Race to Redemption

by Megan Faust

  “You’re joking, right?” Rueben turned to Brant. “Tell me she’s joking.”

  “Come on Brant, you know full well I can drive.”

  “Racing dad’s old stock car on the track back home with me and your cousins is very different from a real race, Chloe. The other drivers are going to try to crash you, not try to keep you safe.”

  “Come on, Brant. It’s three races, and you need your car and your helmet to drive in them. It’s the perfect solution and you know it.”

  Rueben’s cellphone vibrated and he breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s Seth.” He flipped it open. “What do you know?”

  There was a long pause and Chloe could just barely make out Seth’s voice but Rueben’s face got even more somber as he listened.

  “You’re serious?” Rueben said, paling. “You’re sure? Okay. We’ll meet you back at the hotel later.”

  “Bad news?” Brant asked.

  “Yeah, but not the kind I was expecting to hear. The car will be up and running by race time tomorrow, you didn’t do as much damage to the car as you did to yourself. Seth said there was evidence of tampering. When you pushed the car up to full speed it snapped a weakened line and you lost control. If you hadn’t tested the car at speed today it would have happened during the race tomorrow and caused a wreck.”

  Brant breathed out forcefully. “A wreck could have been dangerous with so many cars on the track.”

  Rueben nodded. “Seth also mentioned the name Trey Williams. He’s another driver, fairly young, moving up the racing ladder at a good clip, and he has a reputation. Apparently other young drivers with potential don’t fare well in races against him. It really sounds like you got out lucky on all counts but one. You still can’t drive tomorrow.”

  “I can drive,” Chloe repeated.

  “No.” Brant said. “Absolutely not. Didn’t you just hear Rueben? Someone sabotaged the car. What if they try again? Chloe, you could die out there.”

  Chloe could see him bracing for a fight, one that would escalate until the nurse came to shut them up, so she just shrugged and said, “Fine, I won’t drive. I’ll step out and give Dad a call. He’ll want to know we’re coming home tonight.”

  The anger and resistance left Brant so suddenly it looked like he’d deflated into the pillow. Hearing that a stupid accident in a practice lap had ended a lifelong dream would make their father furious, or depressed, and Brant wasn’t sure which was worse.

  “Fine,” he said at long last.

  “Brant, this is a bad idea. Do you know how much trouble you could get in? This breaks every rule out there! She can’t impersonate you, not even with your permission.”

  “Then make sure she doesn’t get caught or all this risk will be for nothing. If this all goes smoothly we’ll have the sponsorship we need and we’ll be set to race again, after my foot has healed.”

  Chapter Two

  It was late by the time Seth got back from the track but Chloe and Brant had waited for him and the three siblings ate dinner together in the modest restaurant attached to their hotel. The food was good but the atmosphere was tame and Chloe was antsy to get out and explore New York.

  Brant and Seth did not share her enthusiasm.

  “I need a good long shower,” Seth said as he polished off his salad which was always the last thing on his plate. Even after a change of clothes and a quick wash up the oil under this nails was pretty obvious.

  “I need to hide,” Brant muttered. “If anyone sees me with a cast on my driving foot they’ll wonder who’s driving my car tomorrow.”

  “So broadcast your situation a little bit louder,” Seth said with a shrug.

  “Oh, shut up, Seth,” Brant snapped.

  Chloe rolled her eyes and fiddled with her glass of wine. By rights she shouldn’t even have drank that much but the race was twelve hours away. “Where’s Rueben?” she said.

  What was meant as a distraction got the barest answer. “He’s in his room. Seriously Brant, no one is keeping you down here. Maybe you should go up and take your pain medication before you get any bitchier. I think I’ll get some dessert.”

  “You do that,” Brant said, pushing away from the table. “I’m going back up to the room, and not to take my pain medication, thank-you Dr. Know-It-All. Just hurry your ass up, all right?”

  “Of course, Captain. You’re the boss around here.” Seth even saluted with a straight face.

  Brant stormed off and Seth ordered a slice of pie a la mode.

  “Why do you have to rile him up like that?” Chloe said.

  Seth shrugged. “He thinks he’s Mr. Hotshot because he’s the oldest and he’s the driver and I’m sick of it. He needs me to keep that car running; he just likes to forget that whenever it’s convenient. He doesn’t like being dependent on people. You just watch his attitude towards you change, too. If you lose it’ll be your fault his career takes a hit, if you win he’ll be pissed because his pride will be hurt.”

  “Maybe I can placate him,” she said. “I’ll go up and see if he needs anything. Enjoy the pie.”

  “Believe me, I will.”

  * * * *

  Chloe stood on the street outside the hotel, trying to hail a cab. She’d grown up on the outskirts of a small city where traffic jams never got longer than two blocks and cabs were rarely used by anyone but tourists and old ladies who’d lost their drivers’ licences. The hustle and bustle of New York was a shock for her though she tried to hide it. Hailing a cab, however, eluded her.

  She sensed someone come up close behind her, raise an arm, and like magic a cab appeared at the curb. She looked up, startled; the most amazing hunk of a man she’d ever laid eyes on was standing a little too close behind her and smiling an almost perfect lazy smile at her.

  “What was I doing wrong?” she demanded, hiding her attraction under a mask of indignation.

  “You’re too short,” he replied. “Where were you headed?”

  “Ah, to check out a night club.”

  He nodded. “Me, too. Climb in, we’ll split the fare.”

  As she continued to stare at his blonde hair and gorgeous steel grey eyes common sense flitted out of her head and she nodded. Once inside the enclosed space with him she realized that she had seen him before. He was at the race track today, right after Brant’s accident. He didn’t seem as caught up in the drama as the other racers. He’s involved with the races somehow…

  “Did you have one in mind?”

  “One what?” she asked, trying to pull her thoughts back to the moment at hand.

  “Nightclub. You said you were going out clubbing.”

  She flushed. “Right. It’s my first time here; I was just going to go somewhere close to the hotel.”

  “Then you’ll want Club 200.”

  “Club 200, not a problem,” the cabbie said and the car lurched into traffic.

  “Thank-you,” she said.

  “New York can be intimidating to tourists.”

  “You live here?”

  “No,” he said. “But I come here for work a few times a year. I live in Chicago.”

  “Well, at least you’re used to big cities then,” she said then gave herself a mental kick for admitting to her smaller town origins.

  He laughed, a rich, throaty sound, and said. “Let me show you around. I’m staying at the Plaza as well so I can get you back in one piece.”

  She didn’t know the man, didn’t even know his name, but she relaxed and smiled again. “I’d like that.” It was nice to find somebody who didn’t want to hide her in a hotel room for the duration of her stay in a city as busy and fascinating as New York. He seems nice enough and maybe I can find out how he’s connected to the races. Maybe we have something in common.

  “Good.” The cab pulled up in front of a non-descript building where a line of people stretched to the next corner.

  “How are we going to get in there?” she asked as her eyes went too wide.

  “I know a guy who knows a guy.” He slipp
ed the cabbie a twenty and pulled her out. “Let’s go.”

  “I thought we were splitting that!” she said.

  “You can pay for the trip back if you really want to,” he replied.

  True to his word, he spoke to the bouncer and the next thing she knew she was inside and the bass, which had been nothing but a throbbing promise of excitement out on the street, became a driving heartbeat so loud she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear herself think.

  Unfortunately her thoughts made themselves heard loud and clear anyway. I look like a hick. Why did I ever pick the blue dress? No one is wearing blue. And no one has freckles. I should just go back to the hotel before Brant and Seth figure out I’m gone.

  Before she could make her escape a young man with the scent of alcohol hanging around him like a cloud sidled up to her and slipped an arm through hers with a crooked grin. “Hey, Pretty Little Thing, come sit with me. I’ll show you a good time.”

  Repulsed and frightened she tried to pull her arm free but his grip was like iron.

  He arched his eyebrows. “I like feisty.” It was obvious he was shouting but still Chloe could barely hear him.

  “Piss off,” she shouted. “I’m not interested.”

  “I’ll buy you a drink,” he insisted. “Then you can do me a favour or two in return.”

  She pulled harder. “I said piss off!”

  “Hey, there you are. I thought you were right behind me. This guy’s not giving you grief is he?”

  The little thug took one look at Chloe’s escort and let go of her arm. “No trouble. I just didn’t want to see a pretty little lady like this left all alone.”

  “She’s not alone, she’s with me. I suggest you back off.” When the thug had cleared off he leaned so close to Chloe that she could feel his breath on her neck he shouted, “You look overwhelmed. Come on, I’ve got us a table.”

  She nodded and allowed herself to be led through the packed club to a small table in the back corner. He ordered a beer from a waitress in a black mini skirt and turned to Chloe. “What did you want?”

  “Oh, I can’t drink.”

  “Get her a coke, plain,” he shouted to the waitress. She nodded and disappeared.

  “So, what’s your name?” Chloe said.

  “John Smith.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  He shook his head, “No, but I’m lying low tonight.”

  “Are you married?” She was suddenly on the edge of panic again. Maybe he’s just as bad as the grease ball thug at the door. I should never have come with him. What made me think I could trust him?

  “No, you’re thinking of wrong kind of laying low. I promise I’m not married. Just call me Mike.”

  She took a deep breath, squashed the little voice that was shouting at her to get the hell out of the club, and said, “Fine, Mike, I’m Chloe.”

  He kissed the back of her hand, giving her an impish smile. “A pleasure.”

  Chapter Three

  Brant was laying his bed, sulking and not really watching the television. His foot was throbbing inside the cast and his ankle was itchy. All of his hopes and dreams were in the proverbial toilet and his entire future was in the hands of his baby sister.

  He threw the remote across the room. He wanted to scream but that was out of the question, too many people would hear him and he didn’t want to explain to other guests, or hotel staff, why his world was going to hell.

  “This is my big race,” he told the television. “This is my chance to rope a sponsor big enough to get a better car, or at least a better engine in this car. This is my chance, MY chance, to prove Dad right, to make it big. One stupid accident and Chloe has to race for me. Why did I ever agree to that? If she blows this I’m going to kill her slowly and painfully. Dammit, this was MY RACE. I could have won this. I don’t need Chloe.” He sighed and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. “At least Seth has the car fixed and has Chloe with him,” Brant muttered. “We don’t need anything else going wrong.”

  * * * *

  Chloe was starting to relax, finally. The music was intoxicating and exhilarating. Mike, or whoever he was, was a perfect gentleman. Though speaking to each other was difficult with the overbearing volume of the music they had managed to break the ice and he’d made her laugh a few times. She thought nothing could possibly spoil her night.

  Mike leaned close to her. “I’m going to the men’s room. Don’t leave this table until I get back.”

  She nodded and smiled. From their table she could watch the other patrons dancing, their lithe bodies twisting and swaying in a sensual pattern. She could feel her body heating up, could feel desire beginning to burn deep in the pit of her stomach, and she wasn’t even drunk.

  She felt someone slide onto the bench next to her and turned, ready to beg Mike to dance with her. It wasn’t Mike sitting next to her.

  He didn’t smell as bad as the man who had grabbed her at the door but she got the same creepy, dirty, vibe from him. “Hey,” he shouted. “A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be drinking alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” she shouted back.

  “A man should know better than to leave his lady unattended. Let me buy you a drink.” He waved at the waitress.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Gimme two rye and cokes,” he shouted at the waitress. She nodded and turned away before Chloe could say anything.

  Chloe, desperate now, turned to her unwanted guest. “Thanks, but I’m not drinking tonight.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll drive you home. What’s your name?”

  Chloe frowned. “I’m not interested, so back off.”

  “Come on now, you don’t show up alone at a club like this wearing a cute little number like that and expect to go home alone.”

  “I told you, I’m not alone!”

  A hand touched her other shoulder and she jumped, terrified that her only escape had been cut off. Relief flooded her as she looked up into Mike’s face. Mike smiled. “You’re done with your drink! Let’s go dance!”

  “You read my mind!” She took his hand and let him guide her away from the table and the obviously disappointed creep as the waitress returned with his drinks.

  As they approached the dance floor she felt butterflies in her stomach. She’d gone to the bar more than a few times but always with friends and never to impress a guy. On the last step she caught the heel of her shoe and would have gone sprawling if Mike hadn’t steadied her. He smiled, pulled her close, and before she knew what was happening she was dancing.

  She always felt awkward on the dance floor, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Holding them over her head for too long made her feel like an idiot, and if she didn’t focus on them they just hung limp at her sides.

  But Mike belonged in that New York City club in his tight black t-shirt and fitted black jeans and sunglasses pushed up in his blonde hair. He moved like a panther, sleek and powerful, his eyes burning with intensity. Chloe wanted to step away so she could watch more of him but she could see the other women on the dance floor eyeing him with interest and eyeing her with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

  Under their judgemental glances she felt her movements become more and more awkward. She glanced up at Mike just in time to catch the frown that flickered over his handsome features.

  He’ll send me back to the hotel. Or he’ll just abandon me here, she thought, her heart dropping.

  The firm hand on her waist was a surprise. Even more surprising was being pulled towards him until her body from heart to hip was pressed against his. He leaned his head down close to hers and said, “No one is watching you but me, okay?”

  He tilted her chin up and kept dancing. Her world shrank until there was nothing but Mike and movement and that driving bass line that set the tempo of her pulse. Though they danced pressed so tightly together that Chloe didn’t have to guess at how toned his body was his hands stayed on her waist until she couldn’t stand the sweetness
and politeness of it.

  I’m tired of being sweet and polite. I’m tired of being sheltered and protected and rescued. I’m tired of being small town and innocent. She stepped back as far as his arm would allow and ran both hands up the lean muscle of his chest. He raised both eye brows in obvious surprise but didn’t pull away. Taking that as an invitation she stepped in close again letting the music move her movements quickly towards the seductive.

  When he’d first seen her outside the hotel waving at the passing cars he’d known she was a tourist, and probably one from a much smaller city than New York. Talking to her had confirmed that and he had planned accordingly. Maybe he had a bad boy image but he wasn’t a sleaze ball like the creeps that had been all over her since they arrived. Yeah, her manner and choice of clothes screamed ‘tourist’ but he found it refreshing to be around someone who saw wonder in a New York City night club and who dressed like she deserved a man’s respect and love, not just his sexual advances. Not that she was dressed like a nun by any stretch of the imagination. The plunging v-neck of her dress kept pulling at his eyes until he couldn’t keep his gaze off the curve of her breasts.

  Now she had a spark in her emerald eyes and a feral hint in her smile. Her hands wandered slowly but confidently along his chest, arms, and stomach and she kept rubbing those perky breasts against him.

  I didn’t want to send her the wrong message, and I certainly wasn’t planning on seducing her, but there’s nothing wrong with letting her set the pace and the mood, he thought and moved his hand to cup her sweet little ass, pulling her even tighter against his body.

  They moved together, swaying, dipping, and grinding. She kept her focus on him and never faltered once. He glanced around the crowded dance floor and found judgemental glances turn to jealousy. He laid it on thick, squeezing her ass with both hands and giving the big city bitches who had been so eager to take a piece of him the show of their lives.