturb his laser concentration.

  When the flag was waved, he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. His truck lifted off the two front tires and dropped down. Side by side, Donovan moved up a wide ramp, big enough to fit two trucks. He launched into the air first. He kept his eyes on the ground as it came back up. He landed smooth, but his competitor didn’t. The other truck swerved and smacked into Donovan’s bumper. He ground his teeth and fought to control his truck. When he straightened his wheels, he made a sharp turn, lifting off two tires. Then he shot forward, leaving his competitor in his dust. He made the second lap easily and crossed the finish line with the other truck half a lap back.

  The next race was between Smith and another driver known as Flame, because he had set fire to four trucks in past competitions. Donovan watched the race, rooting for his friend, and was glad when Smith won. The cheering for his friend ended there, because they were up against each other now. He took his place next to Smith’s truck, which was fashioned to look like the American Flag. He turned his head and nodded at his friend. Smith nodded back. Although they were competitors, they were buds. They could race each other, root for each other, lose against each other, and have beers together while watching a game.

  Donovan shot forward with Smith keeping pace with him. Even when they made their first jump, they were head to head. After the first lap, Donovan knew he’d have to do something to get ahead of Smith. He whipped around a turn, sending up a wave of dirt. His back tires fishtailed, but he controlled it and flattened the gas pedal to the floor. The nose of his truck inched past Smith’s bumper. When they leapt off the ramp, he got so much air that he rose higher than Smith’s truck. He landed a full-truck’s length ahead. With his sights on the finish line, Smith gained on him. The bumper of Smith’s truck was a foot from Donovan’s when they crossed the finish line.

  Two more races took place with Donovan competing against the winner of both. The last side-by-side race before the finale was between Gordan and a first-timer. The arena was split. Half of the fans rooted for the rookie, and the other half rooted for the veteran. Donovan watched Gordan gain the lead in the first lap. For the final jump, something went wrong, though. His truck tipped too far, bringing the nose of the truck toward the ground. Donovan stood as the front of Gordan’s truck clipped the ground, tearing off a piece of it. Donovan stared wide-eyed as the truck tipped onto two wheels, rolled onto its back, smoothly got back onto its tires, and continued as though nothing had happened. He cheered with the crowd when Gordan won by a foot.

  When Gordan returned to where all the trucks were, Donovan tackled him. “Shit, man, that was a sweet save.”
r />   Gordan laughed. “Thanks, but friendship aside, I’m gonna crush you.”

  Donovan shook his head. “All talk.”

  He went to the bathroom while his truck was refueled and more air was put into the tires. On his way back, he heard an official announcing the final race for the trophy would be between two veteran racers and crowd favorites.

  “Donovan Goldwyn driving Venom, the undefeated champ so far in this tournament, and his rival, but good friend, Gordan Morris driving Bone Crusher.”

  The cheers shook the stands.

  Donovan climbed back into his seat, put on his five-point harness, and drove onto the field next to Gordan. He gave Gordan a thumbs-up before shutting down everything except his connection to his truck. The flag lowered, and his truck flew off the starting line. He fought with Gordan over the lead. As soon as he got a foot out front, Gordan would take it back and vice versa. Gordan had a head on him when they roared up the ramp, but when they landed, he had gained two more feet.

  Shit. Donovan’s grip tightened. He pushed his truck to go faster, faster, faster. Around a turn and another turn back to the ramp. He knew how Gordan drove, knew he always took his foot off the gas pedal when he was in the air and put it back on after he landed. It was the reason why he was able to save himself after rolling earlier. But Donovan didn’t take his foot off. He didn’t even keep it steady as he normally did. No, he put the pedal to the floor, so when he landed, his tires rotated furiously and shot him forward. He passed Gordan. He didn’t let up around the turns but kept the pedal to the metal. The final stretch of dirt lay before him. He aimed for it with Gordan behind him and shredded the finish line with his tires.

  Excitement blazed through him. He imagined he could hear the crowd roaring. He took his foot off the gas pedal to slow the truck, but the truck didn’t slow. Frowning, he pushed on the brake. Nothing. He firmly pushed his foot into the brake, a move that would’ve caused a quick, uncomfortable stop, but the truck continued at its fast speed.

  What the hell is going on?

  He forced the wheel to the left, away from Gordan’s truck and the stands ahead. He moved around the arena as he pumped the brake. His truck wasn’t even registering the brake was being touched. It was as if the brakes were disengaged, broken. He kicked both of his feet into the pedal, driving it into the floor with enough force to snap the plastic. And yet the truck kept going.

  The wheel jerked in his hands. What the fuck? He wrestled with the steering wheel as it turned on its own. Eyeing the ramp ahead, he tried yanking the wheel, but it was locked in place.

  He felt the truck pick up speed.

  Impossible.

  The gauge on the speedometer moved to dangerous speeds. At this speed, the outcome would be bad. Very, very bad. He had to stop his truck.

  He flicked up the first kill switch that should’ve deactivated his truck, but nothing happened. He jiggled it up and down. Still nothing. He reached for the second kill switch as his truck zoomed up the ramp. Same thing. He flipped the third and last kill switch and looked up in time for his truck to boost into the air. The height he reached was unimaginable. Just by the feel of how long it took his truck to rise, he knew it was an insane height. Then his truck started to fall, and with such a long way to go, he knew what would happen. His truck tipped.

  The ground rushed up to him. He let go of the steering wheel and crossed his arms over his chest. His fingers curled around the straps of his harness. His truck was in a nose dive when it collided into the ground. Crunching metal echoed in his ears. His breath was punched from his chest. The force of the hit sent his body forward, but the harness snapped him back into the seat. A grunt flew from his lips. In the next second, the truck dropped backward onto the hood. The sound of the engine roaring filled his ears, although his foot was off the gas and he had toggled all three kill switches.

  After a moment, his truck died, and he knew it was because the official with the kill radio had shut off his truck. Reaching up, he unlatched the head strap. He was about to release the shoulder harness when he heard yelling. He turned his head to see Beth being restrained by a security guard a few yards away. “That’s my husband,” she shouted.

  Beside her, Thorn lifted his badge. “I’d let go of her if I were you.”

  The security guard freed Beth, and she joined Mitch and the paramedics rushing toward him. He hit the button to release his harness and fell to the roof of his truck. Mitch tore aside the plastic covering the empty window. Donovan started to back out of it head-first. Hands gripped him beneath his shoulders and pulled him out the rest of the way.

  “You should’ve let us stabilize your neck first,” he heard a medic say.

  He shook his head as he shoved himself into a sitting position, with his back against his truck. “I’m fine,” he panted. He ripped the helmet off at the same time Beth slid next to him.

  “Oh my God, Donovan.” She cradled his face in her hands. “Are you hurt?” Fear reflected in her eyes.

  He took a deep breath. “I’m good. I’m good.” He wasn’t sure why he said it twice, but his body vibrated on its own accord. He couldn’t control it. What happened had shaken him so much his limbs were shivering.

  “What kind of stunt were you trying to pull, Goldwyn?” Mitch asked.

  “It wasn’t a stunt,” he said, with his voice shaking. “The brakes didn’t work. The kill switches didn’t work. The steering wheel moved on its own, and the truck picked up speed. I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

  The paramedics helped him to his feet. With Beth on one side and Mitch on the other, he walked off the track. The crowd cheered, and he waved to reassure him he was okay. What they didn’t know was that with each step he took, his legs wanted to give out. He collapsed onto the stretcher and lay down so the medics could wheel him into the ambulance. Beth climbed in after him. She smoothed his hair from his sweaty forehead.

  “I’ll follow in my car,” Thorn said.

  Donovan nodded.

  At the hospital, he had a full-body scan and X-rays done. None of the scans showed breaks or fractures. He was sore, but he figured that was all he’d have to endure. He was lucky. If his harness hadn’t held, if the engine had ejected into his seat, if his legs had been trapped, he could’ve suffered terrible injuries, or died.

  Back in his fire suit, he sat on the edge of the hospital bed as he waited for permission to leave. Mitch was there and so was Thorn. Both men had their arms crossed as they listened to Donovan go over everything again.

  “I’m telling you it was like my truck was possessed.” He met Thorn’s eye. “As if someone else was controlling it.”

  Thorn’s frown deepened. “Weren’t you with your truck the whole night?”

  Donovan shook his head. “No. Just before the last race, I left to go to the bathroom, but Mitch was there.” He looked to his manager.

  Mitch lifted his hands. “I was talking to an official before the last race. I didn’t even know you left.”

  “So, someone had the chance to fuck with my truck and nearly get me killed.”

  Thorn uncrossed his arms and grabbed his cell phone. “I’m going to investigate this with a few of my men, find out if foul play had anything to do with it. Your truck is being held under guard for inspection, but I’ll have it brought in to the department for criminal investigation. Whether someone tampered with it or not, we’re treating it as though someone did.”

  “Thanks,” Donovan said.

  Thorn left, followed by Mitch. The only one who remained was Beth, who had been silent since they arrived. He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

  She looked at him with tired eyes. The fear she felt earlier hadn’t entirely vanished. He was about to apologize again when she wrapped her arms about his neck and held onto him. He curled his arms around her. Her body rocked against him. His throat tightened; she was crying. He rubbed her back, hoping to soothe her.

  “I’m sorry, Beth. I’m okay. I�
�m okay. I’m okay.” He repeated that as she sobbed.

  Several minutes later, she eased back and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

  “Why would someone do this?”

  “I don’t know.” He touched her swollen lips with his. “But our Superhero Detective will figure it out.”

  “I’ll tell Thorn you called him that.”

  Donovan managed a small laugh. “Don’t.”

  “Oh, I think I will.” She offered him a weak smile. “No one mentioned it but…you won the race. Congratulations.”

  He cupped her face with his hands and gave her a long kiss that had her leaning into him. “Thanks,” he whispered into her mouth.

  Chapter Seven

  Beth’s churning stomach woke her up from a sound sleep. She sat up in bed and placed her hand on her stomach. It gurgled beneath her palm. Her insides danced, her mouth filled with saliva, and her heart rate elevated. She hurried to the bathroom, dropped to her knees, and flung open the toilet’s lid as the first wave hit her. The contents of her stomach flowed into the bowl, splashing unpleasantly. Her throat burned with acid. She couldn’t breathe. Her stomach heaved several times, not giving her a break. When it finally settled, she sucked in a breath. Her eyes watered. She sat on the cold tile, shivering as she spit the vile taste from her mouth and made sure her stomach wouldn’t revolt.

  At the sink, she rinsed out her mouth and took a sip of water to soothe her throat. Her face and neck felt on fire. She wet a small towel and patted her skin. Her limbs shook, and she lowered back onto the tile by the door. The last time she had gotten sick to her stomach she was in college and had the stomach flu. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with something. With an investigation on Donovan’s truck happening, she couldn’t afford to be sick. What if it was malicious? She had to be well to be there for Donovan.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Beth, are you okay? I heard you…”

  She grimaced. That was exactly what you wanted your lover to hear…you hurling your guts out into the porcelain throne.

  “I’m fine.” She reached up and opened the door.