#Junkie (GearShark #1)

by Cambria Hebert

  “My sister will keep Walker in check,” I quipped.

  Gamble chuckled. “I’ve met your sister. If anyone can keep that boy in line, it’s her.”

  My chest swelled with pride for Ivy. I’d taught her well.

  I knew the instant he wanted to get down to business because his eyes sharpened and took on a more serious look. “I’m not a man to beat around the bush. I prefer to cut to the chase. Saves a lot of time and bullshit.”

  “I can appreciate that.” I agreed.

  He glanced at my car. “That’s a nice-looking Mustang. Worth a lot of money. You do all the work on her?”

  I nodded. “Took me four years—the entire time I was going through college—to rebuild the engine and get the parts in her I wanted. A car like this isn’t cheap, but I’ve never backed down from hard work.”

  “A good driver always knows about his engine.” I was pretty sure there was approval in his tone.

  “I know about my engine. And all the other parts around it.” I assured him.

  “You have a fancy computer degree, don’t you?” he asked, still looking over the body of my cobalt-blue machine.

  A smile split my face. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Seems you could make more money in that field.”

  “Life isn’t always about money. Sometimes it’s about passion and going where the road takes us.”

  He looked away from the car and back at me. “How about you do a couple laps, show me what you and this car you built can do? Then we’ll talk about where the road’s taking you.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was only too eager to get into the car and pull onto the track. This was the place I was most confident, the place I could really let loose.

  Right before I pulled onto the asphalt, my phone beeped. I picked it up to shut it off so it wouldn’t distract me while I was driving or after when I was with Gamble.

  The name on the screen caught my attention. Trent.

  I pulled up the text.

  Everyone texted but me. Felt left out.

  I totally smiled at my phone.

  It beeped again.

  Drive fast.

  I glanced up through the window to where Trent was sitting on the concrete wall, phone in his hand. He looked up as I did, and we grinned at each other.

  The familiar surge of adrenaline started in my core and spread out like the sun rising and filling the darkness with light. My knee bounced with energy, and I gripped the gearshift.

  I pressed down on the gas and took off.

  I was flying.

  Trent

  Fucking awesome.

  That’s what it was like to watch Drew drive.

  He literally flew over the road with unbridled fear. It was exhilarating. I could only imagine what it was like to be behind the wheel.

  Sure, I drove with him a lot, but I was more restrained. I was more cautious. It was a rush then, so what he must feel like when he opened it up and went for it was probably unmatched.

  I wondered if I’d ever experience anything that would come close to the way he felt right now.

  Even as I was amazed, the mechanic in me stepped forward. I paid attention to the way the car leaned and took the curves. I watched the smoothness with which the gears shifted and the competence of the tires against the asphalt.

  Drew knew how to milk his car to get great results, but to some extent, he was out of control. A lot depended on the car, the inner workings of it, and the quality of the parts and work we did on it. He trusted me with that car, which basically equated to him trusting me with his life.

  I took that seriously.

  Probably more serious than my own safety at times.

  So while, yeah, I got a rush watching him out on the track, most of me went into work mode. It made me wish I was a better mechanic, because I probably missed shit someone more experienced wouldn’t.

  I did note the way the car leaned a little, and I started working out a plan for when we would be able to get under the hood.

  Ron Gamble stood closer to the track, near his car, to watch. The man who drove him here stood at his side and watched as well. Every once in a while, they would lean in and speak to each other.

  It was kinda making me crazy.

  What were they saying? What did they think of Drew?

  The second time Gamble glanced in my direction, I jumped off the wall and strode over to where he was. At first, I’d planned to hang back, just be here to support Drew.

  Fuck that.

  I could support him and put in a good word for him at the same time.

  Gamble must have been waiting for me to approach, because the second I came within arm’s length, he turned and held out his hand.

  “Ron Gamble,” he introduced himself.

  “Trent Mask,” I returned.

  “Ah, yes. I’ve watched you play football for a few years now. You’re a great addition to the Wolves.”

  “Thank you,” I said, genuine. “It was a good four years with the Wolves. It went by fast.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes. Life has a way of doing that.”

  “So does Drew.” I gestured to the cobalt-blue Fastback that was nothing but a blur as it breezed by.

  Gamble laughed. “Yes, he definitely is fast.” His eyes turned off me and back to the track. “This is a colleague of mine, Jay Hopper. He works at headquarters, keeps the drivers all in check.”

  I offered my hand to the man beside him, and we shook.

  “So…” I began, going right for it. “What do you think of Drew?”

  “I like a man who cuts to the chase,” Gamble said.

  “One of the most motivated drivers you’re ever gonna meet.”

  “Not shy are you, either?” He glanced at me, his lips pulled up in a smile.

  I shrugged. “Not when it comes to this.”

  “Are you his manager?” Hopper asked.

  “No, he’s my best friend. I’m here for support.”

  “He has a lot of support,” Gamble mused. “Anderson and Walker talk him up to me whenever they get the chance. And their wives?” Gamble chuckled. “They talk about him constantly.”

  “We’re family.” I shrugged. I made a mental note to tell him Braeden put in a word for him. I was sure he’d get a kick out of his brother-in-law going to bat for him. Those two liked to give each other a hard time, but this proved B actually liked him.

  Gamble returned to watching Drew. “It’s good to have a large support system. It’s needed in a sport like this.”

  “That mean you’re interested in working with him?”

  Damn. That might have been a little too point blank.

  Hopper barked a laugh. “You sure you aren’t his manager, kid? You should be.”

  “I’ll say this. If you do sign him, I’ll be around a lot.”

  At that moment, Drew drifted around the curve of the oval. It was a perfect fucking drift.

  My chest swelled with pride.

  I glanced at Gamble and lifted an eyebrow as if to say, You’d be stupid not to sign him.

  “He’s good,” he allowed.

  “Better than good.” I corrected.

  “He’s out there alone,” Hopper added.

  “Let’s see how he does on the track with another driver.” Gamble continued.

  The sound of another engine seemed to blast onto the track from the other side. Like a bullet a car shot out onto the road and joined Drew.

  It was a bright-yellow Nissan Skyline with an all-black hood and black spoiler on the back. It was flying, just like Drew, but I could make out a yellow blur on every tire, and I knew it must have some kind of lit-up wheel well to make it glow.

  The body of the car was low, so low it almost sat on the ground, but it looked fierce that way, like it hugged the road and literally floated.

  Even though the car was fucking sweet, my stomach tightened.

  “You should have given him a warning he wouldn’t be alone.
He’s not expecting another driver out there.” I worried.

  “There’s lots of unexpected in racing,” Hopper replied mildly.

  It pissed me off. “Yeah. But putting a driver in danger to prove a point is a dick move.” Yep. I just cussed at the richest man in the state and his lackey. Did I give a flying fuck?

  Apparently not.

  Neither man seemed offended. I wasn’t worried about it anyway. If this was the kind of shit Drew could expect from these two, then screw this. He’d be better off on the indie circuit.

  At least there we already knew everyone were assholes.

  I expected better from these guys.

  “I’d say he’s handled the track buddy just fine,” Gamble pondered out loud.

  The yellow sports car drove right up alongside the Mustang and matched his pace perfectly. Even though from this distance I couldn’t tell, it still seemed like the drivers were measuring each other.

  A few seconds later, the Skyline gunned it and pulled ahead, the sound of its accelerating engine filling the air.

  C’mon, Drew.

  The car worked as he shifted and sped forward. He pushed it to the point I started to worry. He had to be going close to one hundred eighty and gaining. I reminded myself this was a closed track and it wasn’t like he was out there with someone who didn’t know how to drive.

  “Who is that?” I asked, realizing I had no clue who they were.

  “One of my sponsored drivers,” Gamble replied. “Figured we’d see how Forrester did with someone with some professional experience.”

  I felt pissed off all over again. It’s like they wanted him to fail, and I felt guilty. I knew that Skyline was probably better equipped than the Fastback.

  I should have known better than to worry about Drew. That guy always knew how to come out on top.

  I watched on pins and needles as he approached the yellow car on the inside. In response, the car glided over, cutting him off.

  He hung back, shifting… giving the impression of being defeated. But I knew better.

  Seconds later, Drew cut to the right to swing out wide around the outside of his competitor. The car seemed to anticipate his move and swerved at the same time.

  The back end of the Skyline nearly clipped the front end of the Fastback, and I muttered a curse. Drew hung in and hit the brakes—well, the emergency brake.

  He made a hard turn immediately and went straight for the grass on the inside of the oval. Just as his front tires hit it, he made another hard turn, jerked the car back onto the asphalt, and punched the gas.

  He soared past the yellow car and swerved out in front of it, taking the lead.

  Hopper made a sound, and I grinned.

  The two cars battled it out, weaving in and out of one another and pulling some tricks they wouldn’t be able to pull on a track full of cars.

  We all stood there and watched until Gamble signaled for them to bring it in.

  Drew slowed and brought the car to a sliding stop nearby, but the yellow car breezed right by and disappeared into the tunnel it came out of just a few minutes before.

  It was just as well. I felt like decking the guy for his jerkwad driving.

  Drew’s face was split into a wide smile as he jogged forward, and there was a distinct light in his blue eyes. He was totally high right now—on speed.

  I jogged a few paces in front of the men and offered him a fist. “That was some tight driving out there.”

  “Hells yeah,” he swore. He leaned close. “I think I tore up some shit, though. Gonna need some new parts.”

  I nodded, already figuring as much. He would have had to in order to keep up with that Skyline.

  “Mr. Forrester,” Hopper called, and both of us turned. He waved us over. “Let’s talk!”

  “You talked to them?” Drew said softly as we walked toward them.

  “Yeah. Haven’t made up my mind about ‘em yet.”

  I felt him gaze at me out of the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything because we joined the men. After introductions were made between Drew and Hopper, Gamble took over the conversation.

  I guess since he was the one with the money, the final say so went to him. Still, I had a feeling he and Hopper knew each other a long time and could communicate without saying much and stay on the same page.

  “You drive well.” Gamble began. “I definitely see why your family speaks highly of you.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t want to be here because Romeo put in a good word,” Drew said.

  Gamble nodded. “Of course. A man wants to earn his way. Your family isn’t the only reason you’re here. The underground world of racing, or as some call it, the indie world, is growing.”

  Hopper nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if within the next five years or so, the indie drivers break onto the scene and become just as popular as those who drive professionally.”

  I bit down on my tongue. I couldn’t help but feel slightly offended. It’s like they were saying the indie drivers were somehow less professional because they didn’t have fancy backers and sponsors.

  “I agree.” Gamble took up the conversation again. “You’ve been earning a name in the underground world, Forrester. That’s why you’re here. Romeo told me about you months ago, but I waited until you’d been in the state for a while. I waited until you had a track record around here.”

  “I drove in North Carolina, too,” he answered.

  Gamble nodded. “I know. I made some calls.”

  I shifted impatiently, but Drew held himself still and waited for Gamble to get to the point.

  “I like you,” he finally said, his eyes sliding to me. “I like your manager, too. He definitely won’t take shit.”

  Drew glanced at me, and I wanted to grimace. I hadn’t exactly been… uh, an ass kisser.

  “You’re fast, you handle a car easily, you clearly have a lot of guts, and sometimes you appear to be fearless. Plus, you have good taste in cars.”

  “But?” Drew asked.

  Gamble half smiled. “But you’re green. You drive like an indie. Without rules. Without care. I almost dare to say you’re too fearless.”

  Drew laughed. “I’m pretty sure that’s not a bad thing.”

  “Makes you reckless,” Hopper said.

  I felt Drew bristle. Immediately, my attitude shifted to compliment his. He was on defense now, so I was on offense. That’s the way Drew and I worked, two sides of the same coin. If he was hot, I was cool. If he was mad, then I was reason.

  Instead of arguing like I knew he wanted, Drew stuck out his hand to Gamble. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I know you’re a very busy man.”

  Gamble looked between Drew and his hand. “That’s all you have to say?” he asked, lifting a brow.

  Drew dropped his hand. “I don’t have anything left to say. My driving said it all out there on the track. I respect your opinion, and I will take everything you said into consideration as I continue driving.”

  “Most guys would try and fight for their spot,” Hopper said.

  Drew turned to him. “I’m not most guys.”

  No, he isn’t, I thought.

  “As you pointed out yourself, the indie world of racing is up and coming. It’s only a matter of time before we break onto the scene. All it’s going to take is one driver who gets a lucky break or one really rich eccentric who wants to throw in with the underdogs.” Drew shrugged. “I’ll just keep doing my thing until that day comes.”

  Sometimes the guy amazed me. The way he refused to let anything keep him down. I respected him so goddamn much in that moment.

  “I’m not saying no,” Gamble said. I heard the respect in his voice.

  “You aren’t?” Drew asked.

  He smiled. “I know better than to let a future household name slip through my fingers.”

  “So what are you saying exactly?” I said, point blank.

  “I’m saying this has been an interesting conversation, and though
I might have come here expecting one thing, I’m glad I got something else.”

  “And what is that?” Drew crossed his arms over his chest.

  Even Hopper seemed a little perplexed, as if for once he didn’t know what Gamble was going to say.

  “You might not be a professional driver in the sense of someone ready to conform for NASCAR and Formula One standards… but you are driver all the same. You represent a much larger population. As you said, the underground racing scene is going to explode any minute now.”

  “I think it’s going to be a little longer than that,” Drew replied, dry.

  “Unless, of course, some eccentric with a lot of money comes along and wants to, as you said, throw in with the underdogs.”

  “Are you saying you want to sponsor Drew on an indie level?” I asked.

  “I’m saying I think the underground world of racing needs a face, one capable of bringing this unrecognized organization of racers into the spotlight.”

  I felt my lips pull up into an excited smile.

  “It’s cold out here, and we have a lot to discuss. Let’s meet over at headquarters.” Gamble pointed to the condos over the track. “We’ll be more comfortable, and there’s coffee.”

  “Of course.” Drew agreed.

  We waited ‘til Gamble and Hopper drove off in the Cadillac before going to the Mustang.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Drew pondered.

  “Something big,” I said. “I don’t know what, but it’s going to be big.”

  Drew made a whooping sound and pumped his fist in the air.

  I laughed, but the sound was abrupt because he launched himself at me.

  I didn’t see it coming and I wasn’t prepared. Even if I had time, I wouldn’t have been able to prepare for this.

  One second we were laughing, and the next…

  Drew was in my arms.

  The weight of him barreling into me was shocking at first. Sure, with football, I was used to unnecessary roughness, but this was different. I wasn’t on a football field. This wasn’t some play, and I wasn’t on the defense. Drew wasn’t trying to knock me down; he was hugging me.

  I liked the way his weight felt colliding into mine. It hit me immediately, but it was like my body was ready; my body knew how to react to Drew.

  He bounced excitedly at first and slapped me on the back. I chuckled and pressed my palm against his back.