Turn & Burn: Revenge is a Red-Headed B*tch (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 2)

by Eden Connor

  I brought my arms up between his, using my forearms to knock his hands free. He ducked his head, but gripped my thighs, preventing me from jumping down. “Listen. Just fucking listen, okay? I looked at ‘em all the time. I still do, but not at the places you prob’ly think. I fast-forward every one to the moment you come home from school and throw yourself on your bed. The sun comes through the front windows that time of day. It lights up your hair. You look like an angel, and that’s what I keep going back to see. I didn’t know what to talk to you about, except cars, and all I had to do was look in your eyes to know you wanted to hear so much more.”

  He lifted his head. We were practically nose-to-nose and I was drowning in his eyes. The desperation in the dark depths made me ache in new ways.

  “After you left, I wished I’d just talked to you about the stuff I didn’t know. Wished I’d told you how many times I’d thought about what it’s like inside a star. Whenever the sun lights up your hair, I think my chest’s gonna explode, so that must be like bein’ inside of a star, right?”

  My heart thumped against my ribs. I’d seen this look in his eyes once before. The night he talked and talked and talked about the ‘Cuda, to keep me from crying over Colt.

  I’d rather he’d just step on my toes.

  “I wished I’d thought to ask if you knew what it felt like to have a hummingbird sit on your finger?” He raised a brow.

  I shook my head slowly.

  “I think I do. They’d have teeny tiny claws, right? So, whenever you laugh and your eyes light up, every hair stands up on my arms. I can’t help thinkin’, that’s gotta be what it’d feel like to have a thousand hummingbirds sittin’ on me. And when they flutter their wings, that’s gotta be the same feeling as when I look at you and realize I could be happy just lookin’ at you for the rest of my life.”

  What. The. Fuck. Just happened?

  He spun away. I stared at his back as he strode over to slam his palm against the button to raise the door. I dropped my gaze to the faded denim molded around his ass. God, someone needed to give Wrangler a hug.

  The door lifted to reveal Colt with his hands on his hips. “Scared?”

  Terrified. I darted a glance at Caine, catching the smug look he gave Colt.

  Wait a damn minute.

  They’ve just reversed roles, fool. They don’t love me. They use me and they make me like it.

  I hopped off the trunk and refused to give Caine another glance. “You should be.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Colt’s headlights strafed the orange and white barricades across Old Cottonmouth Road. His brake lights flared.

  He jogged to my window. “What the fuck?”

  I lowered the glass. “A little gift from Mack Brown. Seems Kolby Barnes doesn’t have many fans around here. Just move the barricade so we can get through.”

  “Oh, okay. So, you’re just gonna sit on your ass while I get that done?”

  “That’s what big brothers are for. Duh.” I batted my lashes.

  “Go signal.” He flashed three fingers, then made a fist. “I ain’t payin’ off if you leave early. Don’t expect you would, either. But I ain’t out here to do a bunch of false starts, so play it straight and let’s rock.”

  While he put his shoulder to the barricade so we could pass through, I texted Gerald.

  Brought your present.

  Laughing at his response—ho ho ho—I tossed the phone into the passenger seat, punched the button to turn on the dash cam, and breathed deep, trying to focus on the impending race.

  When Colt had made an opening wide enough, I pulled around his car. Twenty feet inside the barrier, I set the Cuda’s nose on the start line and started my burnout to heat the tires, while I waited for him to pull the Mustang beside me and put the barrier back in place. I focused on the reverberations of the engine flowing through my body. This was the kind of racing I recalled, surrounded by darkness, anticipating the payoff for winning, or the price to be paid for losing.

  It’s not about sex. It’s about power. The truth of Caine’s remark seemed as sharp as the smell of burning rubber.

  I wasn’t a daredevil. I would never bungee jump or climb a sheer cliff, trusting a single rope to hold me. But, if not for Colt’s lie, I’d have had trouble walking away from this.

  Oh, right. Let me just get on my knees and thank him.

  Caine’s little declaration was messing with my head. I knew better than to trust either of my stepbrothers. Caine was Colt’s minion, to the bone. What was the matter with me? I knew coming through the door, if I lowered my guard for one minute, I’d get played.

  I let off the gas and disengaged the hand brake. On my right, Colt jumped into his car and slammed the door. While smoke roiled from his rear tires, I looked around. It was so dark, I could barely see the huge chrome breather jutting from his engine compartment. He dropped his brake and looked my way. The instrument panel lights washed his face with a ghostly shade of tangerine, revealing a cocky grin.

  Oh, that smile’s gotta go.

  I let the clutch out a bit. My heart took a huge leap when he held up three fingers.

  Ready. I gunned the engine. He lowered one finger.

  Set. My heart pounded, but anticipation, not fear, drove the beat. I was eager to see what this baby could do.

  He pulled the last finger down, making a fist, and I hit the gas. Both vehicles reared, locked in a weird, mechanical line dance, before the Mustang’s front tires hit the ground ahead of mine. Colt jumped ahead.

  Don’t look at him. Drive. I kept my foot on the gas and when my front end touched down, the ‘Cuda’s nose moved past his door. It seemed early, but the engine was already making the whine that signaled a need to shift, so I shoved in the clutch and shifted into second gear. The car responded with such a leap, we flew down the deserted lane side by side.

  “Whoo hoo!” When I hit third gear, the ride smoothed out and the car seemed to take flight. I could see Colt’s headlights, but not his front end.

  Grind on that, motherfucker.

  God, did the big NASCAR motor ever have a sound. A beguiling thrum of pure, seductive power reverberated through me. My heartrate jacked up, but the refresher runs I’d made the day before helped me control the adrenaline pumping through me. All I wanted was to hear more of that sexy growl. Out here in the pitch darkness, there was nothing left to care about but outrunning the wind. The pitch of the engine climbed. I shoved in the clutch, grinning with delight when the tranny slipped into fourth gear like a man slid into a woman. The ‘Cuda responded, hurtling ahead.

  When my headlights dimmed, I didn’t worry that the alternator was dying. I knew I was outrunning their effective distance, because they weren’t designed to illuminate the road at speeds this high.

  Just another thing Caine taught me.

  Fuck you, Caine Hannah.

  I pressed the gas, even though the pedal was on the floor. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. Exhilaration zipped thorough my veins. The unseen force pinning me to the back of the seat was like being topped by a hard-thrusting man. My breath came in harsh pants, the way it did when the sex was so damn good, I couldn’t bear the pleasure. My clit throbbed in time with the engine. The strap between my thighs became a delicious torment.

  Every drop of blood in my body exploded in my sex. My pussy, my nipples—even the skin on my lips hummed. Gasping for breath, I squeezed my thighs together, tapped the brakes, and started gearing down. The strong sensations rushing through me reminded me why I’d given in to my stepbrothers’ games without much coaxing. Nothing compared to this high, except rough, demanding sex. And when they’d put them together....

  Could I ever find anything to replace this?

  Without warning, amber reflectors popped up as I topped a slight rise and hurtled across a bridge. I’d never been this far down Old Cottonmouth Road. I slammed the brake pedal to the floor, but the Barracuda hardly slowed.

  A hundred yards to go. Plenty of time.

/>   I hope.

  A low, dark shape interrupted the even slashes of white and orange. A car. Someone had parked inside the barricades. A different kind of heat flashed through me. Cold sweat trickled down my sides.

  Pump! Pump! Please, God, don’t let the brakes lock up.

  The brakes shrieked, but momentum had a ton of Detroit steel in its relentless grip. I jammed the clutch in and slammed the shifter into second. The transmission screamed as if in pain. The dark shape grew bigger and bigger and—

  Not gonna stop in time.

  I jerked the wheel to the left, pumping the brakes, but the Cuda’s lightweight rear end swung out. The rear tires hit a painful pitch as they skidded across the asphalt. I wrenched the wheel again. Flashes of white and Day-Glo orange whipped past my field of vision, only to disappear, then flash by again. And again.

  Pump brakes. Steer in the opposite direction as the skid. The car lurched. My elbow struck the console. All I could see to my left was blackness.

  Even my heartbeat stopped as the Plymouth canted. The wordless image in my mind was the convertible top. The ‘Cuda had no roll bar, no safety cage, nothing between me and the pavement but a thin layer of vinyl. If I hit pavement.

  Am I still on the bridge?

  I jammed a hand to the latch to unlock the safety harness, thinking if I could throw my weight against the driver’s door, I might tip the car the opposite way.

  Just as I stabbed the button and felt the lock give way, metal groaned. A shudder ran through the big steel body. My hand slipped on the wheel.

  I screamed as the car began to fall. “Caine!”

  Chapter Twenty

  All four tires hit the ground. The harness straps flew off my shoulders. The chassis bounced on its shocks, jolting me into the air. I came down hard on the seat, but my stiff-armed grasp on the wheel kept me from smacking my nose against the horn.

  I stared straight ahead, blinded by the aftershock of panic. When my vision returned, I thought at first the silver shape before my eyes was the wings and halo of some angel rushing to save me, but as my heart slowed, I realized I stared at a Mazda emblem. The small coupe was burgundy—and I’d seen it a time or two before.

  “Gerald! Seriously, dude? You haven’t traded that lame-ass car yet?” The dark night swallowed my yell.

  I caressed the ‘Cuda’s woodgrain steering wheel, gulping down cool air and waiting for my hot flash to subside. Turning to look over my shoulder, I spied glowing red streaks. The dull metal along the sides of the bridge reflected my brake lights, no more than fifty feet behind me. If I’d gone into the spin on that bridge—

  I’d have plunged over the side.

  Relief gave way to exultation.

  I grinned at the barriers and whooped with glee. Never mind that my legs felt like wet spaghetti noodles. I’d gone into a full three hundred and sixty degree spin, and somehow, had missed the bridge, the barricades, and the damn Mazda that sure looked an awful lot like the one Gerald Sherrill had driven the night we’d raced.

  Merry Christmas to me.

  I don’t know how long I sat there waiting for my pulse to slow. All kinds of things sped through my mind, but one thought drowned out all the rest.

  This is why they race. If you ain’t riskin’ nothin’, you ain’t livin’.

  I shifted into reverse and started my three-point turn, wondering what it would feel like to run as fast as I had for five hundred laps; grueling hours of racing flat out, playing chicken with God, while all sixty or so drivers in the field bet their lives on their car and their reflexes.

  And their pit crew.

  I wanted to beat Kolby Barnes so bad, I could taste it.

  And yet—

  How much is your self-esteem worth?

  Shifting into first, I headed for the cul-de-sac.

  The Mustang sat at an angle in the asphalt circle. Colt leaned against the front end. I scanned the trees beyond the circular curb. The streetlight no longer worked. His headlights cut a swath across the asphalt, lighting the bare trunks across the way, but throwing everything else into darkness. I pulled up beside him and cut the engine, hammered by memories.

  The one that crowded out the rest, oddly enough, was a memory of Caine. Hit me as many times as you need, Shelby. Why was that moment in my head?

  Because it happened in the spot lit by Colt’s headlights. Duh.

  A lot of things had happened right here. Why’d that moment stand out?

  “Turn your lights off.” Colt’s voice jerked me out of the internal debate. “Don’t drain the alternator. That big starter we had to install to crank that monster is pulling more power than the system’s designed to handle.”

  I wondered if the heavy part had been the deciding factor between flipping and landing right side up. Had one small change made a huge difference in outcome?

  No. Likely not. I was just looking for a reason to forgive them. Such was the madness of this place.

  Caine’s startling declaration before I’d left the garage wasn’t going to change my mind. After all, hadn’t Colt’s oddly timed declarations of love and hints about our future together swayed me to ignore my better judgment once before? It was just Caine’s turn to do the bullshitting. I’d bet my last dollar that they’d put their heads together and figured out, if Caine said anything, I’d give that more weight, because he usually said nothing.

  This wasn’t the time to go weak in the knees. My stepbrothers had some payback coming, and it was Colt’s turn to burn.

  I pushed the switch and the lights died. The winter sky was much darker than the summer evenings I recalled. When I got out of the car, the only sound was the ticking of cooling metal and the heavy beat of my heart. All familiar, yet something was missing.

  “No crickets.”

  Colt chuckled. “Not this time of year.”

  His headlights turned his tall frame into a landscape of light and shadow, but didn’t quite illuminate his face. Mine, on the other hand, was washed by his high beams. His white tank-style T-shirt peeked from between the edges of his zip-up hoodie. The thin knit hugged every hill and valley on his chest and abdomen. The elastic waistband on his pants rode low on his hips. I squinted. Actually, I’d swear those were the same gray sweatpants he’d had on the first time I ever saw him. He wasn’t hard, but his package showed through the knit.

  I lifted my eyes, squinting to see his face. “Who won?”

  He cocked his head. “You don’t know?”

  I shook my head. “Honestly? I was so enthralled by the head rush that big engine gave me, I have no idea. It took me a while to realize you weren’t there anymore.”

  His teeth gleamed, telling me he grinned, but he dropped his head, cutting off my view of his smile. “You blew my fucking doors off, kid. Did you even have to get out of fourth gear?”

  I blinked. “It has more than four?”

  “Six, actually.” When I shook my head, he threw his head back and laughed. My heart skipped a beat when he lowered his head to stare. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t see his eyes, I felt the intensity of his gaze. The hair on my arms stood at attention.

  No. Never again. My head was so much smarter than my heart, but even my heart wasn’t as stupid as it had once been.

  I wanted someone to love the way I wanted my next breath, but it could never be one of the Hannah brothers. If Caroline and I had no idea how to love a man because none had ever loved us, then my stepbrothers were in the same boat. Any woman who fell for them risked a life of pain, but me most of all. We’d bleed out from cutting each other with the sharp edges of our insecurities.

  He leaned across the two feet separating our cars to pat the hood of the ‘Cuda. “Come and get it.”

  Despite everything I’d suffered and everything I knew, I had to fight the urge to jump on that warm metal and rip off my tights while he went to his knees. I had a vivid mental picture of his grin when he found me already wet and so swollen I couldn’t help but cry out at his tongue’s first touch. />
  But I hadn’t come to forgive. I’d come to get even. Caine’s Hail Mary declaration of love wasn’t going to change my play.

  I cleared my throat. “That’s not why we’re here.”

  “C’mon, Shelby. Winner gets head. It’s the family tradition.”

  “Speaking of family, I ran into someone at the mall when we had that portrait made. Seems you never did drop off that refund you owe an old acquaintance.”

  Colt dropped his chin to his chest.

  “By the way, Gerald Sherrill’s telling a different story now.”

  “You just couldn’t let it go, could you? I told you this morning, I’d tell you everything. After the race.”

  “Tell me now. Before Gerald gets here.”

  There was just a hint of light glistening off the stubble on his jaw to let me see his jaw drop. “You’re gonna bring him out here?”

  I glanced around, peering at the dark woods behind me. “He’s already here.” I cut my eyes back to Colt, wishing like hell that I could see his face. “Nice speech this morning, but you’re not off the hook yet. You’re giving it up. That’s my price to forgive and forget. You let me watch you stick that big dick down Gerald’s throat,”—I flashed my eyebrows and grinned—“and I get to fuck that cute ass while he’s sucking you off. Then, I’ll call us even.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Would he refuse? I could almost see Colt debating whether or not I’d tell Dale what he’d done. Even if it had all been a lie, I doubted that detail would matter to Dale, because Colt made me believe it was true.

  “But first, we talk.”

  A moment passed, then another. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  I shrugged. “Nothin’s free, right? That’s the real family tradition. Gas or ass. And I got half a tank, so you gotta pay some other way. Tell me why. Why would you make me think you sold me to your friends? Why let me think I was a whore?” I cleared my throat. “Is it because you didn’t want me to find out you’re gay?”

  “I’m not gay,” he muttered. “But goddamn, it’s hard to get good head. Half the time, I wish I just had the same six inches everyone else has, you know? That’s about twice what it takes to rock your world. ‘Lotta women just look at me and shake their heads. So one day, I was bitching to Brandon about it. Next thing I know, he says, ‘Let’s race.’ And he winks, right?”