by Eden Connor
I watched him drive off, then slid into the Mustang. While I hooked the safety harness, the blank expanse of windshield made me pause. Why did the glass seem so bare?
Oh.
You left your dash cam on? You dirty little bastard.
Chapter Eighteen
If I had to pick a theme song for Dale Hannah, I’d choose the new one by Keith Urban—John Cougar, John Deere, John 3:16—that was blasting through the speaker system, in no small part because the man sang it with his whole heart every time it came up on his playlist.
In fact, there was precious little of what I’d call true country music amongst the endless loop of Seventies and Eighties rock ballads playing off Dale’s iPhone over the state-of-the-art wireless system in the garage. I’d heard every song in his playlist so many times I’d started singing along, the way Caine and Colt did, but at last, Dale straightened. He stabbed the button to lower the volume.
“Fire this bad boy up and see what we got.”
I jumped off my stool, but Caine slid behind the wheel. Huffing with impatience, I took my seat again. Caine turned the ignition switch. The engine caught on the first try. Ernie, dozing in a chair in the corner, woke with a start.
“Wind it up to about seventy-five,” Dale yelled, squinting at a hand-held rpm meter. I peered at the gauge and squirmed with excitement. The engine block was smaller than I’d expected, but my jaw dropped as Caine rocked the gas. The numbers on the digital display climbed. I clapped my hands over my ears. At 7500 rpms, the motor made thunder in the small garage.
Dale dropped his hand. The enraged growl dropped to a guttural purr.
“How’s it sound?” I realized the man was looking at me with raised brows.
“Well, one time my roommate said the ‘Cuda sounded like Johnny Cash with a cold. If that’s true, then this one sounds like Barry White, Johnny Cash, and Josh Turner had a love child and named it Engine 22.” I named every singer with a deep bass voice I could think of.
“I gotta remember that one,” Dale said, as the guys burst out laughing. He tucked the meter into a case and slid it into a drawer. Casting a final gaze around the engine compartment, he dropped the hood. He and Caine shared a grin through the windshield.
Dale yelled, lifting his thumb. “Hook up that exhaust and put her on the street.” Looking at me, he explained. “You won’t have no speedometer. The factory tachometer don’t mean nothin’, since it don’t go high enough, so Caine wired a new one over by the console. But everything else on the dash works. In the morning, we’ll rip out the interior and install a roll cage.”
Caine rocked the gas pedal a few times. Despite the way my head reeled from the exhaust fumes, I couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel.
“Shelby!” I spun on the barstool I’d made Caine drag down from the house. Mom glared from the walk-through door.
“I’ll be right there, sweetheart.” Dale grabbed a rag, rubbing non-existent grease off his hands. The last two hours had been spent working on the electrical system. I smothered a grin. Mom was right. He never listened to her words, just her tone, when he had a car on his mind.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s what you said three hours ago, but—”
Caine let off the gas so Mom could talk, but when her tone turned bitchy, he gunned the engine so hard, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Mom’s face reddened and she turned away.
He cut the engine and got out of the car, exchanging a look with his father. “Go on inside before Macy throws all your clothes in the front yard and sets ‘em on fire.”
I glanced at the time on my phone. “Since we’ve never raced, how about I burn your ass first, Colt?”
Dale laughed and pointed to my dash cam. “Video that shit for me, will ya?”
“Excuse me. I’m still standing right here.” We all glanced over to see Mom jam her hands on her hips. “Shelby, there’s a man here to see you.”
Was it Chris? I couldn’t think of anyone else it could be, except maybe Gerald, and if that motherfucker had jumped the gun, I was gonna bash his skull in with one of Dale’s incredibly shiny wrenches.
The middle-aged man who came through the door when Mom stepped back was a stranger to me.
“Miss Roberts?” Who wore a suit and tie after ten p.m.? “My name’s Brock Ingram. I represent American Car Products.”
Why was he talking to me? “Hello.”
“I had a hell of a time tracking you down, but as it turns out, my in-laws live in Kannapolis, so I took a chance on swinging by to make an appointment to talk to you and Mr. Hannah.” He gestured toward the driveway. “My wife’s out in the car, but I have a business proposition for you two. Do y’all have some time tomorrow?”
I darted a look at Dale to see if he knew the guy, but he seemed as mystified as I was. “What kind of business?” I asked.
The stranger laughed. “It would involve promoting our products at various car shows around the country.” He glanced over his shoulder and held up a finger before stepping inside again. This time, he looked at Dale “And the car, of course. We’d provide a trailer and crew to get this little beauty from place to place.” Based on the avid look he gave the ‘Cuda, I knew what was coming next. “Mind if I just take a peek inside?”
Dale stuck out a hand and the pair shook. “You’re ‘bout to see me get divorced, if I don’t get my ass in the house. But any time tomorrow works. Assumin’ Shelby’s interested. What the hell is American Car Products?”
“We manufacture and sell car polish and various products targeted at the vintage car restoration market. When I found your YouTube channel, Shelby, I knew we were a match made in heaven.”
“Oh, man.” Colt scowled. “Don’t tell me I’m gonna see her on some infomercial every night?” I swung around to glare at my stepbrother. “What?” Colt shrugged, but he darted a grin at Mr. Ingram. “She’s already a pain in the ass. Don’t you dare go makin’ her famous. Not before I am, anyway.”
“See?” I demanded, giving the stranger a wide-eyed look. “He looks all big and bad, but what a fragile ego.” I cut my gaze to my stepbrother. “C’mon out to play, Colt. I can’t wait to kick your ass.”
Dale burst out laughing and headed for the door. “Any time after breakfast is fine by me, Ingram. But I just bet the title on a drag race, so we might better wait to see how that turns out.”
The stranger had leaned down to peer through the door Caine left open for him, but Dale’s comment made him straighten and whip around to stare.
“Why in the world would you do that?”
An answer I wanted to know. Judging from the way Caine, Colt, and Jonny all turned expectant gazes toward Dale, I wasn’t the only one.
Dale hooked an arm around Mom and dragged her against his side. “If you ain’t riskin’ nothin’, you ain’t livin’. Just makin’ sure our young’uns know it, too.” He lifted the brim of his baseball cap. “G’nite, y’all. Gotta go sweet talk my wife.” They strolled out the door, but Dale bellowed the words to an old Kansas song. “Carry on, my wayward sons....”
So, the race wasn’t about the race?
“Okay.” The Ingram guy looked mystified, but Dale and Mom were gone, so he looked at me. “I guess this can wait till then. When and where’s this race? I mean, I’d love to watch, if nothing else.”
“The county fairgrounds, day after Christmas. Dial-ins start at four. Race probably won’t happen till five or later.” Caine flipped a screwdriver into the air and caught it. Flipping it again, he added, “But it’ll be over in about eight seconds, so you might wanna get there early.”
“See you then. And, uh, good luck.” The man’s expression said he thought we were all insane. He gave the car a last look. “Eight seconds? A roulette wheel takes longer to grab your money.” He shook his head and hurried out of the garage.
“I use that shit.” Jonny waited until the vehicle reversed up the driveway before he broke the silence. “It’s damn good polish, actually, but the name’s not catchy and
it’s a crowded market. I guess they’re gonna throw some money into building brand recognition. Nothing’s more American than the muscle car, and the ‘Cuda’s the king.” He pointed a wrench in my direction. “Now, that’s what two million subscribers can do for you, so don’t give nothin’ away, Shelby. He wants to use somethin’ you built to make a buck? Make his ass pay.”
Ernie cleared his throat. “Yep. Jonny’s exactly right, Shelby. You should check this Ingram fella out, sweetheart. This old man’s headed for the house. G’nite.”
“Goodnight Ernie,” we chorused. I had no idea what to say about the visitor. It didn’t matter, though. Why hadn’t Dale told the guy he was selling the ‘Cuda, even if I won the race?
“All I want right now is for someone to find his cojones.” I turned toward Colt. “Just me and you, big brother. You in? Winner gets head.”
Jonny and Caine laughed, but Colt studied me. “I know what happened last time I let you close to my cojones. After that, you seriously wanna challenge me? Because, babe, I’m gonna go for your throat.”
“Oh, yeah? Bring it.” I tossed his keys across the hood of the ‘Cuda. He snagged them and shook the ring till it jingled.
“Merry Christmas to me. You know I’m gonna make you pay up when you lose, right?”
“I’m counting on the loser paying up.” I shoved Caine out of the way and tried to slide behind the wheel of the Barracuda, but he grabbed my arm.
“Hang on a minute, little biggie. Let me and J.J. get the exhaust hooked up.” Caine tapped the end of my nose with a dirty finger. “Can’t win if you’re passin’ out from carbon monoxide poisoning. Get your sweet ass back on that stool.”
I huffed, but took my seat, watching him and Jonny jack up the rear end and slide underneath. I’d been sitting in the same spot since I’d returned from meeting Chris, just watching the way Dale and Caine worked together. They didn’t even talk most of the time. Jonny and Colt kept up a steady stream of bullshit, but the father and son team seemed to communicate on a whole other level.
Had I forgiven Caine? I vividly recalled asking Dale for his credit card the night they moved our stuff into this house, but his sons had been outside on the porch when Dale offered to pay for the college application I’d been trying to submit. So, yeah, I could almost see Caine’s point.
Had he invaded my privacy? Without a doubt. But there’d been something in his voice when he admitted he’d been hurt as badly as I’d been by his spying that made me want to forgive the unforgivable. For Caine to act in defense of Dale was as natural to him as breathing. For Caine to be hurt that I’d fallen for Colt... well, that was kind of sweet.
Twisted as fuck, but sweet.
There was one thing I hadn’t figured out. Dale must have a bigger goal in mind than teaching Kolby Barnes a lesson. I mean, I already knew that the man didn’t preach, but I doubted he’d put his four million dollar baby on the line for that reason alone, so was he trying to say that the car didn’t mean as much to him as... us? All of us.
An outsider would say that was also twisted as fuck. But, I had to admit, the car was the single thing we three had a common interest in.
What did Dale mean to accomplish by giving Kolby the Barracuda? Because, no matter what anybody said, I was pretty sure a NASCAR crew chief with twenty-five years experience knew my odds of beating Kolby were... less than awesome. So, was it worth four million bucks to Dale to give us all a reason to work out our differences?
Did an orphan dream of money and fame?
Or did he dream of a loving, close-knit family?
If you ain’t riskin’ nothin’, you ain’t livin’.
Dale had found Mom on the side of the road and he’d decided to go for broke, so this bet didn’t seem totally insane, looked at in that light. The grand gesture seemed to be his thing.
He’d bet the thing that meant the most to Caine, but Caine hadn’t argued. He’d rolled up his sleeves and gone to work. And Colt... well, I was still pissed off that he’d let me believe something so horrible for years, but I had to admit, he had a point about me swallowing the tale about Brandon buying Caroline’s car with her supposed earnings, while believing I’d barely earned gas money.
And Colt had clocked as much time as anyone under the hood today. Based on what he’d told me about my race with Rowdy, he must think I had a shot. Or else, wouldn’t he be bitching about the bet?
No, my stepbrothers hadn’t gone out of their way to run after me when I left home. Neither had Dale. It was pretty clear that if I hadn’t cut myself off from this family, I could’ve learned what I’d learned in the last twenty-four hours much sooner.
None of the Hannahs were what I’d thought. And I wasn’t what they’d thought, so we’d all been wrong.
What happened when I lost to Kolby and he drove off in the Barracuda? Or Dale and Caine had to deliver it to his fucking house?
I was missing something. But what?
Oh. Duh. I nearly tumbled off the stool.
I should be suspicious precisely because I hadn’t heard either stepbrother say a negative word. This was how they’d fucked me over the first time, by pretending everything was just peachy.
Jonny tossed a handful of tools into the tool chest, then strolled out of the garage. Caine rolled from underneath the car and got to his feet, moving to lower the floor jack.
“Guess it’s on now.” Colt strutted toward the door.
I jumped off the stool. “You bet your ass it is.”
Caine stuck his head into the car while I buckled up. “Need a pit crew?”
“Oh, no. This is just me and him.” I smiled and reached for the key, but didn’t turn the switch. “But, maybe when I get back, you and I can polish your wrenches.”
I’d made one decision. Why walk around so horny I was cross-eyed when surrounded by a primo collection of cock? It was my turn to manipulate a few people.
Turn and burn, baby.
“Oh, yeah?” He scowled. “Reckon they’d end up as shiny as Rowdy’s wrenches?”
Trying to hide my grin, I cranked the car and gunned the motor. Caine whirled and stomped over to slap the button that controlled the rollup door. Before I could get the ‘Cuda into reverse, he punched the button a second time. The door lurched to a stop, only a few inches from the ground. He gave the device another whack. The barrier started down again.
While I tried not to laugh out loud, Caine strode to the walk-in door and turned the lock. He sauntered to the sink in the corner and washed his hands without as much as a glance in my direction. My tummy fluttered when he spun to face the car. Three strides and he yanked my door open.
“Lower this damn top and put your feet on the ground. Hands in the seat.” He ripped open the button on his jeans, tugged himself free, then jerked his wallet from this back pocket. I stared at his cock while he rolled the condom over it, recalling exactly how that hard column felt driving into me. I’d seen a lot of cocks since my first look at Caine’s, and frankly, none seemed as perfect.
Every sensitive point in my body throbbed with a demand that I give him his way. I unlatched the hooks over the windshield and pressed the button to lower the top, holding his intent gaze. That look was burning me alive. It made me feel like I had little choice but to move into the position he’d ordered, which was hot. At the same time, my need to comply scared the hell out of me.
I turned off the engine and got out of the car, thinking that was what they’d always done—scared the hell out of me, but I was hooked on the thrills. Looking over my shoulder, I held his gaze and bent till my palms touched the seat.
Caine raked my tights off my ass in one hard yank. His seeking fingers found me wet. His cock was hot against my ass, and his thrusting fingers felt delicious, but not for long. I felt him center himself on my entrance and tried to take a deep breath. Anticipation raced through me so hard, my arms trembled.
He entered me with such force I cried out, but not from pain. I tightened around him, but that didn’t slow
his hard thrusts until he’d claimed every inch of me.
“Fuckin’... tight... little... pussy.” His fingers curled into my hips. “You make me... crazy.” Each vicious thrust made me moan, but God, he felt good. This was what I sought but could never find anywhere else. “Watchin’ you eat Caroline out....” A long groan completed the sentence. “Bad to the fuckin’ bone.”
I supposed the flurry of hard thrusts was my punishment? I gripped the edge of the seat, thrilling to the way he filled me.
Just as I got close, he paused.
“Don’t stop,” I panted, trying to urge him to action with my internal muscles.
He remained still. “Did you fuck Rowdy?”
I peered over my shoulder. “And if I did?”
His smile was pure devil. “Good. I ain’t no Rowdy fan, but don’t ever let no man make you feel bad for likin’ to goddamn fuck.” I felt him slide out of me as he stepped back. “Now, go kick Colt’s ass. You win, you can have the rest.”
I looked over my shoulder, forcing a smile while I waggled my ass. “You could at least kiss it goodbye. Because, after this, you may never see it again.”
Laughing, Caine jerked off the condom. “Okay, I reckon I could do that much.” Discarding the prophylactic into a fifty-five gallon drum filled with empty car parts boxes, he tucked himself up. Biting the inside of my cheek in frustration, I wrenched the tights up my thighs and over my ass. Ignoring my scowl, he hoisted me into his arms and sat me on the back of the car.
Colt banged on the metal door. “Caine! What the fuck, dude?”
“One minute,” Caine yelled. “Loose connection. Gotta tighten it.”
“Right.” Colt barked. “I’m just a natural blond. Lie to me again, motherfucker.”
While I snickered, Caine raked my hair from my face. He imprisoned my face, cupping my cheeks between rough palms. His pupils were blown. I thought he might laugh, or kiss me, but something in his eyes made my heart take an alarming leap. My laughter died.
“I lied to you, Shelby. About those videos I made of you in your room.”