Chapter forty-three Round 3 Race #4
His sore ankle had been wrenched even further.
He couldn't put his weight on it. He grabbed the handle bars of his bike, yanking it up, standing on one foot.
He got it moving again before the medics could get on the track.
He couldn't have that. He had six laps to catch up and get a decent finish.
He cursed again, getting into the throttle even harder and trying desperately to ignore the sharp pain in his ankle.
Wrecks happened all the time on the track.
Normally, they were just accidents from poor riding or unexpected track conditions.
These attacks felt purposeful and Davey was going to have to get the officials involved if it kept up.
These assholes, so determined to fuck with him, were going to get someone seriously hurt, whether that be themselves, Davey, or more likely an innocent rider just trying to get by.
He hated that more than anything. It was one thing to fuck with him because they had a gripe with him, but putting others in danger over it was just unthinkable. It made Davey furious.
All he could see was the reddish-brown dirt like a blood path in front of him.
He rode his machine like a beast. He didn't care about winning, passing the other riders, placing well.
He only cared about tearing up the track.
The sharp pain in his ankle only made him more determined. He roared his fury.
Davey didn't stop until he saw the black and white checkered flag flash in his peripheral vision.
That started to calm him out of the blind rage he'd been riding with.
He had no idea where he placed and he still didn't care.
He drove off the track onto the side road, refusing to look up at the results board.
Ahead, he could see Angel and Tony along with the other two guys she'd hired as bodyguards. "Where's Tyler?" he asked in a huff as soon as he cut the bike off.
"Luke is with him. He'll be here in a second." Angel sounded just as frustrated as Davey felt. Her dark eye brows pressed in over her eyes, wrinkling her forehead, and her thin red lips pressed tightly together. Her petite nose crinkled up in a silent snarl.
"You're pissed."
"Damn right. This is bullshit. I've never seen you ride like that. Those last few laps seemed like you didn't even have a brain in your head. What the hell?"
"Later, Angel." Davey didn't want to talk about it or explain himself. He just wanted Tyler safe and in his arms. "Fucking where is he?"
Tony grabbed the steering wheel, taking the bike from him. "Here, you can barely fucking walk, dude."
Angel stepped back, her eyes trailing over him, head to toe. "Fuck, Davey!"
He didn't answer her, scanning the crowd. If he didn't have Tyler in his arms in the next three seconds he was going to lose his god damned mind.
Luke's taller form came into focus first, bobbing through the people ahead of him.
A reporter stuck a mic in his face asking him about the race. Davey didn't think he answered coherently, then another reporter barked a question about social media.
Davey was in no mood for any of this hyped up bullshit. "I don't pay attention to social media. People are fickle. Fuck 'em. I just ride. That's it." Davey knew his words came out too harsh, but he'd had enough of everything else and he still didn't have Tyler in his arms where he belonged.
He heard Angel saying something to the reporter, probably softening the sting of his words, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
She shoved into his shoulder, getting his attention.
He scowled at her until she pointed. Following her line of site, Davey finally laid eyes on his lover. "Ty!" he yelled over the crowd.
Tyler's green eyes lit up, all sparkly under the harsh stadium lights.
His blond hair swirled messy around his head.
His sinfully sexy, plump lips smiled wide, emphasizing his cheek bones and the little dimple he had on his chin.
He jumped into Davey's open arms, practically knocking him down.
His weight landed on his bad ankle. "Fuck!
Shit! Damn!" Davey hopped around on his good foot.
"What the hell?" Tyler bellowed out.
"Ankle, ankle." Davey continued to hop on his good foot. The bad one felt like someone hit it with a sledgehammer. "Fuuuuck!"
"Tony, we need to get him to the ER," Tyler barked out, ordering their driver with a look to get a vehicle.
Angel and Stewart had a sedan they'd rented since they were staying at a hotel.
"I'll get the car," Angel said. "You take the bike back to the trailer with Luke.
You two," she snapped her fingers at the bodyguards she'd hired that Davey hadn't even met yet.
"Make sure these two meet us at the back entrance.
" She pointed. "Toward the RVs." Like a whirlwind, Angel disappeared in the crowd, expecting everyone to follow her orders without even a glance back.
Davey figured that was why she was the manager. He hadn't even had a second to protest.
The ER waiting room was a cold empty area with plastic chairs and the smell of antiseptic permeating the air.
Tyler wanted to puke, barely holding in his panic.
Those assholes had hurt him. Just an ankle, but it could keep him from racing at worst, keep him from practicing and working out at a minimum.
A Davey McAllister not being able to work out was a recipe for disaster. He'd drive them both up the wall.
Tyler couldn't sit in the crappy chairs.
He paced the floor, walking between Broady and Pilot, the two mountainous men that Angel had hired to protect them.
Angel and Stewart went back with Davey to get x-rays.
He'd been commanded to stay, but he hated waiting and if they didn't come get him soon, he'd be climbing the nurse's desk to hunt his man down.
Broady eyed him, as if he suspected Tyler was ready to bolt.
He sat forward with his elbows propped on his gigantic knees.
Tyler worked out; he had muscles, but these two made him feel tiny and insignificant.
Broady's eyes gleamed like a hawk's, peering down a slightly crooked, but long nose, making him look like said bird of prey.
His thin lips and brown feathered-back hair only added to the avian look.
Pilot had his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back in the chair with his massive tree-trunk legs stretched out across the aisle, barring Tyler from pacing farther in that direction.
He turned, glancing at Pilot's face. His features were gentler, but he was just as huge as Broady.
His biceps were bigger than Tyler's head.
His soft brown hair and eyes wouldn't normally stand out in a crowd.
His size made him stand out, everything else about the man seemed average at best.
Tyler's phone beeped and he wanted to ignore it, but he had to at least see who it was. A text from Mickey Hun. Call me!!!
Three exclamation marks were serious. "I gotta make a call," he said to the twin hulks.
"I got it," Broady said, his voice a booming bass that sent a little shiver down Tyler's spine. If they hadn't been paid to protect him, he would have been terrified of these two. They seemed nice enough, if generally appearing disinterested. Perhaps that was part of the job, though.
Broady followed Tyler out the sliding glass doors of the ER. He stopped near the smoking section, turning his nose up at the horrid smell of stale cigarettes and smoke. He tapped his screen, calling Hun.
"Ty! My god!"
"What?"
"Not even to start with the crap flying around the media. Everyone thinks Cole and Shannon set Davey up for that crash."
"I wouldn't put it past them." Tyler felt the adrenaline getting him excited all over again. He wanted to kill Cole.
"Well, I overheard Shannon and Cole saying some crappy things. I don't even want to repeat it. They didn't say they did it on purpose, but they laughed about it and implied they'd do it again if they had the chance. Shannon was super nasty."
"None of that surprises me. So…?" he asked, wondering why the urgent call. Cole and Shannon hating them was not news.
Mickey exhaled loudly. "I'm not working for these dicks. I'm in. I'll work for you."
"Hell yeah! You won't regret it. It's going to be hard work and I'll push you, but it's gonna be cool"
"Okay. Sounds good. So, what now?"
Tyler was ecstatic. Mickey would be a huge help on their team. "I'll have Angel send you the terms and your ticket information for next week."
"Is Davey racing next week? I know he's hurt. How is he?"
His friend's concern pleased Tyler. He knew he could count on Mickey. "Don't know yet, but you're part of the team now, so I'll keep you informed, man."
"Okay. Great. So, see you next week if all goes well, right?"
"Yep. Thanks Mickey!"
Hun laughed, sounding very pleased. "Seriously. Thank you, Ty. This is going to be much better than putting up with these dickheads."
They laughed together before hanging up. He couldn't wait to tell Davey the news. He nodded to Broady-the-boulder and went back in to continue pacing. A few minutes later, Stewart pushed Davey out in a wheel chair.
"I'll grab the car," Angel said, dashing off.
"Well?" Tyler asked.
"Only a sprain," Davey groaned.
"That's good right?" Tyler thought that was good.
"Yeah, off it for forty-eight hours."
Stewart laughed behind him, angling the chair toward the front door. "I'm sure you two can find something to get up to in the RV on the drive to Oakland."
"Funny," Davey snarled, but Tyler laughed. He'd have his man in bed for two solid days and that sounded like a good time to him.