Chapter 17 Ryker
Ryker
PRESENT
I’ve got a headache.
It’s been clawing at the backs of my eyes and grinding into my skull since my little tiff with the maggot earlier. But Alexander’s no longer a problem, and it’s time to see what’s happening at Midnight Spares in Empire City.
As my motorbike veers along the moonlit outskirts of Booker Bay toward the bridge, I catch sight of a rusty Hudson Hornet which has me feeling nostalgic, so I turn left without even thinking twice.
I used to love this place. I’d sneak in all the time with Jace and zip around the track, trying to beat my own records. But there’s one stand-out memory with a girl who loves Razzles, which was also the last time I ever came here.
I’m not surprised the speedway hasn’t changed – including how easy it is to break into. If anything, it’s easier, with no security around at all. This place is slowly rotting away to nothing.
What does surprise me is a banged-up gunmetal grey Mustang with blue rally stripes already lined up at the start of the track.
What are you doing, Little Suspect?
I unravel the chain and lock she’s already picked and left hanging pointlessly around the fence.
Guiding my bike into the car park, I hit the kill switch and follow the red taillights.
The revs boom as Gianna takes off around the loop.
At the first corner, she spins out, the sound of skidding tyres cutting through the crickets of the night.
The car revs again. She shoots down the straight only to spin out again at the opposite end.
Well, pour me a shot of what-the-fuck juice. Is little Gianna Brooks trying to drift?
Heading out onto the track, the headlights of the Mustang barrel toward me at an impressive pace. Clouds of dust form as the car jerks right at the last second. Dirty air hits my face, a warning of how close she was, before the tyres drag along the pebbles, skidding to a halt.
I bring a cigarette to my mouth, watching as she steps out of the car. Brown curls fall around her face and her chest heaves.
‘What the hell, Ryker?’ Gianna screams, slamming the door behind her and storming toward me, her legs kicking up dust clouds.
Adorable.
The moonlight spills down her body, making her look ethereal in her little denim skirt that I’m itching to hike up. I’m two seconds away from caving to that fantasy when her car suddenly belts out ‘Hotel California’ by The Eagles.
Interesting choice.
She dips back into the car with a groan and fumbles with the sound system until it simmers down. When she barges back toward me, she doesn’t stop until she’s standing on my toes, tipping her head back to meet my eyes.
‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’ she seethes.
I don’t miss the peek of her tongue as it swipes out to run along her bottom lip. My stomach tightens at the thought of what that tongue would feel like running up the length of my cock. Even better if she was on her knees with tears in her eyes.
I’m … I’m a fucking goner.
I dig a lighter from my pocket and flick the spark wheel, feeling the flame warm my thumb. ‘Always in places you shouldn’t be, Little Suspect.’
‘I could say the same about you.’ Her eyes dart to the flame before she snatches the lighter from my hands and stuffs it into her back pocket.
‘Is that an invitation?’ I test, arching a brow suggestively.
My comment only scores me a glower. ‘Get off the track.’
God, she’s sexy when she’s angry. Every time she’s in front of me, my mind is muddled to everything that isn’t her. That headache is now replaced with another kind of ache, one that sears through my chest while heat shoots through my blood.
‘Why are you even here? Are you stalking me?’ She cocks her hip, putting on a tough-girl show, but there’s a small flush creeping up her neck. I want to wrap my fingers around her throat and feel how hard I make her pulse hammer.
‘Would you like that?’ I ask, tucking the cigarette back behind my ear.
‘Ugh!’ She levels me with a glare. ‘Would you stop! I’m the one asking the questions here.’
This is the hottest I’ve ever seen her, and I’ve always found her mouth-wateringly sexy.
Then I notice a little puffiness to her red-rimmed eyes.
She’s upset. I remember her heartbreaking, brutal, uncontrollable sobs from the last time I saw her cry, four years ago.
The very thought of someone making her cry like that sends a flash of rage coursing underneath my skin.
Suddenly, she jerks back, wary. ‘Ryker?’
‘What?’
‘Thank god.’ The tenseness in her body eases. ‘Your eyes. They … change sometimes, like you’re not in there and a monster takes over. I don’t know where you go.’
I give a noncommittal grunt and straighten my spine. ‘I’m right here.’ My eyes flick to the dented rear panel of her car.
‘What happened?’ I ask, jerking my chin. Of course, I already know, but I want to see if my Little Suspect is also a little liar.
She shakes her head, refusing to answer while she fidgets with her rings. I head to her car, letting my fingers run across the concave metal. The dent is deep.
When she says nothing, I continue, ‘You don’t have the right tyres to drift on dirt.’
‘Well.’ She turns up her nose. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘It’s my business when you’re burning up the clutch of a classic by doing everything wrong. I taught you better than that.’ I lean against the car and face her. ‘You need a quick drifting lesson?’
‘I don’t need your help.’
I push away from the car, lowering my face to hers. ‘Baby.’ Her skin is soft when I grip her jaw, forcing her to look at the damage. ‘Yes, you do.’
I chuckle as she frantically slaps at my hands. ‘It’s so easy,’ I muse.
‘What is?’
‘To rile you up. These panties of yours are still in a twist?’ I hook my index finger in the waistband of her skirt and bring her close. ‘What’s got you in a mood, huh?’
She swats my hands away, but I slip them around her waist. She thrashes against my hold for a few moments, always a fighter, but then her movements slow and she softens, leaning into my touch.
There she is.
Her breathing calms, and when she looks up, her eyes glower a little less.
‘So,’ I croon, ‘what trouble did you get into?’
She hesitates a moment, looking at her fingers that scrunch the fabric of my shirt.
‘I … I lost a race. And I can’t lose again. We were never meant to lose a race,’ she mumbles, more to herself.
We. I don’t have to ask who she means. Guilt immediately rears its ugly head.
‘Why are you friends with that guy?’ she tacks on.
I’m grateful when she quickly changes the subject, obviously not wanting to go down that road just as much as I don’t.
‘Guy?’ I frown.
She focuses her absent gaze on me, her eyes glazed with confusion and maybe even worry. ‘The guy that came into work this morning. Alexander.’
‘Friend is … a loose term.’
‘So you’re not really friends?’
‘No, Gianna.’ I don’t bother telling her there’s some shady shit going on that I’m trying to work out, because I think she knows more than me. ‘You’ve never been good with sarcasm, have you?’
She eyes me with silent suspicion.
I cock an eyebrow. ‘Got something you want to say?’
She sighs, staring at her feet as she kicks the dirt. ‘The Porsche he brought in had no VIN.’
I nod along, clicking my tongue before I say, ‘But how did you know that when you never popped the hood?’
Her eyes widen – it’s slight but I notice it – followed by a few rapid blinks before she rotates the rings on her right fingers. She’s about to lie.
‘Lucky guess,’ she says.
I lean back. ‘You know I’m trying to help, yeah? I’m trying to make things right. But I can only do that if you’re honest with me. If you know something, anything, you need to tell me.’
She eyes me, letting my words sink in, but she doesn’t respond.
‘If you’re not going to be honest about that, at least tell me why you’re racing?’
Her curls bounce around as she shakes her head. ‘I told you before. I need the money.’
‘What for?’
‘Why are you still asking so many questions?’
‘I’m just trying to work out what you need so bad that it’s worth risking your life. I’m not buying that this is about quick cash.’
Gianna cocks her head to the side, like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle. ‘You don’t race anymore, do you?’
I shake my head. Not since that night. Fuck, I want that lighter back. I’m desperate for a hit of nicotine.
‘Figured as much.’ Her arms fold across her chest. ‘You’ve forgotten what it’s like.’
‘Then tell me,’ I challenge.
There’s a pause, and I wait for her. Excitement ripples through me at what kind of excuse she could possibly have.
‘I …’ She glances away, shaking her head while her mouth opens. ‘It’s … you feel …’
I wait while she figures it out, but nothing coherent slips past her lips. Then her eyes flicker back with a fire-catching light behind them.
‘I can show you better than I can tell you.’ Her skirt clings to her slight curves as she turns, opening the driver side door and slipping inside. ‘Get in.’
My brows shoot up. My … my bold little thing.
I do as I’m told and sink into the passenger seat.
‘Put your belt on,’ she says.
I kind of like her ordering me around. I slip the polyester webbing across my chest until the buckle lets out a soft click.
She twists the key and the Mustang roars, the sound humming sweetly right into the cavity of my chest. The rumble has me closing my eyes, savouring it. I feel the car take off, slowly.
I open my eyes. ‘Warming up your tyres isn’t going to help you on dirt.’
‘I’m not warming up the tyres. I’m warming up the car.’ She flashes me a smile. I’ve fucking missed that smile. ‘Someone once told me, “you have to make her purr first”.’
Wild girl. I’m instantly hard.
She completes a slow lap of the speedway, not looking at me once, while my eyes are glued on her. I can’t look away when she’s got this surreal aura surrounding her.
We make it back to the start of the track where she keeps the revs growling. ‘Do you have your phone?’ she asks.
I dig into my pocket, pulling it out.