Chapter 6 Gianna #2
One of the papers has a familiar picture that catches my eye. I reach for it, straining to see the smudged text under the poor lighting. The picture is enough for me to smile: a gunmetal grey ’67 Mustang with rally stripes.
Ryker peers over my shoulder. ‘Your dad’s car?’
I murmur agreement, nodding once. ‘He used to tell us stories about racing here.’
He takes the paper from my palm and heads over to the window where sunlight shines through. ‘Brooks takes home Spokes Cup in three-peat win …’
My eyes travel over all the trophies collecting dust as Ryker continues reading out the details of the race.
I’d give anything to have seen it for real, to have been waiting at the finish line when he crossed it.
Ma would never let me go when I was little.
My heart aches and I take a deep breath, feeling the tears sting through my nose.
Snap out of it.
‘C’mon.’ I turn to Ryker. ‘Show me what we’re here for.’
He smiles, folds the article and puts it in his pocket. Then he leads me down a hallway, the greasy smell getting stronger as we go. Our garage at home has a similar scent, with more musk. I fill my lungs; it smells like home.
Suddenly, a clanging noise sends me leaping to Ryker’s side, gripping his arm with a yelp. He laughs and places a reassuring palm over mine, his hands enveloping me in warmth.
‘Are you sure security’s gone?’ I whisper.
‘He’s gone,’ he says easily.
I’m pretty sure my brows reach my hairline. ‘Then what was that?’
‘You know what …’ His eyes go wide. ‘It might be the zombies.’
Jerking away from him, I turn to run but he catches my wrist. ‘I’m just playing, Gianna. It’s an old, abandoned building. It just makes noises.’
‘If it’s abandoned, then why is there security?’ I hiss, leaning against the wall as my legs threaten to give way. We really shouldn’t be in here.
‘The speedway’s been here since the 1950s.
It’s a heritage site. It was passed down from generation to generation until a few years ago, when the boards went up and the crowds went home for good.
I think there was an accident, but can’t be certain.
No one knows who even owns it anymore. Dellenty’s probably here to keep it free from graffiti and shit, especially with The Prank on this week.
’ Ryker reaches for my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine and guiding us back down the hall.
‘Now stop dicking around. We don’t have much time left. ’
I want to ask, ‘Left for what?’ but my breath is stolen from my lungs as he drags me along until we enter a room full of monitors. The place smells like coffee and stagnant air.
He releases my fingers and goes toward a control panel. ‘Here it is.’
Tapping away at the keyboard and moving the mouse, he clicks around until the cursor moves on the top right security monitor, showing the speedway’s front gate which is now shut and the white sedan nowhere in sight.
I watch as Ryker sifts through files and deletes footage of us at the front of the building.
He presses a few more buttons, making the picture freeze. He’s paused the live feed.
‘How do you know what you’re doing?’ I ask.
‘I have my own rocks.’ He points to his temple.
I frown, biting back a laugh. ‘Having rocks in your skull isn’t a good thing.’
He waves his hand dismissively. ‘Semantics. I have my own way of making things happen.’
Returning to task, Ryker clicks a few more times. In the centre screen, the gate to the track opens. After a final check of all the monitors, he pulls his phone out and checks the time again. ‘Alright, now it’s on, Little Suspect.’
* * *
‘Your chariot awaits.’ Ryker swings the driver’s side door of his truck open, motioning for me to get in.
‘What do you mean?’ I take a cautious step back.
I waited by the track entrance and watched as he drove it to the starting line of the track, but I didn’t think he was planning this.
Ryker winks at me. ‘You’re gonna take this beast for a lap.’
‘Of the speedway? Are you kidding? Ryker, I don’t know how to drive!’
‘Perfect time to learn.’ He beckons once more.
I open my mouth to protest but he reaches out and grabs my hands, bringing me closer to the vehicle. I shake my head, lost for words.
My eyes bounce from the truck to the racetrack and back again. Panic sets in. Deep. I’ve had a handful of lessons and I don’t think driving is for me. Besides, Booker Bay is a small town, and I’m comfortable enough walking everywhere.
We reach the door and I pull back, digging my heels into the dirt. ‘Ryker, no.’
He feigns a serious expression, mocking mine. ‘Gianna, yes.’
He dips down and picks up my legs from underneath me, gently placing me into the driver’s seat and closing the door. My palms instantly become slick with sweat.
Ryker climbs into the passenger seat with a shit-eating grin that makes my heart stall. There’s something about that slight gap between his teeth that mesmerises me. Probably because it belongs to him.
‘Press on the brake.’ He raises his brows and jerks his chin.
I don’t, shaking my head instead.
‘Just follow my lead,’ he gently assures. ‘You trust me, remember?’
I take a deep breath, holding it before letting it out in a slow stream.
Actions always speak louder than words, so instead of answering, I go to press the clutch in, but my feet are far away from the pedals.
They just kick air. I pull the lever. Ryker places a hand behind my seat, helping adjust it as far forward as possible.
Breathing deeply, I briefly close my eyes, coming back to the feel of that warm, safe Ryker hug.
When I open them again, I press down on the pedal, and he reaches over to press the ignition button.
The truck rumbles, the vibration making my stomach tighten and tingle.
I glance over the dash, taking inventory.
I know cars. Pa taught me all about them.
I know everything about them except how to drive them.
‘You’re nervous,’ Ryker observes correctly, resting his elbow on the centre console, hiding a smirk behind his fingers as he leans his chin on his palm.
‘I just … need to warn you.’ My cheeks grow hot. ‘I’ve only backed out the Mustang from the driveway once. Years ago. And Pa made sure I never did it ever again, with good reason.’
He nods once. ‘I know why the mailbox is crooked,’ he says. ‘The ’stang is a manual, so you already know about sticks, right?’
My pulse hammers. Everything feels too hot and the air may as well be engine oil. ‘I understand it in theory.’
A laugh pours from his mouth, dousing my worries. ‘Good. Right now, the stick is in neutral.’ I glance down at the gearstick between us, the knob vibrating as the truck idles.
‘The turns aren’t tight and there’s a decent straight.’ Ryker points ahead of us. ‘You could probably change up to third gear, but only if you want to. If the clutch goes in, you’re off the accelerator. Clutch off, accelerator on. Got it?’
Yes.
No.
God, who on earth created manual vehicles?
I nod, and my hands tightly grip the wheel. This truck is huge. My body takes up as much space as a single Razzle inside its package. Focusing ahead, the dirt track is a large loop with some patchy green grass in the centre. I put the clutch in and press on the brake before moving to first gear.
‘Great,’ Ryker says. ‘Now, slowly release the clutch and give it just a little gas.’
I hate this. I really do.
Focusing on my feet, I let pressure off the clutch and press down on the accelerator, but the truck shudders before the engine is killed. I groan.
‘Gianna.’ Ryker places a hand on my thigh, and all of a sudden my body is searing hot for a completely different reason. He gives me a reassuring squeeze. ‘Relax, and a bit slower off the clutch this time. Eyes up.’ His fingers tilt my chin upward. ‘There’s no rush.’
I peek up at him through my lashes. He’s lying.
The clock says it’s 10.37 am, and he said security would take fifteen minutes.
But I take a deep breath and release it through puffed cheeks.
Relaxing my grip, I repeat the movements once more, pressing down on the accelerator while releasing the clutch.
‘Slowly,’ he reminds me. ‘Make her purr, not scream. That’s for later.’ He gives a wicked smile that send shivers running up my spine.
He means the car … right?
I give it a little more gas before slowly releasing the clutch completely.
The truck bunnyhops once then eases forward, the dirt crunching beneath us.
I think the engine’s going to cut out again, but it doesn’t.
We move forward. My heart hammers and I release some of the tension in my shoulders, guiding the truck to the speedway track.
We’re a while away from our first turn, so I go for more speed, hearing the tyres kick up rocks.
‘Now, clutch in, and change to second,’ Ryker says.
I follow his instructions perfectly.
‘I did it!’ I squeal. ‘Holy shit, I’m driving!’
The engine rumbles and vibrates underneath my thighs and I upshift to third on the straight.
Ryker smacks his hands together in a solid clap. ‘Yeah, you got it, Little Suspect.’
I breathe, taking my right foot off the accelerator and applying a bit of brake.
Putting the clutch in, I move back down a gear.
It crunches a few times, but then the gear sticks and I roll through the turn.
Ryker stays silent as I veer back onto the straight and methodically change up a gear.
My chest puffs and I throw him a smile, seeing he’s already smiling at me.
He straightens and kisses his fingers. ‘Voilà!’
From the corner of my eye, I see Ryker bring a stick of gum to his lips, using his teeth to remove the wrapper. He offers me a piece and I poke my tongue out at him, showing my Razzle gum.
‘Of course. Always yellow,’ he says with a playful smirk.
I shoot a quick glance his way. He’s folding the gum wrapper in on itself. His corded forearms flex with the movement.