13. Wilder
The sun is rising over the hotel, but I still haven’t been to sleep yet, and unfortunately not even the view of a new day is making me feel better.
Even with yesterday’s win finally settling over me, it’s doing nothing to dull the empty ache inside of me.
I know why it’s there, just like I know it won’t go away no matter what I do, but still I inhale deeply on the cigarette in my hand, pretending that I’m okay.
When that doesn’t work, I pull out my phone and call the one person who, though he won’t understand, is the only one I can actually talk to these days.
I’m not surprised that he answers almost instantly, even though it’s late there, and I hate how hearing his voice seems to instantly settle me.
“Calling to brag about your win?” Caden drawls, his emotionless voice not sounding teasing or condescending, and I inhale deeply.
“No, we both know you don’t care about such fickle things,” I reply truthfully, and I swear I hear a huff of a laugh.
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because Cas didn’t answer.”
I don’t know why I lie, I didn’t even try to call Casper, because despite the fact we are close and so alike, I feel less like him every day, and more like his twin. It’s like his admission to killing my brother infected me in some way, and now he is the only person who can understand me.
Caden doesn’t detect the lie for what it is, or just doesn’t care, and at the mention of his twin I hear the first bit of emotion in his voice.
“Ah, well unlike me, he actually cares about your win. He’s out on the track, practicing as we speak.
” I’m not surprised by his admission, out of all of us, no one takes racing more seriously than Casper.
“What a waste of his time, we both know he’s already better than me,” I reply firmly, knowing he spends most nights on The Academy track perfecting his skillset.
“He’s better than all of us,” Caden replies gruffly, cementing the fact that he is capable of feeling something. There isn’t much inside the empty cavern he calls a chest, but if he had a heart, it would only hold his brother.
“How’s business since I’ve been gone?” I ask, changing the subject, and I know by now he must suspect something, because I never ask about his work.
All of us run on a strictly don’t ask don’t tell policy, when it comes to Caden and The Underground. He runs his illegal shit and we all stay out of his way, but that was before his murder confession.
“Same old.” I hear the telltale sound of a lighter before a deep exhale. “Went to the King and she approved the use of the docks to ship in some new cars, so I’ll save you one to test run when you get back home.”
We all grew up with money, but whatever business he has been doing lately has him flush with more cash than ever.
Everyone on the east coast knows, you can only run things with the approval of Elle King, her friends in the Hallowed Crows MC, and the Italian Mafia, something Caden somehow got himself into.
So I’m sure it’s not only cars in that shipment, and since he pays the girls on his payroll well and never hurts them, he doesn’t get any pushback from the South Side Rebels.
Deciding not to get myself involved in his darker side of business, I focus on the cars. “Are any of them black?” I dare to ask, and this time I am greeted with his dark chuckle.
“Yes, and you already know it’s mine.”
Of course it is, black like his soul.
I take a moment to think before something else comes to mind. “What about blue?”
He’s quiet for a moment, though I hear the sharp intake of his breath before he sighs. “Let me see what I can do. Now fuck off, I’ve got shit to do,” he grunts, before he adds a little quieter, “Not you, keep going.”
I hear a soft choke and I groan knowingly. “Please tell me you’re not getting your dick sucked while I am talking to you?”
There is another telltale sound of someone slurping, before he tosses back, “Okay, I won’t.”
“I fucking hate you,” I snap, making him chuckle once more.
“Yeah I know, now fuck off,” he exhales with another grunt
“Cade,” I call out before he can hang up the phone. “Why did you do it?”
I don’t know why I ask him again, especially when I know he won’t answer, he never does, but I just can’t help myself. I need to know.
“Goodbye, Wilder.”
Those are the last two words I hear before he ends the call and I curse, tightening my grip around my phone and shaking my head.
The sun is almost fully up now, a beautiful juxtaposition to the darkness clawing at my insides, and I need something to take my mind off all my bullshit.
I don’t have another race until next week, which means I can’t even distract myself with work.
No, I need something more, I just don’t know what.
Which is how I find myself heading back to my hotel room to shower and change for the day, forgoing any sleep whatsoever.
If Prescott is surprised to see me waiting in the lobby for them as they leave, he doesn’t show it, but Matt looks absolutely perplexed at my presence, even though I can tell he is hungover as shit.
“Wild, do my eyes deceive me?” he asks in Spanish, and I roll my own eyes at his words.
“Don’t start, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit,” I respond, my pronunciation near perfect, and his smirk widens.
“Ah, someone didn’t get laid last night.
” He tosses his arm around my neck, his olive skin smelling fresh, despite the fact I know he probably drank his body weight in champagne yesterday.
“You should have come to my room, mi amor, I would have kicked my bedmate aside for you, or at least let you join,” he adds with a wink, and I shove him off as Beck and Knox join us, both looking equally as bad as the other.
Thankfully Prescott’s manners get the best of him. “Are you joining us?” he asks, excitement lacing his tone, and I nod firmly.
“Since when are you into culture?” Knox asks, which isn’t a strange question, since this is the first time in weeks I am joining them.
“He’s always been into Spanish culture,” Matt purrs with another wink, and I’m tempted to tell them all to fuck off, but Prescott beats me to it.
“Don’t be assholes, I invited him to join us last night,” he explains, and my three racing mates share a loaded look, one I don’t want to dig into right now.
“Are we fucking going or what?” I snap, storming from the hotel lobby into the morning sun.
Of course I am dragged to breakfast first, the Italian coffee making their mind-numbing conversation worth it, as I am forced to listen to them detail their conquests from last night.
Knox and Beck once again chose to share a girl, which is probably more the reason why my cousin spent his night back home speeding round the track, missing out on the fun.
And Matt fucked a girl of his own, a rare sight even for a bisexual slut like him.
They all brag about their nights while I stay silent, until Matt focuses his attention on Prescott. “What about you, mi pequeno artista? Why no conquest?”
It’s a simple question, especially coming from someone like Matt, who inserts himself in everyone’s business, and if I weren’t already watching Prescott while pretending to look at my phone, I would miss the flare of panic in his stare.
I see it before he busies himself with taking a sip of his orange juice, not out of thirst, but instead to buy himself some time to decide how to answer.
I’m not one hundred percent sure why he didn’t have fun last night, but I could hazard a guess it has to do with the bullshit persona he forces himself to remain in.
I won’t demean him by saying I don’t understand, to some extent I do, I know the weight of parental expectations, but I also know you can’t live your life for someone else.
He might want to deny who he truly is, but it won’t make it any less him.
Not when I have seen him be free. I might have been off my face that night at the party, but I remember the difference between that version of him and the one who has inserted himself into my life.
Prescott Lamont is handsome, professional, and knows how to work a room, whereas Reed is hot, friendly, and most importantly, happy in his own skin.
I mildly wonder what bullshit he will come up with, but I am the one who responds before I can stop myself.
“He can’t hookup when he doesn’t feel like himself,” I cut in, pulling all of their gazes in my direction, but it’s Prescott’s that burns the most. So I wave my hand in his general vicinity, my stare now glued to my phone, as if I don’t have a care in the world.
“This is not him, but he can’t be who he wants with half the world watching us. ”
When I finally allow myself to look up, I find Knox and Beck both nodding in understanding, having known him the longest, but Prescott looks absolutely perplexed.
Not by my answer, no, from the look on his face I know I have nailed it, but I can tell he is wondering how the hell I managed to make the deduction without him telling me.
Matt is the first to respond, already pulling out his phone. “I’m going to buy a yacht,” he announces, tapping away, and I frown in confusion.
“What the hell does buying a yacht have to do with anything but you showing off?” Knox asks.
“We have ten days before we need to be in Athens for the next race, and there are plenty of beautiful Greek islands to explore. A yacht allows us to see them in style,” Matteo responds with a shrug, still focused on his phone, before he flicks his gaze up to Prescott.
“And more importantly, it allows us some privacy.” It’s only then I understand what he is doing, but when I open my mouth to say something he holds his finger up to halt me, as he answers his phone.
“Sara, it’s Matteo Estefan Rodriguez-Marquez,” he says in Spanish.
“I need a yacht off the coast of Greece and I need it yesterday.”