Chapter 46
FULL THROTTLE
NOLAN
It’s the kind of morning that smells like sunscreen, ego, and imminent humiliation. Welcome to the ATV relay challenge—White Thorn’s idea of team building, corporate bonding, and bloodsport all in one.
The stakes?
Bragging rights, a luxurious dinner, and a strategic advantage in the pitch competition.
The real prize?
Watching your rival eat your dust. Literally. Because in five minutes, we’re all about to launch down the sand in souped-up death carts while pretending this is just “fun.”
It’s not fun though.
It’s war.
With helmets. And eye protection.
I should be focusing. Strategy. Speed. Securing an early lead in the challenges.
But my mind is firmly stuck on last night. On the way Rorie’s eyes found mine across the candlelit table at dinner. How she kept catching me looking. And the fact that she never looks away.
And later, when the night had gone quiet and everyone retreated to their cottages, we lay in bed with only one thought pulsing behind my eyes: is she falling for me as hard as I’m falling for her.
God, I hope the answer’s yes.
Rorie’s stretching by her ATV now, completely unaware she’s single handedly sabotaging my mental stability. Lavender workout shorts. Fitted tank top. High ponytail bouncing with every move. She’s temptation wrapped in sunshine and sass.
My traitorous brain wanders straight to grabbing that ponytail. Fisting it. Tilting her head back. Letting my mouth trail down her slender neck before I slide my cock into her pussy.
Jesus. Get it together, Rhodes.
I tear my eyes away, forcing myself to focus before I end up pitching a tent in my race gear. When I glance back, she’s laughing at something Jeremy said, shaking her head, biting her lip, and that laugh? That’s the real problem. It hits me right square in the chest.
Yeah. I’m fucked.
But I love it.
Shelby steps up to the mic, and the crowd gathers. Rorie’s behind me now. I don’t need to look, I feel her. Like static in the air before a storm.
“Alright, competitors,” Shelby says. “Relay format—one rider per round. You’ll tag in your teammate at each checkpoint. The course is marked, but don’t let that fool you. We’ve added some… spice.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
“First leg: Maya for The Laurel Group versus Rishi from Big Stream. Then Jeremy and Nolan. Final stretch? Rorie against Jackson.”
She keeps going, rattling off the rest of the brackets, but my focus flatlines the second I hear that last matchup.
My head snaps toward Rorie. She’s already looking at me. And not with fear. Not with nerves.
With fire.
Which should settle me. But it doesn’t. Because Jackson’s not just fast, he’s cutthroat. The guy plays dirty and smiles through it. And Rorie’s pride in a power ponytail, but I’ve seen how Jackson gets under people’s skin.
And if he so much as tries that with her…
My jaw tightens. I don’t like this matchup. Not one damn bit.
“Try to keep up, Rhodes.”
One brow arches like a blade. “Or what?”
“Winner gets fucked?” She winks.
“So, basically, a win-win?”
She smirks. Oh, that smirk. I want to wipe it off her face. With my mouth. Or my cock. Yeah, definitely the latter.
The engines roar to life.
Game on.
Shelby raises the flag and yanks it down. Maya and Rishi take off. Sand sprays in every direction, the crowd erupting with cheers. Jeremy screams something about “JUSTICE FOR MY PEOPLE” at a pitch that could shatter glass.
I don’t ask. I never ask.
Maya handles the terrain like it’s personal. Rishi’s hot on her heels. When she nearly wipes out in a patch of deep sand, Rishi closes the gap. But she holds strong, skidding just ahead of him.
“Come on, Maya!” Rorie shouts, bouncing up and down, which, in turn, makes her tits bounce up and down.
Fuck. Me.
Rishi gains on Maya just as they hit another checkpoint. Maya barely manages to edge him out, before leaping off the ATV and sprinting toward Jeremy, who’s already mounting his ride.
Maya and Jeremy tag.
Come on, Rishi.
Before he takes off, Jeremy turns his head toward me, narrows his eyes, and declares in a voice that could summon a legion, “THIS IS FOR THE FALLEN.”
Who are the fallen?
Again. Not asking.
I crack my knuckles and shake out my shoulders. My turn is coming fast.
Rishi, never one to back down, burns rubber to the final checkpoint. He overshoots it and eats dust. But he recovers quickly and rushes toward me.
“GO!” he shouts, smacking my back with enough force to knock out a lung.
I’m off like a shot. ATV humming, sand exploding behind me. My blood thrums with speed and instinct.
I’m in control here. This—I understand.
Every turn is precision. Every bump, every curve, I read it like a map. I catch Jeremy in the corner of my eye and gun it, pushing harder. The ramp looms, and I hit it clean, landing smoother than I expected.
Jeremy, on the other hand?
He hits the ramp like it personally insulted his mother.
Airborne, he flails one arm like he’s lassoing invisible cattle, the other clutching the handlebars for dear life. “YEEHAW, BITCHES!”
He lands with a bounce that sends his helmet askew and one of his flip-flops flying into oblivion.
“Did you just lose a shoe?!” I shout.
“Sacrifices must be made!” he calls back, wildly unbothered. “Besides, I race better asymmetrical!”
I inch ahead, every second earned. I push hard, taking turns fast, catching sight of my opponent up ahead. I lean into the curves, controlling the throttle with precision, every instinct locked in on closing the distance.
The next obstacle looms. It’s a small ramp leading over a patch of rocky terrain. I brace myself and hit the jump, the ATV catching just enough air to make the landing smooth.
I’m gaining. Fast.
By the time we hit the checkpoint, I’ve pulled ahead. I glance to the side, locking eyes with Jeremy for a brief second before digging in, forcing my ATV ahead by a fraction.
My tires hit the mark first, and I’m already leaping off as I hand the turn off to Jackson.
“Go!” I shout as I tag in Jackson.
He tears off. Rorie’s not far behind, yelling something about destiny or dominance. I’m not sure, I’m too busy trying to catch my breath and not think about how good she looks mid-battle cry.
Jeremy slaps my back. “If she doesn’t win, I challenge you all to a duel. Pool noodles. At dawn.”
“Do you even hear yourself?”
“Loud and clear, baby.”
Shaking my head, I turn and watch Rorie ride. She was built for the aggressive, the fearless, and the controlled.
She gains ground. Jackson tries to move ahead, but she cuts inside on a tight turn, stealing his momentum.
And then—he veers. The back of his ATV clips hers. It’s subtle. But on purpose.
Rorie adjusts, but the hesitation lets him recover.
Obstacle after obstacle, they battle it out. But Jackson keeps playing dirty. A bump here. A spray of water there.
The final stretch—dunes.
She’s gaining again. Until he hits her. This time, it’s not subtle. His ATV swings, clips her at an angle, and she hits a patch of soft sand.
Her tires skid.
She goes down.
The sound of her hitting the ground is a punch to my chest. My legs move before I think.
Eyes wide with pain, she’s on her side, blood seeping from a long gash on her leg.
Jackson brakes and spins around, all faux concern. “Shit! You okay?”
He’s smirking.
That son of a bitch is smirking.
I lunge toward him, but before I can say a word, a hand clamps my shoulder. Hard.
Thatcher.
His voice is cold. “Don’t. Not here.”
Fury bubbling up, I stare him down, but he doesn’t flinch.
“Play the game, Nolan,” he warns. “Remember what’s at stake.”
I swallow back what I want to say. My fists are balled up at my sides. I don’t trust them right now.
Shelby’s calling for a medic.
“No time,” I say. “I’ll take her.”
Shelby nods, barking directions to the infirmary. Rorie’s shaking, blood running in a thin line down her thigh. Maya and Jeremy rush over, worried chatter buzzing around us.
“I’m fine,” Rorie insists, but her voice wobbles.
Crouching, I lift her gently from the ground. She hisses through her teeth but doesn’t protest. I place her on the ATV and hop on in front of her. Her hands tighten around my middle, no sass, no bite. Her fingers tremble when she fists the hem of my shirt, attaching herself to me.
“Ready?” I ask, glancing back.
She doesn’t answer. But she holds on.
And I drive—faster than I should, one hand on the throttle, the other brushing her knee: I’ve got you.