by Dallas Cole
I grimace and ease out of Sophie, letting her down gently to the ground. She’s looking a little woozy, so I help her tug her miniskirt back into place. “Fuck off,” I tell him. “There’s nothing here for you.”
“Okay, bro. But next time, try sharing, huh?” They laugh, ribbing each other, and stagger toward the street.
Sophie scrubs at her hair; stray wisps of red-blonde slicked to the sides of her face. Something isn’t right in her expression. She certainly enjoyed herself before those douchebags showed up. But her mouth has tightened up and she’s casting her eyes upward like she’s upset.
“Hey, are you okay?” I hurriedly tidied myself up and hiked my jeans back up. “Did those assholes piss you off?”
Sophie exhales slowly. When she opens her eyes again, they’re the same dangerous, delicious blue as before. Whatever had passed over her expression is gone. “I don’t know,” she says, biting her lower lip. “I think I’m okay.” She grins. “But maybe we should do it again so I can make sure.”
I wake up with a jerk. I’d been racing in my dreams—back in my old Mitsubishi, the one that got totaled a few months back. Now, though, I’m sprawled in an unfamiliar bed—nothing new there—and completely alone. Where’d the hot chick go? I start to sit up, then drop back down when I realize the distant buzz I’d heard was a running shower.
Shit. I should already be gone. Nash must be waiting for me back at our motel, ready to tear me a new one. And worse, the girl—Sophie, her name is Sophie—is already awake. I could run into her at any second. Not my style at all. First in, first out, that’s the Jagger way—
The water stops just as I’m reaching for my jeans.
Sophie appears in the doorway from an adjoining bathroom, completely naked, scrubbing a towel through her hair. I sweep my gaze over those lovely, heavy breasts, that narrow waist, those hips just begging to be grabbed—Shit. Already, I can feel my erection stirring again. I’d love to indulge in a third round. But I don’t have time for some morning action. I need to get the fuck out of here before she gets all clingy—
“Ugh. You’re still around?” Sophie asks. She drops the towel on the ground and starts digging around in a cardboard box. I notice then that her room is full of cardboard boxes. Just moved in, or on her way out? “Okay, let me make this easy for you.” She tugs on a pair of underwear.
I watch the waistband slide over her ripe ass for a second, then tug my jeans up. “No, no, it’s all good. I was just on my way—”
“Last night was fun.” She shrugs into a t-shirt with no bra. “But it’s time for you to go. Don’t make it weird, okay?”
And then she vanishes back into the bathroom and slams the door.
I stare at the closed door for a long moment. Who the hell does this girl think she is? That’s my line, dammit.
And for once, I didn’t want to use it.
2
Jagger
Elena Drazic circles the Firebird, rubbing her chin with one hand. “Hmmm. Well. That’s interesting,” she says.
I swallow. “Interesting, how?”
“It’s just so weird.” Elena flashes me a grin. “You must not be feeling well, Jagger. You actually managed to pick out a car that doesn’t need a shit ton of work.”
“Don’t worry. There’s a completely impractical vintage MG back at the same lot I’ve got my eye on, too.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Elena grabs a wrench and drags a sliding cart toward her. “That’s a relief. I thought you might be sick for a minute there.”
Then she shimmies onto the cart and disappears beneath the Firebird.
I only stare at her ass for a moment. I mean, she’s like a sister to me. And she’s Lennox’s girl. But she isn’t actually my sister, and a guy’s gotta look.
“Brake pads are pretty chewed up,” Elena calls from underneath. “I think I got something in the warehouse, though, that’ll work.”
“How’s the transmission?”
“Looks like it was replaced a few years ago. All-new. Not a lot of miles on this thing, considering.”
“Anything else that needs work?” I ask. “Before I race her?”
That antsy feeling is settling back in my bones; it’s been way too long since I’ve raced. The elimination circuits are coming up this weekend, leading toward the Tri-State Invitational that the Calaveras Crew host every spring. If I miss my shot this weekend, I could always hike my ass down to the south end of the desert for the circuits there next month, but then I’d be racing against total unknowns. I already know how to crush the crews in our region—the Calaveras Crew, what’s left of the old McManus gang, and the Jians.
Elena crawls back out from beneath the Firebird’s carriage, a smear of oil across her nose. She bounces to her feet, grabs a rag, and wipes her hands clean. Then she turns to me, expression solemn. “I’m real sorry, Jag.”
I’m mostly sure she’s joking, but I can’t take the risk. “What?”
“Your car’s in great shape. Too bad you’re going to lose horribly to me Saturday.”
“You fucking wish.” I drop into a boxer’s stance and take a few punches in the air. “I’m unstoppable. The god of the asphalt. The thunder between the sheets.”
“More like the hot air between your cheeks.” She tosses the greasy rag at me. “Hey, Lennox gets off work in an hour or so. If you want, I can change out these brake pads for you now, and we can all go run circuits at the tracks.”
Lennox. God, it’s still weird having him around. For over three years, we’d all believed he’d killed Nash’s older brother in a drunk-driving accident. Turns out it was all a cover-up, but it’s hard to come back from that.
Maybe that’s part of this restlessness I feel, chewing me up from the inside out. I’d been so angry at Lennox for so long, and now that anger has nowhere to go. I’d tried channeling it into fighting—the usual bar brawls, dig-wagging contests and shit with the assholes outside the Crow Bar. Sex. I haven’t even been able to race since we took on the McManus assholes. But ever since we visited the college town, even sex hadn’t appealed to me.
Well. That might be a lie. More like, the thought of sex with people who aren’t Sophie hasn’t appealed to me.
Look, I’d tried. I hit up the Crow Bar a few nights back and reeled in a leggy brunette with skin the color of caramel cream. But there was no challenge there. No . . . passion. She was just limp and empty, hanging on me like I was some kind of anchor, and without me, she’d just . . . drift away. There wasn’t anything sexy about that. So when she invited me back to her place, I made up some lame excuse.
I just need to get my groove back, that’s all. Get racing, get fighting, get this restlessness out of my blood. Saturday night is just the thing I need. Feel hundreds of wild horses burning beneath my feet and smell the rubber melting. That’s when I feel alive. Like more than just the butt of everyone’s jokes, more than just some loser my mom cast away.
“Hey, Jagger.” Drazic, Elena’s uncle and the body shop owner, saunters down from the office and stands before my new baby girl. “Damn. Looks like your taste is improving.”
“She’s got promise.” I grin. If Elena’s the crew’s little sister, then Drazic is our father, or the closest thing most of us have ever had. Salt and pepper dark hair, well-tanned Mediterranean skin, and an expression that can go in an instant from warm and friendly to cold and lethal. I do my best to stay on his friendly side. Doesn’t always work. “You gonna let me race her Saturday?”
“Don’t see why not, if Elena says she’s good.” Drazic claps me on the shoulder. “With the McManuses more or less eliminated, should be a few extra slots open.”
“Me, too?” Elena asks, practically bouncing on the balls of her steel-toed boots.
“Lennox, Nash, Elena, Jagger . . . sounds like a damned fine roster to me.” His fingers dig further into my shoulder, then he steps away. “Jag, I got some fresh inventory for you to load, if you’re done pulling my niece off her paying jobs.”
“Su
re thing, boss.” I follow him back to the office, crammed with banker’s boxes full of receipts, catalogs, invoices, and the random spare part. “We’re running pretty low, though. Shipments have been backed up . . .”
Drazic closes the door and folded his arms. “Not those parts.”
Oh. Right. “Yeah, I got it handled. Found a couple buyers on one of the darkweb depots. They’re paranoid as hell, though. And they want to pay in bitcoins.”
“The fuck is a bitcoin?” Drazic crinkles his face.
“Untraceable currency. Here, I’ll show you.” I rouse his ancient computer to life and load us into the deep web. “Cyrus has it all figured out. Mostly it’s drug dealers who use it, but I figure, why try to offload our chop by word of mouth when we can find buyers online . . .”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re advertising our chopped parts online?”
“On the dark web.” I frown. “It’s secure. No one can trace us.”
Drazic pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, Jag. You and Cyrus take a couple classes at the junior college and now you think you’re some fucking hacker—”
“Look, D, you paid for those classes coz you wanted me to make something of myself. Prove I was good for something more than just ripping off cars.” I gesture to the dark web auto parts forum as it loads. Buy, sell, trade. All manner of ill-gotten goods, from entire vintage vehicles hotwired out of their Malibu mansions to the usual array of stolen stereos, engine blocks, and more. “You said yourself that aside from getting caught, the hardest part of working our gig is finding people willing to buy. So, look—they’re all right here.”
“But they could be cops,” Drazic says, his voice still sour.
“Could be. But this forum is pretty stringent about vetting people. They know how to weed out a rat.”
“And you can move all our stuff on there? You really think so?”
My grin widens. “I’ve got buyers interested in a good eighty, eighty-five percent of our last haul. We stay smart, keep this up . . .” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Our only problem is going to be whether we can steal enough.”
Lennox, Elena, and I head down to the circuits with Cyrus as soon as he gets off work at the scrapyard. Late winter in Ridgecrest is a funny thing—not cold enough to really feel like winter, except for maybe at the top of the mountain ridge, but also not warm enough to match that dried-out stretch of earth in the valley. The sun hangs low over the racetracks as I drill the circuits over and over, Cyrus on a Bluetooth earpiece talking me through each turn.
Maybe that’s all I’m missing. The way I feel my limbs lift up and away with each tight turn. That moment like I’m floating, like I might just become unmoored, and it might not be so bad if I were to just drift away. But there’s the seatbelt, tugging me back down to earth, and then the hard slam of these woefully underpadded seats. I’m not free. And I’m still not where I need to be.
I’m in third place, behind Lennox and Elena both.
For our trials, that’s dead last.
We pull off to the side of the main circuit, overlooking a low desert ridge, and Elena bounds out of her Camaro and flings herself into Lennox’s arms. “Second! I came in second!” she shouts, kicking her heels up behind her. “One of these days, I’ll catch your ass, too!”
“We’ll see about that.” Lennox winks at me over her shoulder, then pulls her in for a kiss.
I looked away, my temper flaring, and I’ve got no one to be mad at but myself. I’ve got to do better. I used to be our crew’s ringer, and now I’m just scraping along.
“You’re still getting used to her.” Cyrus lopes up to me. “She looks like she handles real nice.”
“Like a wet dream. I just can’t seem . . .” I shake my head. No use talking about it. Opening myself up never did me any good in life—all it did was set me up for a sucker punch. “I’ll keep at it.”
“You’ll look better come Saturday. I’m sure of it.” He grins.
“Hey, Jag, we’re gonna grab some burgers over at Peggy’s. You wanna join us?”
Do I want to squeeze into a booth and watch Lennox and Elena barely able to keep their hands off each other? So disgustingly in love, building an actual life—Oh, Christ, Jags. I need to get a grip. I never used to bellyache over other people’s relationships. And I sure don’t want one myself.
That settles it. I needed a quick lay, a hot shower, and way too many shots of whiskey. In whatever order I can get them.
“No thanks, man. There’s a girl at the Nest just waiting to scream my name tonight.” I sling my thin leather driving jacket over my shoulder. “I just gotta find her.”
I stop at the gas station at the base of the mountain to top the Firebird off and grab a fresh box of condoms. New challenge, Jagger: use up this box before that tank of gas ran out. I look through the options, drumming a rhythm on my thighs, while the station attendant chats with someone at the register. Ribbed, flavored, Caesar-sized . . . I don’t even know what to pick.
Sure would help if I could stop seeing Sophie and her juicy lips every time I imagine sliding one on.
“No! Stop it! I’m Wonder Woman!”
Before I can even glance up from the box I’m examining, something pink, short, and fluffy plows into my shin. I leap back with a shout as the thing ricochets into the shelf of condoms, sending the boxes flying. “Whoa! Shi—uhhh, shoot! Watch out!”
I reach down and pluck the thing out of the crumpled-up boxes and shelves. Little girl, can’t be more than five or six; her orange hair is braided in a crown around her head, and she wears a Darth Vader t-shirt with a fluffy ballerina skirt. “Unhand me, fiend!” she shrieks.
“Stop! In the name of the law!”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I glance toward the aisle’s opening just in time to catch sight of a boy in full Spiderman attire come barreling my way. The little girl, presumably his sister, pounces onto his back, and they wrestle back and forth, pinning me in with what’s left of the condom display. Shit shit shit. Maybe they can’t read. I crouch down and start piling boxes back on the shelving, but the girl must have knocked the brackets loose—
“You don’t have to do that. Kids, clean up your mess.” A woman’s voice, smoky and low.
“We’re gonna clean up this city of crime!” the boy declares.
Then he yanks a box of Imperius-sized condoms out of my hands.
“Oh, my god, Jack, are those—oh. Oh, shit.”
I meet the woman’s deep blue, wide-eyed stare. And then the strawberry curls draped around her shoulders. The perfect body, even tucked away in skinny jeans, and the hand she’s slowly bring to cover her mouth.
Sophie.
I take a step back, bumping up against a rack of deodorant and tampons. And if that’s Sophie, were these kids—
“Aunt Sophie said a bad word.” The girl whistles low.
Aunt. Aunt. I exhale a bit too loudly.
“And if you don’t tell your mom, I’ll buy you a candy bar.” Sophie’s gaze stays fixed on mine as she speaks. I try cracking a smile, but it only makes her eyes tighten further. “C’mon, kids, let’s go.”
“Aunt Sophie, what’s a condom?” the boy asks.
The girl bounces around him. “I want a condom!”
Sophie swears again under her breath. “I’m so sorry. They’re a bit of a handful.”
“No, it’s all right. Cute kids. Nosy, but . . .” I pluck the box out of the boy’s hand. “How about you let me clean those up, huh?”
“I’m Jack,” the boy announces. “That’s Ella, and that’s my aunt Sophie.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Jagger.” I press my hand to the back of his shoulder to steer him back toward Sophie. “And it’s good to see you.”
I fix my gaze on her, doing my best to look warm, inviting. Not the usual shit-eating swagger I prefer, but she looks so stricken . . . Like seeing me has rattled her. I’m afraid that if I move too quickly, she’d dart off, like a deer.
Finally, she snatches Jac
k’s hand and break the gaze. “Well, this has just been a delightfully awkward two minutes, but it’s time for us to go.”
“Sophie, wait.”
Her shoulders stiffen. C’mon, turn around, let me work my magic . . . She swivels, slowly, but won’t look at me. “Ella. Now.”
“How long are you in town?” I ask.
“Too long.” She holds her free hand out. “Ella, come on.”
“Maybe we could . . . grab a drink sometime?” I ask.
“Nope! Don’t think so.” She storms past me and hoists Ella up into her arms.
“Sophie, c’mon.” I let my grin widen and tucked my hands in my jean pockets, doing my best James Dean cool. “Where are you staying? At least let me take you out.”
“We live at 51 Willow Lane!” Ella announces, wriggling against Sophie’s hip. I stifle a laugh.
Sophie squeezes her eyes shut. “Wow! Great job, honey. I see we need a refresher on that whole ‘stranger danger’ business.”
“Please. I’m harmless.” I scrub a hand through my short hair. “Listen, it’s great to see you. If you’re going to be in Ridgecrest for long . . .”
Sophie shakes her head. “I really don’t need this. I don’t need . . .” She blows out her breath, sending a tuft of her gorgeous red-gold hair floating. “You’re very charming. But no, thanks.”
“Charming? Just charming?” I spread my hands at my sides. “Tell you what. You come to my race Saturday, at the warehouse district, and I’ll show you there’s plenty more than just charm under my hood.”
“I know perfectly well what’s under your hood.”
But there’s a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. That’s all I need. That smile, that hint that maybe, just maybe . . . “Think about it, Sophie.” I glance down at the kids. “Bye, Ella. Jack. Go beat up lots of bad guys.”
I don’t realize I’ve forgotten the condoms until I climb into the driver’s seat of my Firebird. I look toward the gas station, debating. But there’s Sophie at the counter, her gaze sweeping over my car.
