Wreck (Fuel Series Book 2)

by Ginger Scott

  “Yeah, well, who taught me that?” I taunt back.

  It’s true. I’m sloppy compared to Dustin. I’d get eaten alive out here. But the freedom this single sprint around a misshapen oval has given me a new sense of confidence, an injection of faith. The Straights are nothing compared to this.

  The next straightaway open ahead of me, I grind my way back to a top speed near one-fifty. Any higher feels dangerous, so I keep it right there and let the adrenaline course through my veins.

  “Woo whoo!” I shout.

  “Atta girl,” Dustin chimes in.

  A rush of shivers travels down my spine hearing his voice, feeling this power in my hands, under my feet, around my body. I smile through the next turn, downshifting cleaner than before and fire up on the backstretch toward Douglas. I’m half-tempted to take one more turn, but I want the guy to like me. More importantly, to like Dustin, so I slow it down and roll to a stop at his feet.

  I kill the switch and climb out, my body vibrating with nervous energy that makes it hard to stand.

  “It’s a rush, isn’t it?” Douglas says.

  I hand him the helmet and unzip my fire suit.

  “I could get addicted to that.” I’m laughing through my words, my fingers fumbling with the zipper. Dustin’s calm hands finally cover mine and help me the rest of the way.

  “A little jacked, are we?” He’s wearing his suit, which means it’s his turn to show off. I’m almost more excited to watch this. I’ve seen it a thousand times, and it never gets old.

  “How about this,” I begin, stepping free of the pants and lifting myself up on my toes to whisper in his ear. “You beat your time and take that turn like I know you can, and I will let you fuck me in the grandstands tonight when the boys are asleep.”

  I reach between us and cup his hard-on, giving it a gentle squeeze before slipping away. His wide eyes and lifted brow match the tempted smile tugging at his lips.

  “Deal,” he says, dropping his helmet on his head and swinging his body into the car in one smooth movement.

  The car fires to life and Dustin spins the tires, warming them on his way to the starting line. Douglas snaps his fingers to my brother, and Tommy gives him the headset.

  “All right, Dust. You go on my count. You ready?”

  I can’t hear Dustin on the other end but Douglas begins to count down from five. The trip to one feels like forever, but the moment Douglas’s mouth forms the word, Dustin peels off from the start and Tommy, Ernie and Virgil all press their stopwatches to time.

  It’s laughable how smooth he is on the road compared to me. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he’s gliding on ice, taking every inch that’s his, banking where he needs to and coasting to the middle in the right spot. His first turn is efficient, his time about half a second ahead of where he needs to be, and I squeeze my legs together at the thought of his reward.

  “Alright, now ease in. You’re going to feel the throttle this next bank, so punch it and don’t hold back.” I see why Dustin said Douglas is the real master. He looks out on the track like a professor, his eyes dissecting every nuance while his mind calculates every fraction in real time. This man is my brother’s king.

  Dustin hits the turn and I hold my breath, my stomach riding waves while I mentally will him to beat this imaginary demon that’s keeping him from breaking the barrier. He’s done this before. He’s done it on roads far worse than this, turns much tighter. He’s been letting nerves drive the corners rather than his skill, but this time . . . this trip is different.

  “Yes,” Tommy mumbles just over my shoulder.

  I lift up on my toes and my brother says it again.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes!” he shouts a third time, just as Dustin breaks from high to low and comes down the straightaway a full two seconds ahead of his best time.

  I bounce on my toes and notice in my periphery that Virgil is doing the same. The three boys are constantly glancing from their timers to the track, their smiles hovering on the cusp of celebration.

  “That’s it, Dustin. Tear it up, now. Tear. It. Up!” Douglas steps closer to the edge of the track and I join him, my pulse pounding as Dustin gets nearer, suddenly flying by us, the wind in his wake blowing my hair across my face. My insides thunder as he disappears around the final turn, and my brother runs on the track toward the finish line, leaping in the air when he finally stops his timer and spins to compare his clock with Ernie and Virgil.

  “Four seconds. Fucker just shaved four seconds,” Douglas utters, pulling the headset off and glancing to me.

  “How do you know?” He doesn’t have a timer in his hand, but before he can answer me, my brother shouts the very same facts before tearing across the infield to jump on Dustin’s back.

  Douglas stretches at the collar of his T-shirt, his mouth caught in awe, eyes open with surprise.

  “I just know,” he finally says.

  I look out on the field as Tommy and Dustin celebrate, two boys now men seeing their fantasies come true, getting to live them out. We always knew Dustin had what it takes. He’s always been special. For the first time ever, though, I get to see that realization dawn on someone else. I do believe Dustin has a new fan.

  “Well, goddamn.” Douglas laughs, shaking his head as he makes his way toward the rest of the group.

  I hang back, knowing my time will come. I’ve got a debt to pay. And I’m so ready to honor it.

  19

  Hannah had a little to do with my time around that track. I’ll let her take all the credit, despite what I know is the truth—that I ripped through my best time using rage. I let my anger flood my body, and I became a machine, following Douglas’s orders and my own instincts. I’ve always driven like this, determined and fearless. But I’ve never let myself slip into a place of such anger before. So much hate. I was able to cut off everything that didn’t matter to the moment—Hannah included. I lost myself to the goal. One mission.

  I wrecked that track out of my hate for Colt, my detestation for my fake mom, resentment for my real one, and for motherfucking Alex Offerman and the line he’s making me straddle. And when I realized how good I could be when I tapped into all that darkness, I dove deeper. I reveled in it. And Hannah, she was so damned proud.

  It’s taken me most of the day to come to terms with the fact I may be two different people. I’m very much the man I try to be. I would put Hannah above anything, even my own life. I’m a survivor and a fighter, and I value the love I’ve been able to find in the most unlikely of places, love I often don’t believe I deserve. I honor the work—mine, Tommy’s, the team’s. Even Virgil’s.

  But there is a darkness inside me. I’ve slipped into it a few times over the last four years. I tell myself it’s just addiction in my blood, that my thirst to feel a buzz or black out life’s painful parts is simply part of my DNA, something that can’t be helped. And I constantly fight against those cravings. I have my whole life.

  When I was fourteen, I drank a pack of hard lemonade my fake mom had sitting in the fridge. I got sick fast, and the next day I told Tommy and Hannah it was food poisoning. When I was fifteen, I tried one of the pills Dad had bundled in bags at the kitchen table. I wanted to numb the bruises on my back from where he hit me with a shovel. I slept deep and hard, and the rest was so good I took another pill when I woke up. I spent the two weeks before my sixteenth birthday in a waking slumber, and by the end I was taking two at a time. It happens fast.

  My fake mom overdosed for a second time the day after I turned sixteen. I got home from celebrating at the Straights with Tommy and Hannah. I called the paramedics and followed them to the hospital. After I drove her home and tucked her in, I went to my room and pulled the stash I’d stolen from Colt out from my pillowcase and flushed the pills down the toilet. I’ve kept myself straight ever since. At least, until I left Hannah.

  There were a few nights I was blackout drunk. Probably more than a few. Country bars in Oklahoma are a great place to dr
own sorrows. I always picked myself back up, though. I’d stop cold, for months, and throw myself into racing. I’d replace the high or buzz with my obsession, and when I saw growth, it spurred me on, made me sleep less and work more.

  Then Alex would call, offer me a race, a trip to Vegas—a chance to be the other me for a little while. A lot of the things I did with him, for him, were probably questionable. I didn’t care. Alex gave me money I desperately needed, and I threw a race or two. The idea that someone had a pull over me strong enough to make me willingly lose ate at my insides, and so I would visit the darkness again.

  The cycle.

  Being with Hannah again changes everything.

  I haven’t felt the pull once since I’ve been back. Even in Vegas, when I was willingly dancing with the devil, I held on to Hannah’s essence—her kiss, her scent, her taste—and I always saw the light. Such a fool to think I could walk the line and not get burned.

  Alex called me this morning. He’s the reason I was alone, staring at the track. If I don’t go in with him on this deal he’s going to buy the property out from under me and bring in his own guys. “The opportunity is too good to pass up,” he said.

  I don’t need Tommy’s smarts to see what Alex is doing. I knew the minute he gave me those changes to the contract. It was probably his plan all along. He’s going to use the track to launder his dirty money. I don’t know where that money comes from, but it isn’t a righteous place.

  I took that rage, the feeling of being trapped, and I turned it into fuel. I’ve been trapped my entire life. If that’s my destiny, I should at least profit from it in some way, shouldn’t I?

  Two men.

  I need the better one to come alive now. I need him present. Hannah deserves the best of me. I know she dropped that sexy offer as a tease because she wants me as much as I want her. But I don’t want this thing between us to burn hot then burn out. She deserves more. She deserves the light.

  I haven’t worn a suit since the one I scraped together for Hannah’s prom. I didn’t even need all of the pieces of it when I came home to deal with Colt’s affairs. That suit was shit compared to this suit. This suit arrived sheathed in a leather zipped bag, paid for by an allowance I get from the sponsor. The hanger is made of wood. The deep blue color changes color depending on the light, and I swear it feels like silk even though it’s not.

  I could get used to a life of money.

  After my time trials I told Hannah to spend the day getting pampered, to call Bailey and have some fun. I want to take her out, and I wanted time to prepare it all. I also needed to get my head right.

  I feel seventeen again, and that feels good. I get ready at the garage, and Tommy helps with the tie. I’m still not sure I’ll ever get this thing off my neck, but that knot is solid so I’m rocking it. Hannah’s been in our RV with Bailey, doing whatever it is girls do to get ready for a night out. From what I can tell, that consists of mostly giggling.

  I tug on the lapel of my jacket, thankful for the night air and a tepid June evening. Clearing my throat, I form a fist and hold it near the door until I finally feel ready. I knock twice and step back, folding my hands behind me and lifting my chin.

  “One second!” Hannah calls out.

  My palms are sweating, so I do my best to dry them on the back of my jacket before she opens the door. Bailey steps out first, leaving the door cracked behind her as she hovers between the top two steps leading to the RV.

  “You better be taking her somewhere expensive because we spent a lot of time on that hair,” she says.

  A nervous laugh breaks through my even more anxious smile.

  “I have something special planned.” I hold up my hand to swear it.

  Bailey nods then draws the door open, revealing an absolute goddess in a white flowy dress that sweeps against her thighs and cuts down the middle of her chest with this mesmerizing crisscross of golden rope. She’s a Roman queen, royal skin bronzed from the sun, smoky eyes that sparkle when she bats her lashes, deep red lips that will be the death of me. Her feet are practically bare, only thin sandals and leather straps that wind up her legs.

  “Oh, damn,” I breathe out.

  “Really?” Hannah sweeps a few of the ringlets that tickle the sides of her face from her eyes as they twirl in the wind. I move in close and offer my hand as she trails down the steps. Her hair is piled up in curls that seem to spill from her head down to her soft, supple skin. I’m going to enjoy unraveling it all later. Sooner rather than later.

  “I think maybe I’m underdressed,” I say, tugging at my tie, which suddenly feels tighter around my neck. It’s not the only thing that feels tighter.

  Hannah spins so she’s standing directly in front of me, our hands tethered at our waists. She glances down and her eyes make the slow journey up the length of my body, her smile owning her face and growing with every new inch of me she sees.

  “You look amazing, Dustin. You look like the man I always knew you’d be.”

  My body visibly quakes at her compliment. She doesn’t realize how deep her words cut at the very crisis in my soul. I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles as I gaze at her.

  “I’m just trying to look like I deserve you,” I say. This time, she’s the one to tremble in response. I back away and spin, holding out my arm to escort my queen.

  “Shall we?”

  She loops her arm through mine and Bailey whistles as we walk across the empty lot to the Supra. I let Hannah in, careful to make sure her dress isn’t caught in the door, then rush to the other side. I’ve never been more excited to show someone something. Hannah is going to love this; I know it in my heart.

  It took a little smooth talking for me to make it happen, and I may have sold myself to be something a little bigger than I actually am. But I’ll tip well. If I have to spend every dime of the money Gorman’s team gave me to live on for the next week to make this night extra special, I will. I’ve eaten ramen and peanut butter sandwiches for days before. I can survive on it again.

  “Open the glove box.” I nod to the lever in front of Hannah. She eyes me with suspicion but pulls the box open. I didn’t anticipate her hair being done up so nice, so she might resist my request, but I really want this to be a surprise.

  “Take out the blindfold and put it on before I drive.”

  Her mouth tightens and curves into this demure smile. She pulls the silk scarf from the box and slides her hands in either direction, gripping the ends and bringing the width of the cloth up to her face. She drapes it over her eyes and ties it loosely behind her head, and I let about a million and one fantasies play out in my head as she does.

  “You better not make me car sick,” she says as she rests back in her seat and adjusts the seat belt across her chest.

  I smirk and bring the car to life.

  “I promise, no fast turns until you can see them coming.”

  Where we’re headed is only a twenty-minute drive. It’s late enough of a weekday that the traffic in the city won’t be heavy, if any at all. I take the interstate for half the distance, then cut through the tall buildings down Central Avenue, stopping at a few lights. The greens and reds reflect off Hannah’s skin, and every pause gives me a chance to take in her curves, to remember how they feel under my fingertips.

  To adore her.

  “Is it pancakes?” She’s been throwing out random guesses for the entire trip. I’m glad she’s hungry because I do have dinner planned. She hasn’t even come close to where I’m taking her, though. I’m not sure if she even realizes we’re in the city.

  “It’s better than pancakes,” I say, signaling for the final turn of our journey. I dip into the bottom floor of the garage, wondering if this will give something away.

  “Nothing is better than pancakes,” Hannah says. She does reach out with her hands to steady herself as the car shifts along the bumps in the garage.

  “Reserve your judgement.”

  I pull into the spot marked with a cone, the w
ay the manager told me it would be. A night guard holds open the back door that employees use to leave at night and I hold up my hand to greet him.

  “Good evening, sir,” he says as I dash out of the car and offer him a smile.

  “Good evening. Thank you for doing this,” I say, rushing to Hannah’s door and opening it to help her out.

  “Can I take it off yet?”

  “Not quite yet,” I answer, pulling the fabric down a little to prevent her from catching clues on the floor.

  “Hey,” she says, swatting at my chest. I grab her hand and kiss it, then keep it held in mine.

  “You forget I’ve been through a lot of piñatas with you. I know all of your cheating techniques.”

  She laughs at my confession but nods with a tight smile.

  “I could always see out of the bottom. You and Tommy would swing and swing.”

  I usher her through the door, my palm on her back as the night guard holds in his laugh at our banter. I’m glad he finds us entertaining. I’m asking a lot for him to be here.

  “Yeah, but you broke out all the candy and Tommy and I could see to pick it up. You barely got a thing by the time you were done beating that thing with a bat.”

  Her honey laugh echoes in the empty hallway, and I note the way she flinches, hoping this is a clue. It’s the service entrance; it won’t tell her a thing.

  “I think I would be really good at telling police where kidnappers are taking me. I’m good at hearing things,” she brags. Our guide can’t hold in his laugh, and spits out tiny blasts of sound from between his fingers as he cups his mouth.

  “Like that! See? Someone else is here. Tommy? Is it Tommy?”

  I lean into her and kiss her cheek.

  “It isn’t Tommy,” I say. “And let’s not muse about being kidnapped, okay?”

  I know she was just being funny, trying to make me break down and let her know where we are, but the mere mention of something like that—of her being a target—sent shivers down my spine. My head immediately went to Alex, to how trapped I am. I can’t believe he would do something that evil though.