by P. Jameson
In the south, things get real dirty. Especially on Saturdays. Mud on your jeans. Grit in your beer. Your tan washes off in the shower. That’s how you know it’s racing day. Or as the Dirt Track Dogs like to put it, winning day. Because they aren’t racing unless they’re winning.
Drake is the president of Cedar Valley’s best dirt track racing club, and Alpha to a rag-tag wolf pack. His boys have had their troubles, but nothing a little mashing of the throttle and a few laps around the track can’t fix. As long as they’re winning, they can ignore the way their animals hunger for their mates. But the arrival of a new driver throws Drake’s careful control out of balance, and makes his wolf want more than just another win.
Ella Freeman wants two things: to win enough money to buy herself a decent place to live, and to get to know the local racing legend, Drake Folsom. With her inherited stock car and the track knowledge her daddy ingrained in her, she sets out to do just that. With the help of Drake’s club, she knows her chances of success are even higher. What she doesn’t count on is losing her heart to the wolf he hides inside. But the longer she sticks around, the more losing really feels like winning.
Racing the Alpha
By P. Jameson
Racing the Alpha
Copyright © 2015 by P. Jameson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, redistributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database, without prior permission from the author.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead,is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Other books by P. Jameson
Ozark Mountain Shifters
A Mate’s Denial (Book 1)
A Mate’s Sacrifice (Book 2)
A Mate’s Revenge (Book 3)
A Mate’s Submission (Book 4)
Holiday Novella
A Mate’s Wish (Amazon)
Chapter One
Drake sighed, leaning back against the cool metal side of his sweet, sweet Blue. His baby. His race car. She’d gotten him the win last night, somehow, even with the challenger so tight on his tracks he was nearly rubbing Blue’s tires. He had the boys checking, but he still didn’t know who drove red 57.
Didn’t matter. A win was a win. That’s what he told himself anyway.
Reaching into the pocket of his grease-stained t-shirt, he pulled out his sour apple Bubblicious and popped a new piece in his mouth. He was running out and could only find the damn stuff at one convenience store. And it was in the next town over.
Drake listened carefully to the conversation happening on the other side of the swinging garage door.
“What the hell do you mean there are no women? Racing isn’t just a man’s sport, you know.” Whoever she was, that deep, sassy voice sounded like sex on a stick to Drake. Every note and inflection danced along his too-sensitive skin begging for a reaction.
“Drake!” Beast called for the second time.
“No, seriously,” the woman continued. “Are you telling me Dirt Track Dogs discriminates against women? Because let me tell you, that is against—”
“It’s not that,” Beast interrupted her tirade. “We just don’t need any women on the team.”
“You don’t need any women? Like you don’t need new tires or another damn hole in your head?”
“Jesus…” Beast muttered while another familiar and distinctive laugh bounced along the steel walls of the club.
“Look,” she said, her tone leveling to sound appeasing. As if that would work on Beast. “Just tell me how to apply for membership and I’ll be on my way, okay?”
“It doesn’t work like that, lady.”
“Then tell me how it works, would ya?”
“Drake! For fuck’s sake, would you get in here?”
Drake pushed through the door and into the main room of the club. The place was littered with barrels and spare tires and extra car parts. It smelled like grease and oil and gasoline.
“You said the magic word.” He smirked at the wolf standing behind the counter.
“Oh, yeah. What’s that?” Beast looked bemused.
“Fuck.”
The woman Beast argued with turned to Drake with hands planted on her ample hips. “You the president?”
He popped his gum obnoxiously while he considered her. She sure was a sexy little thing. Her jeans and t-shirt couldn’t hide it. Too bad women were off limits. No chicks. That was the agreement they’d all made. “Something like that.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “What can I do for you?”
She straightened. “I want in the club. I’m qualified. I’m willing to work. I can be an asset. Tell me how to get in.”
He gave her a sly grin, sweeping his arms out to indicate their surroundings. “You’re already standing in it, babe.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Not what I meant. Babe.”
The side of his mouth quirked. Okay. So she didn’t take shit. Good to know. He gave it to her straight this time. “I’m sure Beast told you, there are no women in our club.”
She nodded. “Yes, he did. But who says there can’t be a first? This guy—Surge is it?—he says you could use the help.”
Drake glared at his wildest wolf. Fucking Surge. He got his nickname from that radioactive green drink from the 90s that made you a little crazy if you drank it. That was him, a little crazy and always looking for a way to shake things up. What better way to do that than convince some wannabe race chick she needs to step up with five competitive men. Perfect. Recipe. For. Disaster.
Surge cackled. Drake could swear the guy was more hyena than wolf.
“Sorry, honey. Surge is wrong.”
“I tried to tell her,” Beast muttered.
“Why don’t you just go down to Red Cap and chat up some of the girls there. They can set you up with any kind of racing shit you wanna play with—”
“I’m not here to play,” she snapped. “I’m here to race. I’m here to win. And I want to do it on your team. You’d be an idiot not to let me.”
Drake’s vision was drawn to the back of the room. Blister was standing in the shadows, arms crossed, taking in the scene. The look on his face was wary, the blotchy burn scar that took up most of his left cheek and forehead, scrunching with his frown. He knew something, but Drake didn’t have time to dig to the bottom of it now.
“Why?” Drake bit out. “Why are you here?”
She shrugged, her eyebrows raising and waving the you’re-an-imbecile flag. “Because you have the best setup here. Your practice track, your shop, everything is top of the line. Your training is sound from what I can see. I want to take advantage of what Dirt Track Dogs has to offer. And in return, I’ll make it worth your while.”
There was a slight pause, and Drake knew each of the guys’ brains went exactly where his went. Worth their while. It made him uneasy. But then Surge started in with the cackling again.
Beast seemed ready to strangle the race chick. Drake could hardly blame him. Not a single fucking one of them were mated yet. And it had been a while since any of them had enjoyed pleasures of the carnal variety. A very, very long while.
She was a temptation they couldn’t risk.
Fucking hell.
“You can’t possibly be considering this,” Beast said, turning away from her.
He wasn’t. No women. That was the rule.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she interrupted. “Three laps around your track, right now. If I win, I’m in.”
“And if you lose?”
Her jaw clenched tight as if she was reconsidering her choices. “If I lose… you get my car.”
“I d
on’t need another car.”
Her eyes narrowed. They were the palest shade of blue. She almost looked like a shifter. If she didn’t smell so human, he’d assume she was.
“True,” she mused. “You don’t need my car. But you do need me out of next week’s race. Either that… or on your team. I’d bet my mother on that.”
An eerie feeling snaked up Drake’s spine.
“You’re signed up for next week?”
She tossed him a shit-eating grin. “Oh, absolutely.”
Damn. She thought she was race-ready? She must know a thing or two, but that didn’t mean she was ready to scrape dirt.
Or was she?
It was more his curiosity that got the best of him. She wouldn’t win those three laps anyways, so it didn’t matter, but he wanted to see what she could do. If anything. And also, maybe teach her a lesson. It’d be a shame for her to jump into a race that would eat her alive. He’d be doing her a favor by accepting this dare.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, nodding. “Three laps. Right now.”
Her face spread in a grin, and he nearly had to catch himself on the counter. But damn, she was a stunner. And when she smiled it was like a blast from the fucking sun. He waited to be incinerated, and it happened, but only from the inside. White-hot desire raked him, and his animal stood at attention.
Down boy.
“What’s your name?”
“Ella. Ella Freeman.”
Ella. What a perfect fucking name, Ella.
Mine, his wolf whispered, but Drake ignored it with all the effort of a stubborn alpha intent on keeping his boys—and their hearts—safe from harm. Racing was their drug. They drowned their sorrows and past mistakes in racing fuel and mud. They hit the throttle not the bottle. Winning was what kept them sane. There wasn’t room for any distractions. Including mates.
“Let’s go,” he said, marching for the front door.
He passed Blister on the way out and the wolf seemed to be sending him a warning through his glare, but hell if Drake knew what it was.
The feeling stinging the back of his neck intensified as he swung the door open and stared out into the orange dusky sky. Then his eyes landed on Ella’s car and a whole lotta Oh Fuck hit him in the chest.
Parked in front of the club was the car that almost beat him. Red 57.
And Ella… Ella was the mystery driver.
Chapter Two
Ella’s hands shook as she zipped up her driving jacket and readied her helmet. She’d been so sure DTD would give her a chance that she’d had Punk haul her car over and drop it off out front. But she hadn’t expected to be using it as a bargaining tool.
Crap. If she lost this race, her whole plan was down the drain. Maybe she should reconsider. Maybe she could be all Lone Ranger and win this season on her own. But then, where would she stay for the next five months? She couldn’t keep sleeping on Punk’s couch. Not only was it a horrible idea, but the thing was something out of the 90s and had a sheet of plywood holding the cushions up.
Ella watched Drake as he prepped his car, and her treacherous heart fluttered in her chest. She’d watched him from afar for so long, he almost didn’t feel like a stranger. Between that and Daddy rolling on and on about him in those final days, she felt as if their futures were destined to intertwine.
Of course, she’d been wrong before. And there was no doubt she was forcing things along with this bet. But there was more at play here. Self preservation, for one. Her nursing degree was bunk ever since Daddy’s illness. She couldn’t bear to even look at a needle anymore, much less step foot in a hospital. Too many crippling memories. Instead, she’d moved to Cedar Valley and took a job pushing drinks at the Red Cap. Daddy would spin out in his grave if he knew.
She missed him so much.
Ella squeezed her eyes shut, putting a stranglehold on the tears that threatened to make an appearance. She metaphorically grabbed the edges of her heart and stomped those dangerous feelings way down into the bottom of it so they couldn’t surface again. At least not for the next fifteen minutes. She needed three laps without thinking about the mess her life was in.
She was trying though. If she could pull this off, maybe she could fix things. Winning the Ark-La-Tex Dirt Track Final at the end of the season would give her enough to buy that Airstream trailer she’d found online. Then all she’d have to do is rent a lot by the river and bribe Punk with Ben & Jerry’s to move it down there for her.
Boom. No more couch hopping.
She’d keep her job at Red Cap to cover the rental space, and then maybe… maybe someday she’d heal enough to go back to her career.
Ella jumped up and down and shook her hands out to release some of her pent up nervous energy. A small crowd had gathered. If you could call four men a crowd. There was Beast, Surge, and two others she didn’t have a name for. They each eyed her warily. Except for Surge. He gave her a crazy-eyed grin.
She shook her head. That one was missing a few fries. Or he really liked brewing trouble. Maybe a combination of both. She kind of liked him already.
Drake strolled toward her, a deep frown making his face look harsh in the fading sunlight. Ella swallowed, and wished she had some water. He was tall and broad, his cropped hair tipped in natural blond highlights. He wore a few days worth of scruff but it didn’t hide the strong line of his jaw.
Anytime she’d ever seen him, he’d seemed completely in control. Nothing fazed him. Not the jeering crowd at the speedway. Not the rubbing cheaters on the track. If she’d observed him around town, he was nothing less than confident.
He was probably an asshole. What other excuse was there for emitting such air of worthiness? She had to find out if he was though. Because there were only two things that eased the turmoil that brewed in Ella’s heart. Racing the dirt track… and Drake Folsom.
The second one wasn’t explainable. Sometimes it even pissed her off. But then all she had to do was think of him and it was like someone had tossed a cool wet blanket on her raw soul.
Damn it. He better not be an asshole.
“You ready?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of her. All the cocky pretense was gone. He’d recognized her car. Knew she’d come an inch away from smoking him last night.
She gave him a sure nod even though she was quaking on the inside.
“You sure you wanna do this?”
“No. I’d much rather just fill out some papers and voila, I’m a Dirt Track Dog, but whatever. I’ll do what I have to.”
He hooked his hands on his hips and stared at the ground, shaking his head. He wasn’t thinking of skipping their bet was he?
Ella pushed her hand out. “Shake on it,” she said. “I want your word. If I win, I’m part of the club. One of the bros. You guys can pretend I’m a dude. Doesn’t matter to me.”
Surge snickered, kicking the dirt.
“Riiiight. Like that would be possible,” Beast muttered.
Drake cut a look to the others and they went quiet. Those eyes. Geez, he had beautiful eyes. Soft brown, lined in navy blue. It was the strangest combination.
“And if you lose, I get your car.”
Ella nodded, pushing the sick feeling farther down. Please don’t let it come to that.
His frown deepened but he nodded, reaching to shake her hand. His fingers wrapped around hers and there was a split second of awareness before she was hit with a jolt. She jerked her head and tried to pull her hand free, but Drake didn’t let go. The expression on his face was one of shock, quickly changing to unease.
Ella yanked loose of his hold, but couldn’t free herself of his intense stare. As if he’d just recognized her as a long lost acquaintance or something. Except they’d never met. He’d never even set foot in Red Cap since she’d started there. And at the speedway, he never gave a second glance in her direction. Why did he look at her like he knew her?
“Any day now,” Beast muttered. “I have a steak with my name on it, so if we could get this over with, that’d be great
.”
Surge slid up beside her, his eyes dancing. “I’m rooting for you, tiger.”
Tiger. It was better than ‘darling’ or ‘babe’ because there was no condescension behind it. He meant it as a compliment.
She grinned. “Thanks.”
Drake glared at Surge but he spoke to her. “Let’s do this.”
There was a blur of action as they moved to the starting line and she buckled her harness. The Dogs lined up along the fence by the turn. Didn’t seem like the safest option, but who was she to question them. They knew this track. And on that note, she was at a huge disadvantage.
“Please let this work,” she muttered under her breath.
Drake stared at her through the window net and then revved his engine. She nodded, and revved hers as well. There was no green flag, but the smell of octane and the vibration of horsepower calmed her. Focused her. Racing was her element. She’d been doing it since she was eleven. Back then, she’d loved the track, but as a teenager, she wanted to go in a different direction. Now, at twenty eight, it was like going back home.
The track was her home.
Surge stood in the middle of the oval with his hand raised to the sky. Ella watched him intently, her foot feather light on the accelerator, waiting for his signal. He swung his hand down in a harsh slash, and she hit the gas, sliding into the lane next to Drake.
Dirt sprayed as she struggled to gain traction, but then her tires grabbed hold and she shot forward, moving the steering wheel from side to side to keep from slipping.
Once in the straightway, she looked for Drake’s blue car and caught sight of his fender near her door.
She was in the lead, but barely, and they weren’t through a lap yet.
Around the bend she caught site of the Dogs, and grinned a little. Beast looked pissed, stomping his foot in the dirt. But true to his word, Surge was cheering.
On the second lap, Drake left her in the dust, pulling a whole car length ahead of her. Panic at losing the last bit of her Daddy she had left clawed her throat. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blamed it on the chill of the early spring air.
