Wreck (Fuel Series Book 2)

by Ginger Scott

  ALEX: Next time you’re in town, let’s set up a race. For old times. I look forward to hearing from you. Try for Friday. I like Fridays. They’re excellent days to ink deals. Good days to celebrate. ;-)

  I black out my screen when I’m done reading and slip my phone back in my pocket. I’m not going to respond. He isn’t expecting one. I’ve seen him operate. He likes deadlines. He’s enforced them before. A few fights he’s managed have had issues with purses getting paid and the vig getting cashed out. I don’t have definitive proof, but I have the sense that Alex’s vigs carry a little extra weight, coming with security . . . or a threat.

  “Fuck,” I mutter to myself, turning back to face my car. I ball my hands together and tap my fist on the roof, my gut twisting in on itself.

  I’m about to call Tommy out to have him convince me to walk away from this whole thing when suddenly I’m not alone. It’s the last person I’d expect to comfort me out here, even though there was a time when I would expect her first, or at least second, after Hannah.

  “You should come in and eat something. Those trips are always hardest on the driver,” Mrs. Judge says.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m good. Just stretching my legs out.” I shake them for affect, but she chuckles, reading right through my lie.

  “Dustin, I’m sorry I made you ever feel—”

  “It’s fine,” I interrupt. Like I always do. Before anyone can try to make it right, I stop them and wash away any existence of trauma, or I bury it. That trick doesn’t work the same way on Amanda Judge as it does on everyone else.

  “You are welcome in this house. And I’m the one who should be out here sulking. I was—” She pauses, drawing in a sharp breath as her eyes gloss over. Fuck, if she’s going to cry. She fans herself with her hand and I roll my eyes, knowing I can’t let her break down. I pull her into a hug and she sniffles against my shirt. “I was so awful to you.”

  You were. I don’t say that.

  “It’s fine,” I say instead.

  Lie. Rinse. Repeat.

  It feels too good to forgive her, to have her forgive me for loving her daughter. To be accepted. Harboring resentment and distrust is so much work. I’d much rather be hugged as though I belong.

  “I did a little work while you were gone. Tom said he didn’t know any details, that you were being a little cagey.” She lifts a brow. I wince because that’s the kind of word someone would associate with Colt. I don’t want to be cagey. She means well though, so I hold in my defensive instincts.

  “I pulled the info on the old Carney place. It’s got good bones, but it’s in a lot of hurt. You’d get a good price, but you’ll need to put a lot of work into it.” She shades her eyes with her hand, squinting as she looks toward my truck. “You’ve made it this far, though, so . . .”

  Mrs. Judge turns back to me and her mouth settles into an effortless smile. The worry lines still accent her eyes, but her gut instincts have faith in me. If I pull this off, it’s a game changer. I’m just not sure how close to corruption I’ll need to get. Alex is my only shot, and I guess I could plead ignorance to anything illegal he does. I have no actual proof. I’m starting to rethink letting Hannah’s dad take a look at things, though.

  “Think the zoning will be an issue?” I’m not totally sure what the various regulations are around here, but that’ll need to be ironed out if a project this big is in the works.

  “I know a few people who know a few people. I have a feeling you’ll get a pretty good hearing. You know, this town’s been waiting for someone to be proud of, Dustin. I’m pretty sure you’re that guy.” She gives me a pat on the chest and walks backward a few steps before returning to the house.

  That sounds an awful lot like hero talk, and I’m not sure I’m anyone’s hero. I’m merely trying to outperform Colt Miller’s dark shadow. And in the end . . . get the girl.

  18

  How Phoenix is this much hotter when it’s only a hundred miles from home baffles me. It’s not just hot out here on the blacktop. It’s scorching. My skin burned the first day, and I’ve been careful to slather on sunscreen and wear Dustin’s long-sleeved shirts every time I go out since.

  It’s been a while since it was only me, Tommy and Dustin out at a track. It’s strange to be in a place like this with the two of them. I’m caught between this nostalgic sense that throws me back to my childhood and this feeling that we’re where we all were meant to be one day. I’m still an outsider when the two of them get under the hood, but it’s different now than it used to be. My brother doesn’t beg me to leave them alone, and Dustin—he begs me to stay.

  I like having Virgil around, too. It’s clear Dustin loves him, and I get why. He’s everything Colt never was. I’ve gotten to know Virgil pretty well these last few days, running errands for Tommy and the rest of the mechanics in the shop. Sometimes we pick up parts but mostly, we’re a food delivery service. Virgil doesn’t seem to mind. I think he just likes being around Dustin and the other guys. He’s widowed and never had kids of his own.

  There haven’t been many pissing matches over having my brother around. Tommy seems to know he’s small-time compared to these guys, but it’s fun to watch him work alongside them. He picks up their tricks so fast. My brother would have been an amazing engineer. Unlike me, though, he actually likes business too. He doesn’t feel robbed.

  “All right, who had the”—I lift the large cup and squint in an effort to decipher the barista’s handwriting—Mocha-choca-latte?” A guy named Ernie wheels out from underneath the car and snaps his fingers in the air.

  “How the hell you can drink a steaming hot brew in this weather, I have no idea.”

  I hand him his drink and he winks and says, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  Women are rare in this business. I guess it’s pretty unique for me to hang around the garage this much. Most of the men who work for Gorman’s team are older, in their fifties, and I get the sense that they’re used to a boys’ club of sorts. Misogyny is basically mixed in their blood. I call them out when I have to, but I’m not here to make a statement about how small their worldview is. I’m here to support Dustin and make sure everyone has his best interests at heart. So far, they seem to. In fact, I think the lead mechanic likes Dustin a lot more than Gorman, which might cause a problem if Dustin does well in this race.

  “Is that my cold brew? Banana, you’re a lifesaver!” Tommy reaches over my shoulder and pulls his drink from the carrier clutched in my hands. Only two drinks remain, both lemonades—mine and Dustin’s.

  “Where’s he at?” I arch a brow to Tommy as he guzzles the first third of his drink.

  He pulls his cup from his mouth and practically pants. I can’t tell whether he was thirsty or desperate for caffeine. He nods out the garage doors toward the large dirt berm that separates us from the practice track we’ve been basically living at for four days.

  “He’s really in his head over this, huh?” I say.

  Tommy lifts his shoulders and grimaces, his expression uncertain.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him drive for real in ages. I don’t know what his routine is now, but this isn’t the Dustin you and I grew up with. Our Dustin would never second-guess himself.”

  “You think that’s what he’s out there doing?” I ask.

  My insides feel as though I swallowed a dozen butterflies.

  “I dunno. Maybe he’ll talk to you. We’re doing some cool shit in here.” My brother’s face lights up with an excitement I haven’t seen in a long time. He’s in his element, no matter what he believes. Even when he doubted going out on the road with Dustin after high school, I knew. His heart belonged in a place like this, with his best friend—with the love of my life.

  Dustin is the love of my life.

  Tommy heads back to the engine bay and I turn my focus to the wind picking up outside, the orange flags waving with each growing gust. Dust flies from the top of the mound, and Dustin’s hat peeks out from the top of the hill. Nothing feels anchored
right now—this place, this chance, me and Dustin, Tommy. Everything feels so precarious. I can’t help but think Alex and his offer to partner has something to do with it all. He’s the one random ingredient that doesn’t belong. He’s messing with the balance.

  I ditch the drink holder and carry the two lemonades up the hill, my calves flexing as my tennis shoes dig into the rough ground. It’s a workout to get to the top, but after four days of running up and down this thing, I’ve gotten acclimated. My glutes are sore as shit, though.

  “Hey, stranger. You waiting for a race to start?”

  Dustin sits with his knees bent and his arms resting on top. Black jeans, black T-shirt, black hat, black Vans. I’m sure if I touch him, he’ll be a thousand degrees out in this sun. He never seems to get hot out here, though. Anywhere. It’s like his blood runs cool. He swivels his head and squints to look up at me, the sun shining behind my back.

  “I’m always waiting for a race,” he says, holding out his hand. I give him his drink and he pats the hard ground next to him. It looks hot, but I can’t refuse a chance to be near him. We haven’t had much time alone the last four days, and by the time night rolls around, Dustin basically collapses in the RV we’re all piled into. Gorman isn’t a big name. He’s not quite a medium name. It’s cool that he’s letting Dustin stay in his RV, even though it’s a little cramped for the four of us. His sponsor didn’t give him much of a choice other than to be grateful, I guess.

  I nestle into Dustin’s side and loop my arm through his, resting my head on his warm bicep while I sip at my cold lemonade. I try to untangle what’s on Dustin’s mind by following his line of sight. His eyes seem to be trained on the far curve, which I know from a few test runs is where he loses the most speed.

  “You worried about turn three?” I shift my gaze to his face so I can read his reaction, but it remains steadfast. His eyes glued on the road, or whatever he’s imagining in its place.

  “Not really. I’ll get it down. Or I’ll crash.” He laughs. I play punch his bicep and he catches my fist with his other hand. His head turned toward me, I jump on the opportunity to kiss him, pressing my sticky-sweet lips to his. His tongue passes over my bottom lip before he sucks it between his lips, scraping with his teeth. He backs away to reveal a pleased smile.

  “I like it when you taste like summer,” he says through a wide smile that dimples his golden cheeks. He lifts his hat and runs a hand through his hair, but it still flies in all directions from the wind.

  This track is almost an exact replica of what he’s racing on a week from now. It’s the reason most of the drivers come here to work out kinks before the big weekend. Who knows, maybe one day they’ll be heading to Camp Verde to set up there before the race.

  “You know, I still haven’t gotten my trip around the loop.” I nod down toward the track and Dustin follows my lead, his head falling to one side as he considers my request. I’ve been dying to drive the car, just once. He took me on a trip in the Supra our first night here, but the stock car only has room for him. And it barely has room for him. The steering wheel comes out before he gets in.

  “Tommy say how close they are with the car?” He glances back to me and I draw my legs in close, ready to stand and sprint into the garage. He’s never been this close to saying yes to letting me drive.

  “They looked close to done. Besides, aren’t you the boss?”

  Dustin’s head falls back in laughter and his eyes close.

  “Not even close,” he coughs out. His head rights and he turns to look me in the eyes, still amused at my suggestion. “Don’t let Ernie hear you say that. He’s got twenty years or more on me. And Douglas, who is the actual boss when it comes to that particular set of wheels, has the power to tell Albert Pierce Financial to pick another driver. He’s been Gorman’s crew chief since the beginning. He has no loyalties to me. I know the sponsor wanted to get some air time out of this. That’s why I’m here.”

  “You’re here . . .” I pause to stand, holding out my hand for him to take. He does, glaring at me skeptically as he steps up in front of me. I let go of his hand and fist his T-shirt as I move in close. He smells so good. Even with this unforgiving sun radiating off of his chest. “Because you are the best fucking driver this track—any track—has ever seen, and you were born to shatter records and change the game, Dustin Bridges.”

  His lip curls and his head leans to the side a hint as he brings his mouth close to mine. I look down as our lips draw close, not wanting to shut my eyes and miss the sexy way his jaw flexes when he’s just about to kiss me. It does it now.

  “Team Eat My Dust, right?” he whispers against me, sucking in my top lip, tugging at my smile. My teeth graze against his mouth as he moves his free hand behind my back and leans into me, arching my back as he deepens our kiss. If it weren’t hotter than Hades out here, I’d strip off my clothes and take him right here. Instead, I’ll settle for a stint behind the wheel.

  “Come on. Let’s see about that car.”

  It’s comforting to see that little bit of swagger back in his step as we climb over the hill and back down, into the garage. He lets go of my hand and glances down at me with a smirk before putting his fingers between his teeth and blowing out a loud whistle to announce his presence.

  “What?” Tommy yells from somewhere on the other side of the hood.

  I smile, loving this return to the familiar. This is how Tommy and Dustin always communicated when we were growing up. They could be blocks apart and all it took was one whistle to find each other. It’s their own special brand of Marco Polo. I could never play along because I can’t whistle for shit. It was never a problem, though, because one of them always knew where I was. They always had an eye on me, looking out for me. The three of us—invincible.

  “I’m feeling like I want to give it another run. How we looking?” Dustin sinks his hands into his back pockets, a nervous habit. He’s trying to look casual, and it probably does to the rest of the guys in here. I see the subtleties, though.

  The hood drops with a heavy clunk, revealing Douglas and Tommy. They’re both wiping their hands clean on towels, and I’m relieved to see that they’re smiling. I’m sure Dustin is too. I think I understand why he’s intimidated by Douglas, as well. I’m sure a little bit of it comes from his loyalties to Gorman and his years on the job, in this world, knowing what it takes, but the bulk of it is likely due to the uncanny similarities between Douglas and Colt. Their voices are close in tone, the same raspy quality from years of smoking. But it’s their physical traits too, down to the same thinning hairline, sagging neck fat and oversized Adam’s apple. I’d even venture to guess they’re the same height.

  “I tweaked the throttle a little. If you ease up then punch it through that third turn, I think you’ll feel a difference. Might just shave that second off,” Douglas says, tossing Dustin his helmet.

  Everything about Dustin’s body changes the minute that helmet hits his hands. His tight muscles relax, his shoulders drop, his stance widens—I’d bet his dick is hard, too. But before he slips the helmet on, he shoots me a look, then tosses it to me. A foolish grin takes over my face.

  “Really?” I’m already slipping it on and reaching for the fire suit before he changes his mind. If I have to, I’ll just leap through that window.

  “I’ve never seen a chick so excited to hit two-hunny on a circle before,” Ernie pipes in.

  “It’s Hannah. She’s not a chick, she’s my sister, and she’s come close in the Supra,” Tommy says. Clearly, my brother isn’t intimidated by the crew.

  “Roger that, dude. My bad,” Ernie says, saluting my brother then bowing to me.

  “But to be clear, Ernie,” I shout as I zip up my suit, “Yes, this chick is fucking stoked to hit two-hunny on the circle.” I leave him with a coy smile, lift one leg up and thread my body through the window.

  Dustin leans in, resting his elbows on the open frame while I buckle in.

  “Your sponsor is not going to like
this,” I say in a low voice to keep it between us. It’s not going to stop me. At this point, I’ll peel out of here and go rogue if I have to.

  “Guess you better not crash, then.” He reaches in and tugs my harness tight. “And maybe don’t hit two hunny?”

  “Mmm, can’t promise that, babe.” I flip the switch and let the car roar to life. If I didn’t want to make love to Dustin before this moment, I’m beyond ready now. That’s the kind of girl I am; the kind who gets off on the rumble of a Toyota V-8 boasting six-hundred horsepower.

  I blow Dustin a kiss as he steps away, a proud smile on his lips, then slip the visor down on my helmet and follow Ernie’s guide as I roll backward out of the garage. Douglas is standing at the entrance to the track, and I slow as I get closer to him, a little worried he’s going to kill this idea.

  He rests his hand on the hood when I stop, and pushes his sunglasses up on his head. He looks over his shoulder at the empty track—nothing to hit, I promise—then back to me. “You get one lap. Nobody knows about this. Ever. Got it?”

  I flip up my visor as my grin grows, and Douglas rolls his eyes and belly laughs.

  “Fucking hell. All right, cut her loose.”

  He slaps the hood twice and I roar onto the track. The power under my palms ignites my entire body, and I get my feel for it for the first stretch of the track, keeping it around eighty. The wheel is tight, more so than the Supra, and even with my small frame, the space is a tough fit.

  “That all you got, Banana?” Tommy’s voice pipes into my headset and I laugh right before I floor it and run it up to one-twenty before knocking it down for the first turn.

  “You shift like a maniac,” he says.