Chapter Nine
A drenaline courses through my body as I jump out of the car, the engine still idling where I’ve stopped it beyond the finish line. I haven’t lost in seventeen races, but the feel of winning never changes. It feels fucking good to be king.
I slip the helmet off my head and tuck it under my arm, glancing to where the other racers are lining up, the drivers getting out one after the other. It was a tough race; I decided to change the track layout last minute. Sure, we could have had the standard oval track but where is the fun in that when we race nearly every night? Instead, the track is mapped out with barriers and cones and changes on a weekly basis, adding and taking out corners, changing where the straights are and the areas where you need to brake the hardest. All racers tonight had two laps to learn the track, not nearly enough but it added excitement to the race.
Jake jogs toward me, his helmet still in place. It’s a track rule, you want to race, you wear the helmet. I’ve seen too many crashes where they would have survived had they protected their head. Instead their brains ended up outside of their skull.
“Don’t know why I bother racing you,” Jake taps my shoulder, his voice muffled behind his visor.
I grin at him, “Just gotta be better.”
My cheek is still sore from the fight yesterday, the cut in my brow scabbed over but tender to touch and I know bruises litter my face, worse than they were this morning when I last looked in the mirror. Last I checked, the guy I fought was still in the hospital but expected to make a full recovery.
Running my hand through my sweat dampened hair, I look to the crowd that has grown over the last hour, wondering if she took me up on my invite and is in that crowd somewhere.
“Looks like Rach found a new victim,” I hear a guy over to the side laugh, “Poor girl can’t handle the hard stuff.”
And with that, I know I have my answer. Fuck.
I break into a jog, Jake keeping up even if he doesn’t know why I’m now running and headed straight for the beverage table knowing it’s where Rach hangs out. Sadie was with her last I checked, and she would have stopped her, but I haven’t seen Sadie since I got in my car to race. She’s usually the first one to congratulate me when I finish.
She’s like a sister to me, would have been by marriage had my brother not died and is the mother of my nephew.
I find Rach first, her black hair that shines blue in the florescent lights of the track making her easy to spot, and then I see Marly.
She’s leaning heavily on the table, her hand pressed to her temple as her legs sway beneath her and Rach is there laughing, her phone set to record.
“Marly?” I call her name, hoping she isn’t as drunk as she looks. She’s alone by the looks of it and any one of these fuckers could take advantage of her in this state. Her head lifts to the sound of my voice but she doesn’t look at me directly, instead, her brows knot in confusion. I push through the crowd around her, grabbing her just in time so she doesn’t face plant the floor.
“Shit,” I growl, whipping my head around to Rach where she is still recording, a smug little smile on her face. This chick is damn right crazy, always has been but she’s only gotten worse since I slept with her after my brother died. I was drunk and in pain and she was there to distract me. It was a mistake she’s never let go of. “You got her drunk!?”
Rach slips her phone into her back pocket, “Hey, she drank it, not like I forced it down her throat.”
I shake my head at her, pissed the fuck off.
“I’m not drunk,” Marly slurs, attempting to push off of me but I just tighten one arm and curl my finger under her chin, forcing her to look at me. It’s not concern for her, I think to myself, I need her to want to come back.
“How much of it did you drink, princess?” I ask when her eyes lift to mine. I can smell it on her breath. I know how strong that punch is and how fucking lethal it can be. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol thanks to the juice and fruit used.
“River?” Her lashes flutter, eyes unable to focus. She’s wasted.
“Yeah, Marly,” I tell her, attempting to move her out of the crowd and away from everyone watching her. “How much?”
We’re almost at the edge when she answers.
“I don’t know,” She coughs and then her hand goes to her stomach, “Shit, I think I’m about to be sick!”
“Move!” I bellow to the last few people minding their own business and they scramble out of the way in time for her to drop to her knees and empty the contents of her stomach all over the grass.
I pull back her hair as she continues to retch, not bringing anything else up.
“Okay, princess,” I soothe, “Let’s get you back.”
She groans as I help her to stand, her white tee is stained with the punch and her skin is sticky with it, but I don’t think she really notices. Fucking hell, how much did she drink!?
The garage is just through the woods, it’ll be a ten-minute walk at most on a good day, but with a drunk girl that can barely use her legs? Nah.
“Hold on,” I grumble, sliding my arms under her legs and back and hoist her off the ground. She doesn’t fight me and her head thumps against my shoulder, body completely working against her. My stomach twists at the thought of anyone being able to use her like this, because they would have. The races draw a big crowd and not all of them have the best intentions. We don’t have security.
I’m going to lose my shit at Rach for this.
It takes a little over ten minutes to get back to the garage since I was moving slower with her in my arms, but when I get there I use the side door to get into the living quarters and flick on the light.
She’s sound asleep against me, her head resting between my shoulder and neck.
Fuck, what do I do now?
I stand in the middle of the small space and close my eyes, breathing deeply to calm myself before I sigh and move her to my bed, laying her down onto the mattress and on top of the messy sheets. She curls immediately into a ball, snuggling her face into my pillow, her blonde hair a striking contrast against the dark cotton.
This isn’t how I intended to get her into my bed.
Grumbling to myself, I head through to the bathroom and wet a cloth with warm water, the last thing she is going to want is to wake sticky and still smelling like the alcohol that made her sick. With it in hand, I head back to her, placing it down to remove the sneakers from her feet and then move to the soaked through shirt. Her shorts seem to have escaped unscathed.
I hook my fingers beneath her shirt, my knuckles brushing against the soft skin of her abdomen as I gently pull it up until I can slip it over her head. I purposely keep my eyes averted, grabbing the cloth and quickly wiping her chest and stomach down before I snatch up a t-shirt and tug it onto her. She remains sleeping the entire time, only mumbling in her sleep as I push and pull on her to try and get her covered.
Not at all how I intended.
I huff out a sigh and head back to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door so I can shower and wash away the grime and sweat from the track. When I return, a towel around my hips, she’s rolled across the bed so she’s facing the wall, curled up so small she’s almost swallowed by the pillows and sheets. She breathes evenly, peacefully in sleep.
Folding myself down into the recliner in the corner of the room, I stretch out my legs, the towel keeping me covered. I’ll get dressed in a minute, but I want to watch her for a while longer, let my eyes devour her. My tee covers her almost to her mid thighs, hiding the little shorts she has on underneath. Smooth sun kissed skin tempts me to touch but I keep my hands to myself.
She seems so damn innocent, a little na?ve. And so fucking pretty.
I run my fingers up the burns on my arm, the scarred flesh rough and bumpy under my fingertips, a reminder to myself of who she is exactly and who she shares blood with.
She may be the whole pretty package, wrapped up with ribbon and all but there’s many poisonous things in life that’s beautiful.
You don’t know how deadly it is until it’s too late.
I rest my head in my hand, my eyes still on her until they become so heavy I can no longer keep them open and end up passing out in the chair.