Sexton Brothers Boxset

by Lauren Runow

  I laugh. “Good-bye, Pyle.”

  She might say she hates it when I call her that, but I think, deep down, she loves it.

  “Bye, Austin,” is all she replies before hanging up the phone.

  When I turned the loading dock into my private garage, I had to keep access to the main building’s garage as part of the fire code. I like having my cars housed in the Sexton building because I can hop into the old freight elevator and be in my auto showroom in minutes.

  Just as I’m about to walk into the elevator car, my phone goes off. I hope it’s Jalynn, but my smile fades when I see it’s Bryce.

  “I was wondering when you were going to check up on me,” I say playfully as I hit the button for level G.

  Bryce’s deep voice shouts through the phone, “She said to give you space, and I did for two fucking days. As soon as I turn on my phone, it’s to find out that you can’t follow one simple direction!”

  “Wait. Who is she, and what the hell are you mad about?”

  “Don’t give me that shit.” His voice is curt. His rapid, angry breaths can be felt through the receiver. “I can’t believe you brought my assistant to dinner the other night!”

  “I don’t owe you any explanation for who I want to have dinner with.” I keep an even tone despite my desire to hurl a fist through the steel wall.

  I don’t hear from the guy in forty-eight hours, and this is the call I get? The walls of the elevator feel awfully claustrophobic. I unbutton the top button on my shirt and take a stifled breath. It doesn’t help.

  “You damn well know I have every right to know if you’re dating my assistant, and you can bet your ass you owe me an explanation about why you walked out on Dad and Missy before food was even served! We’re supposed to be keeping the peace, trying to keep Missy happy, not making things worse. You know she has proof you race and is trying to get you arrested.”

  The door to the garage level opens, and I step out onto the polished concrete floor, hoping for relief, but the air in here feels just as heavy as it did in the elevator. “Missy can kiss my ass.”

  “Missy can—” he stutters in aggravation. “Why are you so thickheaded?”

  “I’d have to be convicted of a crime, and I’ve done nothing that would warrant anything more than a speeding ticket.”

  “This is so typical, Austin,” he shouts, sounding like he’s pacing. “Ever since we were kids, you’ve been acting like the world isn’t watching when you go off the rails. You just do what you want to do at everyone else’s expense.”

  “Watch it. You’re starting to sound like Dad.”

  “Maybe he and I actually agree on something for a change,” he says. His words have me clenching my jaw. “You were supposed to be at that dinner if not to make Missy happy, then to get Dad to come to his senses. I’ve tried. I’ve been trying, and I thought maybe, for once in your fucking life, you would actually do what you were told and come through.”

  Heat flushes through my body. “Why the hell would Dad listen to me?”

  “Because you were his favorite!”

  Despite my anger, I spit-laugh at that one. “In what lifetime was that?”

  “The one before you became an asshole teenager. He did everything with you. He’d take you to the racetrack and bring you to meet the winners. Every summer, you’d entered the soapbox derby, and he’d help you build the car. Hell, you even like the same shitty old movies he does. Dad might have been brainwashed by Missy, but there’s still the same Edward in there somewhere. I’ve been trying to get to him, but I’m out of my fucking mind with babysitting you while you’re willing to risk Mom’s memory, everything she built, on being an arrogant asshole!”

  “I’m so sick of this shit.” I kick the wall, feeling the impact in my toes. “Why are you always busting my ass? I’m here, covering for you, if you’ve forgotten. Please tell me you’ll at least get your dick sucked while you’re gone. Maybe then you’ll have your brain back and truly see what’s going on around here.”

  “Have you even heard a fucking thing I just said, Austin?”

  “Yeah, the part where you think I don’t try every day to keep Mom’s memory alive. Maybe if you went to visit her grave every once in a while instead of kissing Dad’s ass, you’d remember why this company was worth fighting for.”

  The line goes silent. When I glance down to my phone I see he hung up, and I have to restrain myself from punching the wall next to me. Thank God I know it is concrete, or my hand would be in serious pain right now. I have to close my eyes, count to ten, and focus on not losing my shit altogether.

  What the hell just happened?

  I rest my head against the cold wall and let it cool down my ever-increasing anger. It’s not working. No matter how hard I work or how hard I try, my brother will never see it. He always finds the one negative and harps on it.

  And what was that shit about being Edward’s favorite? What the hell kind of brainwashing is he trying to do to me? Our father might have acted one way toward me twenty years ago, but those memories are lost in the depths of hell.

  My pulse is still racing as I walk into the showroom and hear a banging on the closed garage door. It’s a constant pounding that makes my adrenaline surge with each rap.

  I lift the garage door to see Beckett standing on the San Francisco street corner. His hand is still up in the air, as if he’s ready to continue pounding.

  He looks down at his watch and then up at me like a sullen teenager. “You said you’d be down here two hours ago.”

  “I got caught up in a meeting,” I say as I walk toward his Mustang.

  “Oh, that’s right. Playing paperboy or some shit like that. Must be nice when you inherit Daddy’s money.”

  He stalks into the garage, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. He wants a fight, but I’m not in the mood to give it to him.

  “Listen, man, I’ve been here for hours already, so if you don’t mind, just get your car and get out of here, so I can go home.”

  We eye each other for a moment before I head forward to open his car door, hoping he’ll take the hint to get in and get out. He walks over, and instead of getting in, he places his hand on the door and slams it shut before I have a chance to stop it.

  “Don’t think you’re all high and mighty. I could take you down in a second,” he says, his tone obviously annoyed.

  I turn to him, my six foot two frame slightly above his. “I’m sorry. Do you have a problem with me? Do you need a reminder of what’s actually going on here?”

  “No, let me remind you of what’s really going on here.” He pulls a business card out of his back pocket and holds it up in the air. It’s white with bold black lettering.

  “What’s that?” I ask calmly even though my gut is telling me bad news is about to come.

  He puffs out his chest and raises his chin at me. “I was at a race last night, and some guy was walking around, asking questions, wanted to know if anyone had heard of Falcon.”

  He hands me the card. It’s a Sexton Media business card, and the name on it is none other than Marcus Galevry, Missy’s assistant.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said maybe. He was offering a few hundred bucks to anyone who had a lead on who had put together the race Tyler died at. I told him I raced Falcon that night and might have his number, but the phone was untraceable. He went to leave, but I called him back, told him I might have a name and could testify who had orchestrated the race if I really wanted to.”

  I grind my teeth. “You’re bluffing.”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.” He looks at me with an evil glare. “Maybe he put me on the phone with a woman named Missy Sexton. Damn, she sounds just as hot on the phone as she looks in pictures. I looked her up after we hung up, and”—he bites his knuckle—“you have one hot stepmama.” He lifts his chin and smirks at me, making me want to hurl at the notion of Missy being hot. “Anyway, she told me a nice story about how Falcon is really a very well-known playb
oy whose inheritance could be in jeopardy if he got arrested and was looking for someone with a vendetta against him to rat him out.”

  “How much did she offer you?”

  “A hundred thousand dollars. Can you believe that shit? I was digging anywhere I could to find out who you really were before I put two and two together with my sister, and this chick is gonna spend bank to do what I did for free. She must be pretty desperate to pin this shit on you.”

  “I’ll pay you the same to keep your mouth shut.”

  He smiles a closed-mouth smile, sauntering over to my Porsche, and runs his hand along the slick meteor-gray metallic hood. “Don’t worry, Falcon; I’m not planning to sell you out. I mean, it is pretty interesting when your stepmom’s assistant comes lurking around, trying to get dirt on her stepson. I don’t know what kind of fucked up shit goes on around here, but I don’t want to be a part of it.”

  My shoulders relax at his words, but I’m still not fully relieved. “What do you want then?”

  “A race,” he states with a slight tilt to his head. “You and me one more time.”

  “No,” I answer quickly.

  Beckett’s head flinches at my comment, like it’s the last thing he wanted to hear. “What the hell do you mean, no?”

  “I don’t re-race people after I win, and I know Jalynn would have my ass if I agreed to this.”

  “She’s already got you by the balls like that?”

  I glare at him, daring him to say more about my relationship with his sister.

  “Hey, I said I’m not planning on selling you out. I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” he spits.

  My eyes nearly bulge out of my head. “Are you threatening me? Am I supposed to be scared?”

  He steps up. “You should be. How would you feel if you lost all of this? The fancy cars? The money? The power?” He motions outward with his hands, as if encompassing all things Sexton Media.

  “They can have it.” I get even closer, right in his face. “You think I want to be here? I want this life? I don’t. You know what I do want? I want to keep my mom’s memory alive. My mother, Marina Sexton, built this business from nothing but a piece of paper and a dream. Now, my stepmom is trying to tear it apart. Is that what you want to see happen? You want to help her kill my mother’s memory?”

  He pauses as we stare into each other’s eyes, neither one of us willing to back down. I’ve heard all about how their mom died. It was cancer, the brutal kind that comes and whips through your body in six months. They didn’t even have a chance to prepare for her loss before she was ripped away from them. He knows exactly what’s going through my head, and if he says one more word, then he deserves for me to keep his fucking car.

  After a few seconds, I spit out, “That’s what I thought.”

  I turn around in an attempt to end this conversation when he yells, “I need another race.”

  Stopping, I turn to him. “I said no.”

  “I’ll keep your secret. I’ll tell Missy to piss off. Race me one last time.”

  I appraise his stature. He waited outside my garage door for two hours for his car and is saying he turned down a hundred grand in exchange for a race.

  “Is this a trap?”

  His hands shake at his sides like a junkie needing a fix. “I swear on my mother’s grave. I swear on my sister’s life. This is just you and me. One more run on the straightaway.”

  “For pinks again?” If he honestly agrees to this, then he’s more of a racing addict than I held him out to be, and I really should turn him down.

  He slowly shakes his head, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets. “You know I can’t do that again.” He pauses, raising his head as a thought comes to him. “We race for pride.”

  “Pride?” I ask, shaking my head. “Well, duh. When I win—again—I’ll be brimming with pride.”

  “I mean, pride in your abilities, not your car’s.”

  My palms itch with the thrill of being challenged. “How do you plan on kicking my ass when I beat you so bad not once, but twice?”

  “A race is only as good as the driver. If you’re really the badass you think you are, then you should be able to win in my car just as easily.”

  My interest halts at his insinuation. I point toward the Mustang. “You want me to drive that piece of shit?”

  “I might not be able to race you for pinks, but pride’s something no one can take away. No matter how much money you dump into a car, if you don’t have the skill, you won’t win.”

  With a shake of my head, I run a hand across the back of my neck, now beading with sweat. If I race Beckett, it will mean more than just pride. It’ll cost me another fight with my girl.

  “Jalynn will be pissed.”

  “Does she wear the pants or you?” His eyes are wide like wildfire, a man on the edge of getting the fix he needs.

  Fuck me.

  I know he didn’t truly mean that; he’s desperate though.

  I might have met Beckett only a handful of times, but I know one thing’s for sure. He took a beating by his father every day for ten years. The man might not need a hundred thousand dollars, but he’s thirsty for something more. Ravenous to be told he’s good enough. Hungry for a chance to be a winner.

  For some reason, he’s obsessed with beating me as the ultimate payout. If I deny him this chance, he’ll go find someone else to get him the fix he needs, someone who might want to race for pinks or something worse, and he’ll take that bet without thinking twice.

  Jalynn will be livid. She’ll scream at him. She’ll beg me not to race him. She can’t be the one to always save her brother. I have to be the person to save him this time.

  And, for Jalynn, I will.

  I look Beckett square in the eyes and pronounce our fate, “We race tonight.”

  20

  JALYNN

  I hate him. I hate him so much I can’t even think of enough expletives to express how much I hate him right now. And, in case you’re wondering, the him in question bounces back and forth between Austin and Beckett because I also can’t decide who I’m angrier with.

  Austin didn’t even bother coming home to tell me he was racing my brother again. He called because he knew I’d be fuming.

  Good thing because he missed a swift kick in the balls that I was planning on giving him as soon as the words, “I’m racing Beckett tonight, and I don’t want you there,” poured out of his mouth.

  Just reciting it in my head has me kicking the dashboard in front of me.

  “Watch the dash, girl,” Eva says beside me as we pull up to the secluded part of South San Francisco where Gregg set up the race between Beckett and Austin. Eva had to make some calls to find out where the race was, and thank God she did.

  I see Beckett, already waiting and leaning on his Mustang.

  “Jalynn, why are you here?” he yells as soon as we exit Eva’s car.

  “Because, when my brother and boyfriend decide to go behind my back and race each other, you can damn well be sure I’m gonna be here!” I push him in the chest, and he falls against his car. I pound my fists into his leather jacket and show him just how angry I am. “What are you racing for tonight, Beckett? You finally got your car back, so you’re wagering it again?”

  He grabs my wrists and holds me still, keeping me from hitting him anymore. “Stop it, Jay. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I try to twist out of his grip, but he’s holding me strong. “I know something’s up, and one of you’d better tell me or else I’m going to start screaming so loud that everyone within a ten-mile radius will hear me.”

  “I have this under control. I promise. Just calm down and get on the sidelines, Jalynn.”

  “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on, Beckett!”

  “Let her go.” Austin’s authoritative tone echoes from the crowd behind us.

  Beckett’s eyes lift and widen as he gently releases me, and I fall back on my heels before turning swiftly to Austin.

&
nbsp; He’s wearing his oversize sweatshirt, the same one he wore the night we met, along with his LUNATIC hat peeking through underneath it. I can’t see his eyes, but his lips are set in a thin line. I don’t know if he’s unhappy with the way Beckett was handling me or the fact that I’m here. Whatever the reason, I don’t care.

  I lift my chin and hold my ground as he walks up to me, leaving the crowd behind him. I feel the pull, the one that I’ve felt from the moment I stepped into his car and he took me on the ride of a lifetime.

  My eyes are stern, and my jaw is set, yet inside, I want to melt right into that ugly-ass sweatshirt. I’m tethered to this man, and there’s no way I’ll ever be able to walk away.

  “I told you to stay home.” He places a hand on my elbow and draws me near.

  “I don’t take lightly to being told what to do.” I pull my arm away from him and square my shoulders back.

  He lets out a low grunt from inside his throat. “You’re really earning that nickname right now.”

  I grit my teeth. “I am not being a Gomer Pyle. Now tell me what is going on because I’m ready to cause such a scene that your race will never start, and your thirty-minute window will be up!”

  “Fine.” Beckett steps up and loudly whispers in my ear, “I threatened Austin with telling everyone he’s Falcon.”

  “You what?” I scream.

  Austin places a hand over my lips, pulling me into him and away from Beckett and the crowd.

  I’m twisting and turning as he pulls me away from the people and the lights until we’re out of earshot.

  “Will you calm the fuck down, so I can explain?” he says as he lets me go.

  I start to march right back toward Beckett. “I have to talk to my brother. If he thinks—”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” He yanks me back into him.

  I pull my arms away and wave them around as I try to explain, “He’ll listen to me. Beckett always listens to me. He can’t just threaten you every time he doesn’t get his way. He can’t use my boyfriend as leverage just to race. And what about you? What happened to not wanting to run anymore? This is running, Austin. This is running away from us!”