by Brooke May
Wolf in sheep’s clothing?
Yes, yes, I’m a complete wolf.
Settling on a pair of worn and holey blue jeans with my black boots and a t-shirt that shows off my not only well-earned muscles but several of my tattoos as well, I deem myself ready to go.
What?
Don’t look at me that way. Have you seen the woman? She’s covered in them! Every time she’s seen me, my long sleeves have made it extremely hard to see all my ink.
Yes, I know, I’m trying to gain her attention further by proving I’m not a wimp.
Besides, most of my ink is on my arms and upper body.
What do I have? I guess I could tell you. Starting with my right arm, I have a massive conglomerate of gears and chains on my shoulder, tire tracks wrapping three times around my upper arm, and probably one of my favorite pieces is the shock on my forearm. It looks like it is coming out of my skin, as if my bone is a shock.
On my left, I have a sexy as fuck pinup moto chick. She’s dressed in a teddy to resemble the protective gear moto racers wear and leaning against a bike. My forearm is a checkered flag pattern with a replica of my former helmet on it. Of course, flames are blazing around it, along with the words Grip it and Rip it.
My back has two massive pieces, and that’s it. A steampunk skull takes up the center while my former number, 1131, spans from one shoulder to the other in big gothic font.
Last is my chest. Again, I have only two pieces thus far. Spreading across my collarbone is Keep it Twisted. My last piece is the one most sentimental to me. It’s the front of Jax’s former bike, like it is racing out of my chest with flame wings around it, and his number strapped to the front.
See? I told you I carry my guilt with me.
And there you have it. I would love to get more ink, but I don’t have anything I’m passionate enough about yet to add to my canvas.
NOW!
Back to my exciting meeting.
Making my way through rush-hour traffic riles me a bit but is faster than I thought. I arrive at Liberty Park and quickly find a space big enough to park my truck. Not wasting any time, I get my arse to the lake.
My shaded eyes glance in every direction for the dark goddess on my way to the pond. I haven’t been to this park in a while, but I still have a feel for where everything is. And motherfucking ducks are still everywhere.
Yes, I have an irrational fear of the feathered fowls, and I’m not ashamed of it. I had a bad experience as a child, thanks to my uncle, and I’ve carried it with me into my adult life. As long as I don’t have to get super close to them, I’ll be okay.
Several adults stand with children and feed the devils with bills. I can’t seem to wrap my head around this being a place Paige would go to or meet someone at. It deludes my fantasy of her a touch.
I’m almost halfway around the pond when I spot her, and I’m stunned to a complete mind fuck state as I watch her. She is standing near the water’s edge, feeding ducks with a young girl next to her. Her back is to me, but I can pick out that arse and tattooed leg anywhere.
Paige is in cut offs—ones that look homemade rather than store bought—and I approve. Her ever-present black is worn in the form of her tank top, and her long black locks are pulled through the back of a baseball cap.
All this looks semi normal for someone to do, but what throws me is the young girl with her. She is dressed almost exactly like Paige; longer shorts and a red and white stripped floaty shirt thing girls wear with a cap to match her top.
Paige is handing food over to the girl to toss to the birds. Am I seeing a side to a woman who comes off as not having a soft side?
Yes, I believe I am.
The woman is an enigma, one I’m starting to desperately want to figure out. I take a hesitant step toward them, trying not to cause any of the fowls to spook and fly off. I really don’t care for the woman to see me cry on our what …third, no fourth, meeting.
I cringe when I step on a twig and it snaps, alerting not only the ladies before me but also some of the devils they are feeding.
Paige’s head whips around, causing her hair to fly over both shoulders and slap her on the face before it falls next to her neck. I’m mesmerized by her pure beauty. There isn’t a drop of dark makeup around her eyes today, and her seemingly trademark red lips are also missing.
Yep, this is a different side.
And I like what I see just as much as I like seeing the badarse.
“Oz.” Her smooth chin jets up a touch while her eyes wander my face down to my exposed arms. They widen the briefest of seconds before the greens of her eyes flash back up to my face.
“Hello, Paige.” I take the last few steps toward them and stop within a couple of feet. I smile down at the young girl. If I had to guess, I would say she is possibly eight or nine. Dark brown wavy hair, old world eyes, and a face full of freckles. “Hello.” I extend my hand to her, trying to remember I can’t be scary to a kid. “I’m Axle.”
Her lips purse, making me wonder what her connection is to Paige because I’m positive Paige has given me the same look. “Taylor.” She takes my hand, shakes it, and then turns back to feed more ducks.
“She’s my little sister.” My attention turns back to Paige. She is standing closer to me now while handing the bag of food over to Taylor.
Nasty attitude, sexy body, awesome career, and a potential heart of gold; who is this woman?
“That’s … sweet of you to take in a child like that.” Smiling, I look down at her, and I’m slightly freaked out. Paige is smiling up at me, and it’s creepy.
Remember in Addams Family Values when Wednesday smiled? Yeah, that freaky as fuck smile that made you cringe? That’s how Paige is smiling at me—as if she isn’t used to working her facial muscles to do the simple action of lifting the corners of her mouth into a full smile.
“Tell me about yourself, Oz.” The smile stays and distracts me from her prod into my life. “Come on.” She nudges, jerking me into a coherent state. “Family? Why the career? What brought you to the States?”
“Two parents and a younger sister. I like numbers, and it is a relatively safe career to be in to make a living.”
“But it doesn’t make you happy.” Her soul-searching eyes see far more than they should. Sure, I’m surly most of the time and really do hate my job, but I keep it to myself for the most part.
“It helps me earn an income.”
“If you kept racing, you could have earned more.” She looks out at the pond, baffling me with her statement. I know I told her I used to race, but how does she know I didn’t just do it on the side?
“It could.” My eyes pinch as I watch her carefully. “That’s in the past now.”
She shakes her head. Paige is much shorter than I am; I’m close to a foot taller than she is, making it difficult to see her face under the bill of her cap. “I know about you. I’ve heard your name in the past.”
It’s true. Years ago, I was getting big in Australia. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised how many pros and amateurs know my name, especially because of the—
“Park and I were just starting out when the wreck happened.” She tilts her head up to me, her lips tight and screwed up to one side. “It was a sad day for both of you. I thought you were stronger than that.”
Sounds fade away, colors dim and change into a black and white painting as I feel the pull of the past, and like falling into the hole to Wonderland, I’m sucked in.
I look around at all the people who have gathered to watch this, watch me as I make the move from just being an amateur to becoming a pro. I’ve got this shit. My bike is in top form, I’m in top form, and I’m ready to blast my competition out of the bloody water.
Cracking my neck, I pull my goggles over my eyes and make sure my fresh tear ways are firmly in place before I put my gloves on.
The brap of another bike pulls up next to me, and I nod over to my American friend, Jax Hunt. He’s been over here with a friend of his, Levi Crowe, racing
in the Australian circuit for the past few months. We’ve become great friends, even though we race against one another.
“Ready to eat shit, Ryan?” he calls over to me just as I rev my own bike.
“You’re the one who will be licking my tires.” I laugh back at him. Sure, every sport has their douchebags, but Jax isn’t one of them.
We talked as we walked over the track an hour ago. He was telling me about the American tracks and how next season I should come over and give their racing a try. I couldn’t decline that, especially if I land some big sponsors today.
“Whatever you say, man.” He laughs, returning his focus to the track. I do the same, feeling the familiar tension mounting before the race begins. Every cell in my being vibrates with excitement like my bike does. The smell around me is intoxicating as the soft dirt is still settling around us from the riders pulling up to the gates.
I start the countdown in my head as if they were heartbeats. The rubber of my grips squeaks under the pressure when I grab them. I keep my right leg down as I put my left up to haul my arse out of the gates when they drop.
This is my race; I can feel it in my soul.
The gates drop, and we race into the first turn, all wanting to get the coveted hole shot. Not surprisingly, it is Jax and me in the lead, going toe to toe in the corners, up the hills, and in the muddy straight before we cross the finish line for our first lap.
I battle against Jax and a couple of others for the lead in each lap until I’m taken off balance by a rider getting by me.
The rider who is not Jax.
He is unsteady as the pyramid his front end wobbling with his inexperience in a race of this caliber.
I try and fail to get by him; his maneuvering around the track is rocky. We round the first corner after we cross the start to head into the last lap. I know full well Jax is somewhere close behind me.
The rider falters, nearly taking himself and me out in the hairpin, but he manages to right himself and gets over the logs with no problem. He continues like that, casing me and stopping my advances on him with inexperience. Up the hills and back down them, the amateur stays out front, pissing me the fuck off.
Finally, I see an opportunity to pass him in the straightaway before we enter the second to last turn. When we enter the whoops, he pulls a squid—newbie move—by faltering across the expanse of the track just as I’m passing him.
His front tires slide between my front fender and the rest of my bike, crashing me and stopping the race for me. My arse end lifts from the ground, not only taking me but him and his bike as well.
Everything happens so quickly, the revs of engines, the squealing brakes of bikes, the gut-wrenching sound of metal crashing into metal stacking up above and around me until the air horn wails, calling the race to a complete stop.
A suffocating pressure builds in my chest in the minutes it takes to get bikes and riders removed. Never in my career have I been in a wreck this monumental.
I’m pulled out by two guys and just shaking my thoughts back straight when a bloodcurdling scream and cry rips through the now silenced track.
My head flies around to find the same guys who helped me nowhelping Jax out. Massive blotches of red color his blue and green gear as the guys pull him from under his bike. Most of it has accumulated around his legs.
God, no. No, don’t do this. Don’t—
“Hey!” Red-tipped fingers snap in my face, causing me to flinch and exit the nightmare I was reliving. Jax lost his ability to walk after that day. And I lost my drive to race again. I packed up and moved to the States with him. Feeling responsible, I’ve been by his side with his parents through surgeries, attempts at therapy, and as his friend, I will forever do anything I can to make it up to him.
“HEY!” Paige’s Wednesday Addams smile is gone and back in its place is the darker look I’ve grown to yearn. “Where the hell did you go?”
Clearing my throat and trying to moisten it from the dryness taken hold of my tongue, I shake my head. “Nowhere.” I look over, finding Taylor not paying any attention to us. I don’t want to discuss my past. “What got you and Parker into racing?”
Shrugging her shoulders, she slides her hands into the back pockets of her painted-on shorts. “An outlet, I guess. We were good at it, and it made us money. What better way to make a living? Get paid to do something you kick ass at. As long as we stay on our game, we’ll never have to worry …” She looks up at me, stopping her little monologue. “You can’t let one bad wreck dictate your life.”
I ignore the jab at my own fuck up. I want to get to know this woman, I don’t want to let my temper take hold and scare her off. But with the way Paige looks, it will take a lot to lose my temper.
“Is that why you need an accountant for your company? To make sure you never need to worry about money?”
With a pensive look, she nods. “Yeah, the last one was a jackass who got greedy and didn’t think two motor heads would notice him taking the money. Stupid fuckhead.”
“You two seem smarter than just two simple motor heads.”
“We are.” The answer is short and clipped with disinterest.
“Did your parents encourage you two to race?”
I watch her bristle. See every fiber of muscle tense in her body. “What do your parents have to say about you being all the way over here? A whole day behind them?” She looks back up at me, and I swear I see a flash of vulnerability in her eyes.
“They deal.” I brush it off. “Do your folks not like the idea of their daughter driving a powerful machine? Or getting dirty?”
“You are very tenacious, aren’t you?” Her glare turns icy, but I keep pushing.
“Maybe it’s the folds of you in magazines they don’t care for?”
“Seriously?” She shoves me. “Fuck off. I was trying to be nice since you did me a favor by getting me off the other night, but I guess you’re one of those guys who think I owe you something now.”
Holy fuck, what did I say?
“Taylor, come on. I need to get you home.” Taylor, who hasn’t been paying any attention to us, doesn’t question Paige as she turns around and skips past me to follow a steaming Paige.
“Wait!” My longer legs eat up the ground she is creating between us. “I’m sorry.”
Wow, a first!
I’ve never apologized before.
Her lip curls into a snarl. “Fuck. Off.”
She grabs Taylor’s hand ,and they are gone, but not out of my line of sight. The woman stirs far more emotions in me than I care to elaborate on. I’m bewildered by her sudden change in behavior, but my dick grows, turning to steel as I watch her climb into a purple car.
Not just any car either. It’s a purple, open hood, 1970 Cuda with a hemi.
The woman has great taste.
Chapter Eleven
Not text one goddamn text from Paige in three days. She hasn’t said a word to me. Nothing further has been discussed about the Bartin twins using Havre and Bell for accounting and my co-workers continue to dwindle.
It’s Friday, and my job has remained, for Monday to be decided for me. I’ve reverted to my bitter attitude, especially when Megan started coming back around. She couldn’t handle a week away.
A. Single. Fucking. Week. Apart.
I’ll give her credit; she’s been cool about what went down last week. Claiming that we are only friends, Megan has kept her distance from my bedroom but has hung out with me and the guys twice so far this week.
I can handle that.
But there are no promises if she starts to play girlfriend again.
“You should come with us tonight.” I’m sitting at the breakfast bar, already nursing a beer when Jax wheels down the hallway, pulling a shirt on.
“Why?” I don’t even try to tilt my head as I down the rest of my beer. I don’t feel like moving.
Jax never gave up on the life he loved. He went from racing in motocross to promoting it through Double X, one of the top sponsors
in the motocross world. His boss loves him so much he gave Jax a quad to ride around the races in when he is working.
Tonight, his company is having a huge bonfire out on Millcreek Canyon Road. He’s invited all of us—Levi, Megan, and myself. It is a massive party for riders, employees, friends, and fans of Double X and their riders.
“Come on, buddy.” He slaps me on the back because he can’t reach any higher. “It will be a blast. Jim is bringing in some trophy girls. Hell, I heard even some models were planning on coming.”
That’s just what I need; another woman to add to my troubling week.
“It wouldn’t be the same without you.” He sighs, and the distinguished squeak of his tires on the hardwood indicates his departure.
The beer in my bottle moves smoothly as I roll my wrist.
What else could I do tonight?
Sure, I could play something on one of the many gaming consoles we have, but what fun is it to play a game by myself?
“Fine.” Standing, I down the rest of my beer before dropping it into the waste bin and reluctantly go after Jax. “I’ll come.”
“Yes!” Jax thrusts a fist into the air. “Then let’s get going. Bangin’ Wagon is leaving. We still need to pick up the others.”
Grabbing my worn Fox hat, I pull it low over my eyes and follow him out. When I got home from work, I had changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a tank with the intent of going to work out. I never got that far. Once I opened the refrigerator to grab my water bottle and saw the beer sitting there, I grabbed one instead and stayed.
I’m not worried about changing for the party. And I really don’t give a shit. I’m going to get shitfaced, not rub elbows with anyone. I opt for the backseat, allowing me to have an open container.
And no, it isn’t legal, but after the fucktastic week I’ve had, I don’t give a shit. Jax wisely says nothing when he takes off in the direction of Levi’s place and then Megan’s.
“Is that what you are seriously wearing?” Lifting the bill of my cap, I find the annoyed glare of Megan. She’s dressed up as if she is going to gain male attention.