“What the…how did you just beat me?”
I lean back in my seat, a smile so wide, it hurts as I wipe off the invisible dirt from my palms. “I told you, I already know how to race.” That felt good. No, it felt great.
“Yeah, but you beat me. No one beats me. I’m the best at this game. All time. Look! Proof!” He points to the screen, and low and behold, the top player is CashMoney. I shake my head.
“Well, looks like you have some competition on your hands.”
His face lights up with challenge. “Oh, princess, that’s a competition I kindly accept. Best of three?”
“Loser washes all the cars when we get back to the speedway?”
“Deal.”
Game on.
I’m not surprised we play way more than three games. If there’s one thing we have in common, it’s that we’re both very competitive. We’re both high on life, smiling and laughing, poking fun at each other when we walk inside the speedway, avoiding some oncoming reporters who recognize Cash. “Better get washin’,” Cash teases as he ushers me inside and we head down the corridor that leads to the garages.
I slap him in the gut, and he bends forward, laughing it off. “Shut it. The only reason you won is because you cheated!”
“Winning is winning, sweetheart.” Another hit. Another glorious sound of his laughter.
“Kicking my leg off the pedal is most definitely cheating. I would have won that race.”
“Doubt it—ouch, damn, woman, you’re vicious.”
“Only when people cheat.” Now, I’m fake pouting. My arms cross over my chest and I stick out my lower lip. Cash realizes I’m no longer behind him and stops, shifting his body until he’s facing me.
“Aww, what’s wrong, princess?”
“You know what’s wrong,” I reply, holding back my grin.
“Oh, do I now? And what can I do to make it better?” There’s humor in his tone, but his question almost triggers a completely different answer from me. He’s talking about the game, Luna. Not you.
His laughter seeps into my veins, sparking life into every single part of my body. He backtracks, walking up to me. Our eyes are locked on one another, a visual tunnel connecting us both into this trance that’s bonded us together. The air in my lungs seize as the laughter in my throat settles, and a sobering moment comes over us. “What’s it gonna be?” he asks again, his voice strung tight.
Seconds stretch between us. The air is suddenly too thick. I’m not sure I have it in me to answer. But he doesn’t wait for my reply. I don’t think he ever planned on it. His head dips and his mouth clashes against mine. “Fuck, I can’t—I need to kiss you,” his words skate along my mouth as my lips are taken. Rough and demanding, he kisses me with an intensity of a man ready to conquer, slay and destroy anyone daring to get in his way.
Our hands are wild, loose and roaming freely, his grabbing at my butt and pushing me against the wall while mine skate up his hard chest, wrapping around his neck until my fingers thread through his wild hair. He parts my lips, and our tongues spark as they collide. A wicked rumble travels up his throat as our mouths mingle in a dance of built-up frustration, our sexual desire for one another close to combusting.
“Tell me to stop. I will,” he says, taking my mouth harder. His handhold around my butt cheeks intensifies and I lift my legs, securing them around his waist. When his erection nuzzles between my thighs, I swear, it’s like the goddamn Fourth of July. A rush of passion detonates around us. Sparks of pleasure and need explode, as colorful lights blast behind my eyelids. Everything about this man right now is consuming me. I tug hard at his hair, my fingers in a death grip, kissing him like crazy and he moans into my mouth, grinding against me, sending a shockwave of arousal down to my core.
“Fuck, actually, please don’t tell me to stop.”
He’s crazy if he thinks I’m stopping anything. My body is on fire. Burst after dazzling burst, I don’t know if I can handle what he’s making me feel, but I don’t ever want him to stop. “Don’t fucking stop,” I moan, which turns into a whimper when he bites down on my bottom lip.
“Dammit, I’ve been thinking about how amazing you’d taste. Feel.” He releases my lip, traveling down my chin to the lining of my neck where he sucks at my flesh, scraping his teeth along my skin. My head falls back against the brick wall, allowing him to feast. My core aches, and I’m ashamed when I thrust my sex against him, begging for more. His unbridled growl sets off another explosion to my body, my skin already hypersensitive to his touch. I squirm under his hold, losing all sense about me. My hands become ruthless and I fear when I pull away, I’ll bring chunks of hair with me. Something in me has snapped though, and his touch is becoming too much. Not enough. My sudden need for him is insatiable.
“Cash,” I whisper his name in a plea to tell me what I need.
He brings his mouth back to mine, our eyes in a feral stare off, undeniable lust sparking a wildfire of heat between us. “You taste even better than what I imagined.” He claims my mouth as if he owns it. My eyelids fall shut, and I melt against the wall, riding out the beautiful firework display. The attraction between us. It’s unavoidable and I can no longer fight the raw, pent-up need. My mind and body succumb to him, my mouth widens for him to kiss me deeper, and my thighs open around him, needing relief from the aching between my thighs.
“Jesus, what are you doing to me?” The sexiest sound filters off his lips and he gives me what I need, pushing me harder into the wall, the friction against my swollen sex threatening to burn this whole speedway to ash. My entire body is ablaze. “Tell me this is a bad idea and I should let you go. Tell me this spark between us isn’t real and I shouldn’t want to—”
“Bad idea.” Beckett’s voice cuts into our heated moment. We both freeze, and Cash whips his head around, almost dropping me as Beckett walks past and disappears into the garage. There’s a silent pause before he turns back to me. His eyes close, and he presses his forehead against mine. “Fuck.”
He slowly releases me until my legs are back on solid ground. “I gotta—”
“No. It’s fine. Go. I should probably get the cars…yeah. Nope, all good. I’ll see ya around.” The mood between us shifts. Before he can answer me, or take back what just happened, I dig my heel into the ground and rush away.
Cash
I could kill Beckett. Or myself for thinking it was a good idea to make-out with Luna in an open hallway at the speedway. I know this is going to be a fight. It has been with Beckett the last few days. But he doesn’t get it. I need space. He’s looking out for my best interest, but so am I.
I walk into the garage knowing Beckett headed to the back office. When I catch up to him, he’s tossing a bunch of papers onto the desk.
“It’s not what you think,” I start, but the fury dripping from Becks’ cutthroat stare cuts me short.
“Oh yeah? You being MIA the last two days when we’re weeks away from a very important race is not what I think? You not returning my calls is not what I think? ’Cause what I think is you’re getting in your head about the anniversary and not letting anyone in. You’re hiding from it. Blowing off testing? And don’t try to tell me you’ve been here. Lately, even when you are here, you’re not. You need to address this—”
“I need you to leave it be,” I growl.
“Leave it be?” Becks drops his hands to his sides. “I should let you just slide down this fucking path of destruction and ruin your career. And whatever it is you’re doing with that girl—”
“She stays out of this,” I bite back.
“I’m glad we agree there. She’s a fucking distraction. You need to stop whatever that is right now. Cash, I’m sorry you’re hurting. We all are. It’s not going to be easy. But you need to let someone help you. If you bring this nonsense onto the track, you’re destined down the same path.”
My hands begin to shake, fighting the urge to punch his lights out for throwing that at me. “You don’t know shit, so watch yoursel
f.”
Beckett takes a threatening step toward me, his finger thrusting forward and jabbing me in the chest. “I don’t know shit? I don’t know you’re still fucking mourning and willing to destroy everything you’ve worked so hard for? What would your brother say if he were here?”
“Don’t you fucking mention him.”
“No! Answer me. You think he’d be proud of the shit you’re pulling?”
“Shut the fuck up, man.”
He jabs at me again. “No, you need to listen. Open your eyes. He was your brother, but he was my friend too. You think I don’t fucking hurt too? You think this is easy for me?”
“I watched him fucking die, Becks.”
“So did I!” Beckett roars. “I was his goddamn pit chief. I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life. But one thing I won’t do is break the last promise I made to him. And that was to take care of you.” His chest heaves in and out, his staggered breaths laced with anger. He exhales a deep sigh, frustration profound in his deep-seated eyes. “It’s been a year, man. You need to start dealing with his death or get off the track. I can’t—won’t have you reckless out there like he was. I owe him that much.”
My fists are clenched so tight, the skin over my knuckles threatens to split.
“Say something. Tell me you fucking see!”
This internal battle rages inside me. A pain radiates in my gut. It feels like just yesterday Luke and I were having this similar argument. Him warning me to take it easy. Me telling him I had it all under control.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fucking fine, look at you. You’re still drunk from last night and you’re supposed to be on the track in three hours.” I brush past him and stumble into the couch. “Fucking great. You’re done. I’m pulling you off the team.”
I whip around, almost falling to the ground. “You can’t fucking do that.”
“Watch me. Cash, I warned you. Told you if you couldn’t separate the partying from the sport, I’d pull you.”
“And I told you I’m fine.”
“No. You’re a drunk who thinks fucking everything with a hole is what’s important. You have your whole career ahead of you, but you’re willing to blow it for booze and women. You’re better than that. I raised you better.”
The painful memory surges through me, and just as fast, it’s gone.
“You gonna answer me?” Beckett asks, waiting for my reply.
I mask my pain, hiding from it, my expression blank. “I’m going to change. Be on the track in ten.”
“No.”
His cutthroat response has me swinging around, sharing the same angry expression. “What did you just say?”
“I said no! You are not getting in that car! Matter of fact, you’re not getting in any car until you work your shit out. If it has to be after the anniversary, so be it. After Monterey, so. Be. It. You’re a fucking danger to yourself and everyone else on this team.” With that, he gives me his back and goes to his desk, tending to the scattered paperwork.
I want to tell him to fuck off. Fire him. Quit. I don’t need anyone telling me how I’m going to run things. This is my career and I will handle it how I please. I turn on my heel and storm out of his office, out of the garage, and out of the speedway.
The second I shove open the exit door, a reporter comes at me, sticking her microphone in my face. “Cash, how’s the training coming along? You ready for Monterey?” I throw my hands over my eyes to shield away from the blazing sun and walk faster to my car.
“Cash, Cash! The one-year anniversary of your brother’s death is just around the corner. How will that effect your race?”
“Cash, a year later, do you still believe your brother’s death was a driver error or mechanical—”
I spin around, snatch the man’s microphone, and whip it across the parking lot. Unlocking my car, I slide in and peel out of the speedway.
Luna
By the time I finish the last car, I’m out of breath. I may have gone through those a bit quicker than necessary in order to catch the end of Cash’s training. Using the back of my hand, I swipe the sweat off my forehead, searching out the clock on the wall. It’s well into the afternoon. My head is jumbled with images of him. The memory of his mouth, and how dominating he became taking my mouth. I’m still savoring in the warmth of being wrapped up in his arms. I allow my imagination to take flight, visualizing what could come out of this. Happiness is a strange emotion for me—something few and far between in my life. But right now, it’s at my door, asking to be invited in and settle into this new life I could possibly have. You’re a criminal with no future. But that could change. Maybe I could get a real job working at the speedway. Start at the bottom, washing cars and running errands, like what I’m doing now. Maybe Cash could teach me how to race. Really race, and maybe…maybe one day…
I dump the dirty towels and sponges and walk through the garage, the profound scent of gasoline lingering in the air. There’s something about the smell of fuel that excites me. The high-octane drug that pumps through a car, igniting its agility and speed. It reminds me of how alive and free I feel when I’m racing—and all the intensity that comes along with it. My fingers graze down the hood of a Formula One racecar as I pass it, the warm hood telling me it recently came in from a test drive, and I admire the vibrant cherry red paint under the collage of sponsorship decals.
One day, it could be me behind the wheel of a racecar. A real, legit, legal race.
A strong overwhelming sense of hope blooms inside my chest. Maybe ending up here is fate. My chance to start over. A normal, happy life feels so close, I can almost taste it. Are you forgetting the cartel could be out for your head? The dark web has been dead for over a week. Even all the searching I do about the Leoni cartel comes up with dead ends. I’m starting to think if they were searching for me, they would have already found me. Maybe, just maybe, I’m getting away scot-free. Minus the three lives on your conscience. I refuse to go back to my old ways. Always thinking so negative. This is a good thing. Cash, the way he treats me…looks at me. It can be a good thing!
I head out of the garage, walk down the corridor, and pop out to the open sky. Sadly, no one’s here. I must have missed him. I return back inside and peek my head in each open door in hopes of spotting Cash.
“He’s gone.”
I jump, whipping around to see Beckett putting away oil cans on a shelf.
“Excuse me?”
“Cash—he’s gone. I assume that’s who you’re looking for?” He doesn’t make eye contact with me, and his tone leads me to believe he’s not my biggest fan.
“Oh…well, okay. Thanks.” Disappointment kicks the chair right out from under me. He left me? Beckett dismisses me and walks off, so I do the same, then I slow in my step, unsure where to go. The House isn’t close, and paying for a taxi would suck away most of my remaining funds. Why would he—
“You wanna find him? Try the Fisherman’s Tap. He’ll be there. But I’ll warn you, he won’t be in good shape.”
I turn back. “What do you mean?”
Beckett’s now facing me, his hard stare a tell-tale sign of the same disappointment I’m feeling. “I don’t know what your intentions are with him. But if you want my opinion, which I’m sure you don’t, walk away. Cash…he’s got all the traits women want, but on the inside, he’s hurting, and he’s not handling it well. You? You’re just a distraction he doesn’t need.” And with that, he walks away.
The cab drops me off in front of Fisherman’s Tap, and I spot Cash’s Charger in the lot. Opening the door, the harsh scent of liquor and stale smoke lingers in the air. The lights are dim, neon signs lining the walls. I take in the dirty bar, avoiding eye contact with anyone as I search out Cash. My heart sinks when I find him hunched over at the bar.
“I said another.”
The bartender hesitates, throwing his bar towel over his shoulder. “Cash, I think you’ve had enough.”
Cash slams his hand o
n the bar, his voice slurring. “I didn’t fucking ask you. I said another.”
The man shakes his head, but refills the shot glass in front of him. Cash grabs it before he’s even finished pouring and slams it back. “Another one.”
“Come on, man. You’ve had enough—”
“Stop telling me what I’ve had. I’m sick of people acting like they know what’s best for me. Another one!”
A grizzly biker looking man sitting a few stools down stands up, angling his body toward Cash. “Hey, pal, why don’t you show some respect? He said you had enough.” His deep, gravelly voice is terrifying, but it doesn’t faze Cash one bit. He gets up, shoving his bar stool back, ready for a fight. He cracks his knuckles as the scary dude takes a huge step toward him, tossing aside one of the two stools separating them.
“Wait!” I shoot forward, stepping in the line of fire. My presence catches Cash off guard and he jolts backwards almost falling over. “Whoa…” I try to hold him steady, but he’s not light.
“Smart. Have your little girlfriend get you out of here.”
Cash jumps forward, nearly knocking me down. I thrust my fists out, pushing him back, and he stumbles, almost taking out the stool behind him. “Fuck you, asshole! I’ll kick your fucking ass—”
“Cash, stop,” I yell at him, pushing him once again when he tries to go after the man.
“Yeah, Cash, listen to the girl.”
This time, I can’t hold him back. He barrels toward the guy, knocking me to the side. I fall into a table, catching onto a chair before hitting the ground while Cash rears his fist back and slams it into the man’s face. I scream as the man’s large fist crashes into Cash’s cheek. Back and forth, they go for three solid rounds before the bartender jumps over the bar and a barback helps break them up.
“You’re outta here, Cash!” The bartender tosses him back and points to the door. Cash attempts to steady himself, trying to decipher how he can get one last shot in. I pick myself up off the ground, ignoring the pain in my thigh from my healing wound, and grab his shoulders.
Junkie: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World) Page 9
