Chapter 7 #3
My eyes scan the crowd for the guy I’m supposed to meet—Burt.
No clue what he looks like, but if searching the crowd for him keeps my attention away from Ash and Emma Jean…
on his lap…then… My phone rings and I set Basti down, unzipping the top of my suit to dig it out.
A sigh of relief escapes me at the rush of cool air that comes inside.
I came here for a reason, and it wasn’t just to race the prelims.
I should be excited about winning this race. It’s exactly what I wanted. And yet, I am bored out of my skull. Holy shit, that was easy and lame. I realize with a start that I care more about adrenaline than I do about cars. I hate to admit it, but it’s true. I’m an adrenaline junkie.
“Yeah?” That’s how I answer the phone, that same two-one-three area code from the other day. Burt’s number.
“I’m up here, Miss Force. Third row. Care to have a chat?” I look up to see a man in a smoke-gray overcoat waving at me. He’s sitting in roughly the same vicinity as Ash, Emma Jean still perched on Ash’s lap. Fuck.
I finish unzipping the racing suit and peeeeeeel it down, flashing my crop top and my bare midsection. I tie the sleeves in the front. With my friends in tow, I make my way through a small gate and up the stairs to the spectator section.
There aren’t too many people here today, but definitely more than last time. Maybe because of my viral video? Do I have fans now?
I frown as I make my way over to this Burt guy, Widow peeling away from his spot to join us. He puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze, leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“Nice work, Force. I expected nothing less.” Then he slaps me on the ass and I have to remind myself that we’re in public, so breaking his hand is not an option. He backs off with this annoying little smirk that has me licking my teeth in frustration.
We climb the steps to find—presumably—Mr. Burt Cramer sitting with a cigar in his mouth and a man in the seat behind him that’s at least twice as wide as Widow.
Mystery man is dead-faced and bored as fuck, staring at the track like he’s never had a single thought of his own.
Looks like a goddamn serial killer to me.
“You’re Burt?” I ask, staring at the stranger in the suit and the gray coat.
He’s nothing like I expected. Almost handsome?
Wow. I was way off. Kinda saw him with a receding hairline when I imagined him in my head.
A ponytail. A Hawaiian shirt with tufts of blond chest hair peeking out.
This dude looks familiar somehow, not like I’ve seen him before but like he’s related to somebody I know.
Widow hisses through his teeth and a disturbed chill creeps into my bones. He senses it, too. Something unnatural. Something off.
“Mr. Cramer works, too,” the man says, but I’m not about to call him that.
“You’re a talented driver, Force.” He pauses to study me with brown eyes, a mess of curly blond hair on his head.
“But you look bored out of your fuckin’ skull.
” He draws a case of cigars from the pocket of his coat and offers one to me. I shake my head.
“Not sure how I feel about such a bitch-ass track.” I frown at this guy, trying to figure out what his angle is.
Ash stays seated, watching us with pit-like eyes from two aisles over.
“You want to be a stunt driver or something?” Burt asks, cigar tucked between his teeth as he slips the leather case back into his pocket. He reminds me of a gumshoe detective in an old-school crime novel or something. Maybe he does snort cocaine. I almost hope he calls me dame.
“No. I want to be a fucking star.” I shrug my shoulders as Basti shifts excitedly behind me. Nisha sighs. “Call me greedy if you want, but I’m willing to risk life and limb to get it. What can you do for me? Not much it seems.”
“You want to be famous?” Burt asks, and then he chuckles, rising to his feet in front of me.
He’s taller than he looked sitting down.
I see Ash and Emma climb to their feet, making their way down the aisle now that some of the crowd has cleared out.
A few people call out to me, possibly recognizing me from the Prescott track.
Or maybe the viral video. I nod and wink at them in response, pointing my finger and flirting with all the girls.
It works fantastically.
So hot I can make straight girls swoon. It’s my other-other superpower.
You know, aside from racing cars and having a good eye for talent.
Sex, too. Just ask Widow. He can barely walk today.
I see Bohnes watching me from the sidelines, out of sight of the goons but with a keen eye on Ash. He nods to acknowledge me, and I grin.
I turn back to the slick ol’ Hollywood exec.
“You heard me, Burt.” I lift my chin and cross my arms. “I want to be a star. I will be a star. Either help me out or skedaddle.”
Burt looks me over and then ashes his cigar. His laughter is calculating, his gaze harsh.
“You don’t make the rules.” He shrugs his shoulders and forces a smile that never reaches his eyes.
Smokes his cigar and then exhales, drowning me in the scent.
I wish he’d added ya see here to the end of that last sentence.
Very menacing. Widow is bristling beside me, ready for a fight.
I reach out and put my hand on his to keep him calm.
“But you’re an audacious little shit. Look, I know a star when I see one, Force.
Keep proving yourself to me and we’ll talk. ” He flicks the cigar into an ashtray.
“I won’t fuck anyone for favors.” I shrug my own shoulders. “And I want a lead role in a major film. I won’t sign a contract without it.”
Burt gives me a sharp look.
“You got some balls, don’t ya?” he asks, but I wave my hand to dismiss him. He definitely doesn’t like that.
“Ovaries, sure. You want to see some real racing? Come to the old Prescott track on a Friday or Saturday. Then I’ll show you what a daredevil looks like.
” I grin at him, planting a fist on my hip.
If he can’t help me get what I want, I’ll find someone else.
It’s important that he realizes how disposable he is.
That’s how he looks at me, too, like I’m the disposable one. Who is this guy, really?
“I’ve got my eye on you. Don’t disappoint me.” Burt smiles, tucking his hands into his pockets and taking off with the stone-faced bulldozer of a man that was sitting behind him. The pair of them exit the grandstands, leaving me with this niggling feeling in my gut that screams this is all wrong.
I turn in time to see Ash and Emma making their way toward me. Bodyguards and business professionals abound, an entourage of people I’ve never seen before trailing after a man who belongs to me. Who showed me obsession in the rain. Who is mine. Period.
Emma has her arm woven through Ash’s elbow. That’s the part I get caught on. I’m the most concerned about that. I’m such a bad person.
“The audacity to disrespect you like that.” Widow scoffs and, as Ash approaches us, he spits on him.
Ash comes to a stop a few feet in front of us, reaching up to swipe the globule from his cheek.
The rage in his eyes doesn’t have to be faked.
He is done with Widow smashing his car, pissing on it, spitting on him.
Done with taking all of the punishment intended for Aspen like it’s his own.
I hate it, too. He doesn’t deserve all this.
“You okay, Miss Emma Jean?” I ask, but she won’t look at me, her eyes downcast. She’s wearing heels which is odd since she’s usually dressed in sneakers. The coat, too, is out of her price range, ostentatious and a violent, vibrant red.
“She has nothing to say to you,” Ash warns me, his voice dark.
He’s a damn good actor. I get chills down my spine, like he’s actually Aspen.
I can even smell his twin, that overwhelming peppery cologne.
Doubt hits me like a sharp slap, waking me up.
No. No. He’s just that good. This is Ash’s survival mechanism.
“Aspen, you’re touching other girls when your fiancée is missing?” I taunt, my heart aching at the mention of Lemon. “That’s low, man. Real fucking low.”
“Lucy is dead,” Ash tells me with a cold, heaviness to his words that makes me feel unsteady on my feet. “Her body was found in the woods.” Ash sighs and shoves Emma away from him, leaving her sprawled on the bright green spectator’s bench.
I move toward her and his eyes flash at me in warning.
“Don’t.” Emma gathers herself up, pulling the sides of the coat closed as she turns away. Still, she won’t look at me. Won’t make eye contact. Her face is red and there are tears threatening to drip from those pretty honey-brown eyes of hers. “Don’t touch me.”
“You can come with me, Emma. I’ve got you.
” I take a step toward her and she scrambles to her feet, slipping behind Ash and hiding there like I’m the bad guy.
My eyes shift over to find Widow watching me.
All I’d have to do is ask and he’d lunge for Emma Jean.
For Ash. Start a bloody melee right here at the Portland Classic Car Circuit.
I turn back to Ash, searching his black eyes for any sign of the man I love and coming up empty. He’s shapeshifted since this morning, hardened up, firmed his resolve.
He straightens his jacket and looks me dead in the eye.
“Coroner ruled Lucy’s death a suicide. Her aunt has been notified.
We’ve even had the body cremated.” Ash smirks at me as he tucks his hands into his pockets.
“I wasn’t sure if Lucy would want you to have any of her ashes.
Better if I keep them all. I’ll make sure to spread them somewhere she would’ve liked.
How about…” He reaches up to rub at his chin. “My bedroom?”