#Junkie (GearShark #1)

by Cambria Hebert

  Drew stayed where he was.

  We both did, huddled beneath the hood, bent low, bodies pressed close as we stared down at the engine. I wasn’t thinking about the engine, though.

  I wondered if he was.

  I blinked, dragging out the action just a little longer than necessary, leaving my eyes shut a fraction longer than normal.

  It was an innocent touch.

  Friends touched all the time. Drew and I had never been the type of friends who respected each other’s personal space, so brushing arms was hardly anything new.

  But this felt different.

  It felt intentional. Like the kind that was at first accidental just because of the tight space we occupied…

  And then it wasn’t.

  And then it was just an excuse to stay this close, an excuse to feel the tension in the air and silently suffer in it.

  I don’t know why, but I wanted to test the theory. Even though I pretended to still be working on the car, I really wasn’t. All I could focus on was the way it felt to have him so close. The way it felt wrong and good at the same time.

  I turned slightly, angling my arm back just a fraction. Just enough that we weren’t in contact anymore.

  “You got it?” he asked, his body following mine.

  I glanced over. He was still focused down on the car.

  Was I imagining this? Was I standing here on the shoulder of a mountain road in the blistery cold air, completely losing my mind?

  Drew sensed whatever I was going through and turned toward me. Just as our eyes were about to connect, the flashlight in his hand went out.

  Darkness cloaked everything, including the answer I’d hoped to find in his stare.

  “Damn app,” he swore and straightened to fumble with the phone and click it back on.

  The darkness jolted me. I went back to working on the car. Drew leaned in again, but not as close as before.

  We worked in silence for a few minutes until we were sure everything was good to go for the drive back to his place.

  “You gonna tell me what’s up with you?” Drew asked as I pulled my hand back to inspect it for oil.

  “Huh?” I looked up from wiping my palm on the side of my jeans.

  He made a rude noise and slammed the hood of the car back into place. “Something’s up with you—”

  “I—”

  Drew held up his hand to cut me off. “You were quiet all night. Then you drove like a man with some pent-up aggression on the way out here.”

  He meant earlier, not just now.

  “You drive like that on a daily basis.” I pointed out.

  “That’s different.” He grunted.

  “How?”

  “Don’t try and turn this around on me.” He shoved a hand through his hair, making it stand up in odd places. “I know you.”

  “Then you know if I don’t want to talk about it, I won’t.” My tone was final.

  “So there is something.”

  A familiar sound in the distance made us both pause.

  “What the fuck?” Drew muttered and swung around. We both stared at the bend as the sound of a car’s engine came closer, waiting for it to appear.

  “Got some muscle under the hood,” Drew murmured, his head cocked as he listened, eyes still trained on the curve.

  “I’ve never seen any other drivers out this way,” I added.

  Headlights came into sight before the car, stretching around the curve, lighting the road like some kind of red carpet. My back muscles bunched with tension like my body was preparing itself for some kind of confrontation.

  A black car slid around the corner and slowed.

  Even though Drew gave no indication of surprise, I knew he was.

  And I was immediately on guard.

  All my instincts were screaming. We’d been followed.

  The Camaro from the speedway jerked to a stop on the other side of my Mustang. Part of it was sticking out onto the road because the shoulder wasn’t big enough for all three cars.

  The guy hadn’t even stepped out yet; I hadn’t even laid eyes on his face.

  But I didn’t like him.

  The door swung open and a dude stepped out.

  Instantly, I understood why.

  Drew

  No fucking way.

  I would have known.

  There was no way in hell this cocky bastard was the one I raced tonight at the speedway.

  But it was the same black Camaro with the same tinted windows.

  “What the fuck are you doing all the way out here?” Trent snarled from behind me.

  Lorhaven was an award-winning asshole, and I trusted him as much as I loved opera (which was not at all), but there was something about this guy that totally rubbed Trent the wrong way.

  No one ever rubbed Trent the wrong way; he usually got along with everyone.

  Not Lorhaven.

  Trent disliked this guy from the second we heard his name whispered among the local indie racers. When they met face to face, his dislike only intensified.

  “You took off so fast I didn’t get the chance to congratulate you on your driving tonight,” Lorhaven remarked and smiled. It was a fake smile. The kind a wolf would give a sheep to try and prove it wasn’t about to become his dinner.

  I stared at him levelly, taking in his faded jeans, white T-shirt, and army-style green coat. Had it been him behind the wheel tonight? It seemed that’s what he wanted me to think…

  I scrutinized the outline of his head, the nearly buzzed haircut, and tried to tell if it matched what I could make out earlier behind the tinted windows at the track. I couldn’t be sure… Shit, it’s not like I ever looked at the guy hard enough to know the shape of his damn head.

  Besides… “I thought you weren’t welcome at the raceway,” I replied.

  According to all the regulars there, Lorhaven used to dominate in every race. Not only was he a good driver, but he had a fat bank account to modify his cars with the top parts—a luxury most people in this town didn’t have.

  He’d probably still be dominating if he hadn’t gotten caught betting illegally on the side. And of course, once he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar, everyone started questioning if all those wins beneath his tires were honest.

  Honor was almost as big in the racing world as winning.

  Cheating and stacking the odds in your favor was a total buster move. Hell, a driver could be the dirtiest on the road, but as long as he was honest about it, no one said shit. But the second you started being sleazy and cheating to cross the finish line first, it was game over.

  He’d gotten banned from the raceway shortly after, the illegal betting the official reason he was off the asphalt. Unofficially? He was out on his ass because he was a lying bastard.

  “Who said I was there?” he asked innocently.

  Trent bristled beside me, but I was the one who spoke. “That’s a nice car.” I gestured to the Camaro with my chin. “Looked especially sweet in my rearview.”

  “Wait ‘til you see it from behind. Looks even better.”

  “If you’re driving, that’s a sight we’ll never see,” Trent remarked.

  Lorhaven’s midnight stare snapped to Trent. Arrogance and challenge shone in his face. “Yeah? I’d like to see you win against me.”

  Trent drew himself up to his full height and crossed solid arms over his chest. The waves of dislike he emitted were intense. I never really thought of Trent as an intimidating guy, usually because he was too quiet, too laidback. Too quick to smile.

  But damn.

  He wasn’t smiling now. The way he seemed to glower down at Lorhaven made one wonder if the guy ever cracked his lips in joy.

  Trent wasn’t a small guy. He was tall, bulky, and wide. Playing college football for the past four years honed his body, and his physical strength could only be matched by other athletes.

  Lorhaven and I were drivers. Racing was a definite sport. Yet racing required more skill than strength. In
fact, being a little on the lighter side was an advantage. Less weight in the car.

  In short, if I were Lorhaven and Trent was staring me down with his wide pythons on display, even under the coverage of his coat, I wouldn’t be so quick to act like I could kick his ass.

  “Name your time and place,” Trent intoned. He was serious, too. He’d get behind the wheel right now, and he’d regret it.

  I’d regret it.

  As much as it chapped my ass to admit it, Lorhaven would win.

  Before they could go too far and either set a date for a race or start throwing punches, I stepped forward, slightly in front of Trent. Hopefully, he’d get the memo to stop being an idiot and shut up.

  “You aren’t here to congratulate me. You and I both know it. What do you want?”

  Trent and Lorhaven glared at each other another long, silent moment before Lorhaven shifted his eyes away. He gestured at his car and the passenger door popped open.

  “You’re wrong,” Lorhaven said as a man came around the Camaro. “I did want to congratulate you. You should enjoy that win. You won’t be getting many more of them at the speedway.”

  I decided to bypass his posturing and what would be an arrogant and/or lukewarm introduction. I mean, seriously. The guy liked to stand around and let people know how great he thought he was. I was tired of it.

  And it was cold as a room full of ex-girlfriends out here.

  “Hey, man,” I said and offered a fist to the newcomer. “Name’s Drew. That was some good driving tonight at the track.”

  The newcomer’s eyes flared with surprise over my casual greeting. He was also surprised I’d complimented his driving skills.

  Or maybe he was surprised I knew he was the one driving tonight.

  After a quick glance in Lorhaven’s direction, he recovered fast and held up his own fist to pound it out. “Thanks. Name’s Arrow.”

  Arrow, which was probably not his real name but something he chose for himself, was a kid. Well, okay, he wasn’t a kid, per se. Calling him that only made me feel like an old man. Or maybe it was the fact he seemed like a kid to me that made me feel old.

  He couldn’t be more than nineteen, which made him green in my book. He was tall, close to six feet, and skinny as hell. His feet and hands were big, though, which only fed into the fact he was young and had yet to fill in.

  Arrow had blond hair, and not the natural blond either. This was a total dye job, bleach blond. It was parted on the side, longer on the right and buzzed short on the left. He was dressed in ripped-up skinny jeans, an oversized black hoodie, and a pair of black high-tops.

  He kinda looked like a Justin Bieber wannabe.

  Trent stayed where he was, but he did give the kid a what up gesture with his chin, which he returned.

  “Meet my new driver, Forrester,” Lorhaven said and slapped Arrow on the shoulder. “I might not be able to drive at the speedway anymore, but I can sponsor.”

  Interesting.

  “Didn’t know you sponsored drivers,” I noted, making sure I didn’t sound too intrigued.

  “I don’t usually. But Arrow here, he knows how to handle a car, and with a little bit of guidance, I’m thinking he could go far.”

  “So you think you’re going to make money off him,” I deadpanned.

  Arrow stiffened a little, and Lorhaven laughed. “Sometimes it’s just all about the love of the cars.”

  “And sometimes it’s about getting your foot into doors where it’s already been booted out,” Trent added casually.

  Lorhaven ignored Trent completely. “Since we are… colleagues of a sort, I figured it was only right to introduce you so when you see him around, you’ll know whose taillights you’re seeing.”

  “How very professional of you,” I replied.

  “This mean you won’t be driving anymore?” Trent asked.

  Lorhaven laughed. “I’ll always be driving.” His eyes shifted back to me. “See you next race.”

  “Assuming it’s one you’re allowed to attend.”

  His eyes narrowed. I smiled, but it wasn’t exactly a friendly good-bye kind of smile.

  “Careful, Forrester. You might have more control at the speedway than I do right now, but I own the rest of this world around here. One word from me and you’d be blackballed.”

  Trent sprang forward, and I pushed a hand in the center of his chest to keep him back. I didn’t need him to fight my battles.

  Lorhaven grinned because he knew he struck a nerve. “Back to your cage, guard dog.”

  Trent made a sound, and I pushed him back again.

  “You should know not to pick a fight you can’t win.” I cautioned him.

  He started to make some stupid remark, something that would likely piss off Trent even more. I lifted a hand and cut him off. “Careful, Lorhaven.” I echoed his warning. “Don’t want anyone to get the impression you’re trying to blackball me… Word might get around you just want me gone because I can outdrive you.”

  Arrow tensed and stepped forward. Lorhaven made a sound, and the kid fell back.

  I grinned with all my teeth. “Ah, my guard dog’s bigger than yours.”

  White-hot anger—or maybe it was jealousy—lit up his face. I took some pleasure in it. This guy was a class-A asshat.

  “Let’s go,” Lorhaven ground out. Arrow went back around the car while he yanked open the driver’s door of the Camaro.

  “See ya, kid,” Trent called.

  I held back a snicker. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one that felt like an old man around the boy.

  In true teenage fashion, he got in the car and slammed the door. Lorhaven suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

  With one last flickering glance in my direction, he slid in and shut the door. Even though the glass was tinted, I was able to see enough movement to know Lorhaven slapped the punk in the back of the head.

  Trent and I stood there silently and watched until the Camaro swerved around the corner and out of sight.

  “Ten to one that kid’s real name is Justin,” was the first thing Trent said.

  I guffawed. “Dude. I was thinking the same thing.”

  “He has no idea what he’s doing getting mixed up with someone like Lorhaven.”

  I eyed him. “You really don’t like him.”

  He made a rude sound. “No. I don’t.”

  “He just wants a set of eyes at the speedway. Fucking kills him he has no idea what goes on there anymore.” I gazed off in the direction they left.

  “No. It kills him you dominate there and he can’t do shit about it. All the attention’s shifting to you. He’s threatened.”

  So he found a driver young enough he could control. Hungry enough for a chance to make a name for himself in the underground racing world. Someone he could use to watch me when he couldn’t. “Yeah, maybe,” I replied.

  “He hasn’t raced you directly since that night months ago when you smoked him. His dick is still soft over it.” When I didn’t say anything, Trent shoved my shoulder. “You haven’t raced him since that night. Right?”

  “No.” I turned my full attention to Trent, who was sounding a little accusatory. “I promised you I wouldn’t go on his turf alone anymore. You’ve been to all the races lately.”

  “You see why it’s a bad idea now?”

  I scoffed. “I can handle Lorhaven.”

  Trent bristled. God, this guy was like a goddam prickly cactus where Lorhaven was concerned. “Besides, I wouldn’t want you to go getting all shitfaced again because you’re pissed I went driving without you,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  He didn’t think it was funny. “Whatever. We should go. It’s fucking cold as balls out here.” He turned away.

  I shouldn’t have brought up that night. That night from months ago when Trent was so trashed he threw up for hours. The night he was so drunk he told me he hated when I went out driving without him.

  That wasn’t the only thing he said that night.

  “Hey,
sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” I followed behind him.

  “It’s cool,” he allowed and gave me a look. “I just can’t laugh about shit I don’t remember.”

  Yeah. The alcohol was a giant eraser to his brain that night.

  But I remembered.

  Every word he said.

  Every detail from the darkness.

  Sometimes when it was really quiet, I thought about the stuff only I recalled.

  Alcohol often admits things people are too afraid to say sober.

  Sometimes I wished Trent remembered that night.

  Sometimes I was glad he forgot.

  Trent

  Alcohol poisoning.

  Breaking up a fist fight.

  Meetings with alumni.

  Budget meeting.

  A clogged toilet because someone thought it would be fun to flush a bag of marbles.

  And a rubber ducky.

  Okay, I admit it was kind of funny.

  That was just this week, a week that wasn’t even over yet. Weekends tended to be even more hectic because that’s when all the brothers had free time and got themselves into trouble.

  Sometimes I felt more like a babysitter than a leader.

  Being the president of a fraternity wasn’t quite as glamorous as it appeared on TV. Or even in people’s minds. In reality, being the president of a house full of men was kinda hard.

  Not that I regretted becoming the president of Alpha Omega. Even if it was sort of a surprise role. Becoming president of this frat hadn’t been on my agenda. The plan was always to get Romeo into that position.

  Not only was Romeo the most popular guy on campus, but he was very respected and from a family of Omega legacies.

  But it didn’t work out that way.

  Zach happened. And he fucked up a lot of shit for everyone.

  So when Romeo walked out on pledging, he recommended me, and people listened.

  I’d been president for almost two years now. Most of the time, it was something I enjoyed, but if I were being honest, I’d admit I was burning out.

  I was tired.

  I felt pulled in all kinds of different directions. So many I was starting to get lost.

  You’d think a guy who was about to graduate college with a bachelor’s degree in finance would be ready for more responsibility.