Rock Solid

by Samantha Hunter

  The use of nitrous and other dangerous modifications was typical these days, and then there was the fact that a good number of these cars or their parts came out of chop shops, bought on the black market, obtained from stolen vehicles. Illegal betting, bookies and even drug runners came to the races to find new talent.

  Still, he had to admit, casting an eye over the lines of a sweet Chevy as he walked by, there were some really, really nice rides here. And while they were dangerous in the hands of amateurs, he knew more than one professional driver who had raced on the streets before going pro. Some of these kids really could drive.

  The bigger problem was the ones who only thought they could, or who thought they’d be able to walk away after rolling a car at a hundred and fifty, brush off the dust like it happened in the movies.

  Aiden should know better—his father had been in the stock-car circuit, too, and had died driving to the grocery store one night. He’d had a heart attack at the wheel and couldn’t be revived. But Brody suspected that only egged his nephew on even more. It made sense that Aiden would feel close to the father he’d never known by trying to walk in his footsteps, but even so, this wasn’t the way.

  Brody scanned the crowd for his nephew. Aiden didn’t even have a car yet, but that didn’t matter. There was always someone willing to lend a ride for the right price. Aiden was here somewhere, and Brody kept to the edges of the action, walking around, appearing to check out the cars while looking for his sister’s son.

  He heard his voice before he saw him.

  “You need to find that line and follow it through, man, like this...”

  Brody listened as his nephew offered another kid some advice, waiting until Aiden’s friends moved on.

  “You forgot to tell him that the trick is being able to find the apex of the curve,” Brody said, walking up behind him. “But you know finding that sweet spot is really more about instinct. If he’s messing it up, he could do more than lose. He could get hurt. Or worse. You know that, too.”

  Aiden spun around, his expression clearly frustrated.

  “Yeah man, you’re busted. Let’s get out of here. Your mom’s worried.”

  “No way. I still have my heat to run.”

  “Not tonight.”

  Aiden leaned in, almost as tall as Brody now, at sixteen. Brody lifted an eyebrow at the kid’s chutzpah. Just like his old man, all right.

  “You’re not my dad, Brody. Who are you to say? You used to do this all the time. I heard you talk about it once in an interview.”

  Brody felt some regret for that. It was true. It was years before, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible for unintentionally encouraging an illegal activity. He’d been called out for days after that interview by parents whose kids were street racing. He’d tried to set it right, but what could he say? He had street raced, and he’d been honest about it when he was asked. Those days had been some of the best times of his life.

  “You’re right, but—”

  “Don’t tell me, it was different back then,” Aiden mocked.

  “It was. Listen, Aiden, I know you’re only doing this because your mom tells you not to—”

  “I’m doing this because I love to drive. She doesn’t get that. She wouldn’t even let me get my license.”

  “What? You don’t have your license?”

  “I have a license,” Aiden said a bit too deliberately.

  A license. Probably a fake or stolen one. Brody realized that he had been far too absent from Aiden’s life. How could he not have known this? It wasn’t good. He understood his sister’s reasoning—she was afraid for her son—but it was going to backfire.

  “Whose car are you driving?”

  “A friend’s. I win, we split the take.”

  Brody shook his head.

  “Listen, you come home with me this time, and I’ll talk to your mom. We’ll get your license, a legal one, and I’ll teach you some things. Maybe you can start working on that piece of junk Mustang down in the old barn with me, and it will be yours when it’s done,” Brody added.

  He’d thought of doing that before with the kid, but he wasn’t home long enough, usually. “We can even go to the track, but only if you give up the street racing. Completely. Got it?”

  For once, Aiden was speechless. Brody didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad one. There’d be hell to pay with Brandi, who wasn’t going to go for this idea at all, but she was going to have some hard choices to make, too. She couldn’t wrap her son in wool forever.

  “You mean it?” Aiden asked, wary in the way only a teenage boy could be.

  “I don’t lie, Aiden. You know that.”

  Not about this anyway.

  His nephew was about to say something when they both heard a shout from the starting line and saw the flag go down; the sudden roar of the engines and screeching tires distracted them both from their conversation. Brody was as mesmerized as Aiden, watching the cars speed down the strip.

  “I have to run this heat, Brody,” his nephew said. “The money’s already set.”

  Brody shook his head. “Tell me who and how much. I’ll settle it.”

  Aiden frowned, but after a few seconds, he sullenly pointed to a guy standing off the side of the starting line with two girls who looked too young for him. Hopefully, the money was small-time, and he would be able buy out Aiden’s stake with what he had on him.

  “Hey,” he said, approaching the guy, ignoring the two boys behind him who stepped up.

  “What you want, old man?”

  “I want to buy out my kid’s bet. He’s going home.”

  The man laughed, and shook his head. “No way. Once you’re in, you’re in. He drives or loses the car.”

  “How about I double his stake?”

  “Unless you can pay more than the car is worth, which I seriously doubt, the answer’s the same.”

  He turned to his two girls, effectively brushing Brody off.

  Brody stepped around, facing him again.

  “What if I drive for him, then? It doesn’t have to be him, right? I could take his place.”

  All of them laughed then. “What’s wrong with you, dude? You got money to throw away?”

  Brody shrugged. “It’s my money. Here. I’ll even double down,” he said, reaching into his wallet for some bills.

  The guy took them, still laughing. “Whatever you want, old man. Which car?”

  Brody pointed to the car that Aiden had indicated, and while it wasn’t great, it would do.

  “Whatever. You’re up next.”

  Brody nodded, walking back to Aiden. His nephew was suitably mortified, but Brody only patted him on the shoulder.

  “Take it easy, Aiden. Now you don’t have to think of what you would have done if you’d lost your friend’s car.”

  The boy glowered. “I wouldn’t have lost.”

  Brody grinned in approval. He couldn’t help it. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  “We’ll both be in deep if someone recognizes you. Professionals aren’t allowed. It’s like cheating at a casino.”

  Brody agreed. That hadn’t changed.

  “Well, no one has so far, and I’ll be going too fast for them to see me in a few minutes.”

  He caught the smirk that was nearly a smile on Aiden’s face as he headed for the car, and couldn’t deny the thrill that always gripped him before he raced. Granted, this wasn’t a high-tech stock car and it wasn’t a professional track. It was a lot more dangerous, but Brody was up to the task. Especially if it kept Aiden out of the car and out of street racing.

  Brody walked around the car, looking under the hood, checking the tires. It was a decent BMW sedan with a few upgrades, but nothing fancy. Good. That would work better. He could depend on his driving, then, not modif
ications. And if by some chance he crashed, he stood a much better chance of getting out alive.

  He wished he had the Charger, though. He’d blow these idiots off the road with that car, but this would have to do. Climbing in, he adjusted the seat, the mirrors and waited until the starting line cleared.

  When he pulled up, he looked at the kid next to him sitting in a respectable Corvair, gunning the engine and glaring as if he had a chance.

  Brody shook his head and waited for the flag to drop, his fingers flexing on the wheel, good tension invading his limbs as he braced himself for the go.

  Just before it did, he saw someone with a camera pointed at the car and did a double take.

  It was Hannah.

  Spotting him through the lens, she nearly dropped the camera in surprise. Brody lost a half second and started with a lurch as the flare gun went off, the flag coming down and the Corvair getting the jump on him.

  What was she doing here...and taking pictures?

  He couldn’t think about it now, and reined in his focus to drive, getting a quick feel for the car and the shifting, steadily pulling up on the back end of the Corvair. The other car was fast, but the kid’s driving was messy and he was shifting too quickly. Driving for sound and not sense, Brody thought, now at his side before they hit the cones at the end of the runway. They both had to circle before returning.

  Easy enough.

  Until the brat in the other car bumped him.

  “You picked the wrong car to play with,” Brody muttered.

  Bumping was a regular, if criticized practice in racing, as was rubbing, where cars would brush against each other, side to side. It was always risky, but professional drivers normally knew their limits and used the technique strategically.

  This kid was just being a jerk. Brody didn’t want him to get hurt, but he could play with him a little, too, and did so.

  As the Corvair tried to bump again, Brody quickly swerved to the left, and the other car lurched as it missed him, wobbled and slowed down for half a second before getting its pace back.

  Speeding up on him, the driver of the Corvair stupid enough to try again, and Brody challenged him back, pumping the brakes suddenly as the kid was going to bump.

  There, Brody thought with a grin, looking in the rearview at the kid’s shocked expression. That had scared the crap out of him well enough.

  Then playtime was over, and Brody took advantage of his position, hitting the gas and rocketing toward the finish line.

  There were boos and cheers, but he barely heard them, scanning the crowd at the sides for Hannah. He didn’t see her anywhere.

  Getting out, he took his money with barely a glance and left the car behind. Business was done, and he walked through the crowd, sought out Aiden. Still no sign of Hannah.

  “That was stellar!”

  Brody acknowledged his nephew, still distracted. Had he only imagined seeing Hannah?

  “Thanks. These are your winnings. Give half to your friend for the use of his car, and extra to repair the dents from the bumping. The rest I’m going to hold on to so you can use it on the Mustang.”

  “Okay.”

  Brody was shocked at Aiden’s easy agreement.

  Teenagers.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Brody said.

  He’d turned to walk back up to the car when he finally spotted Hannah. Taking pictures and completely oblivious to his presence. But not for long, he thought, heading in her direction, his nephew in tow.

  7

  HANNAH COULDN’T BELIEVE how cool this was. How could Brody have even considered leaving her behind when he knew she was looking for more adventure? Maybe he hadn’t wanted her to know he was driving in an illegal drag race? The moment their eyes met through the lens of the camera, it was obvious that he was as shocked to see her as she was to see him behind the wheel of that car.

  What was he thinking?

  Still, she’d been as rapt as the rest of the crowd watching the two drivers race to the end of the strip, battling it out on the way back. Though she knew Brody was better than any driver they could set against him, she still worried when the cars were bumping and swerving around on the old, rutted road.

  Her attention was diverted by all of the action and spectacle around her. She’d been worried about taking pictures at first, but no one seemed to care when she told them the pictures were for her blog. Some of the kids even posed by their cars.

  She needed a better wide-angle lens—an item she was going shopping for immediately, she decided. But for the first time since she’d started this photo blogging venture, she was actually taking pictures of something exciting.

  “Hannah.”

  She whirled around, nearly dropping her camera when she found Brody glaring at her, a young man standing slightly behind him.

  “Brody,” she said in the same tone, lifting her camera to get a shot of him and the boy, who was clearly another driver. He was young and tough looking, sporting a black T-shirt with a racing emblem on the front and the words, Ask Forgiveness, Not Permission.

  “How did you even know about this place?” Brody asked. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  She arched an eyebrow, not feeling very apologetic. “Funny, I was thinking the same about you. You should be glad it was me taking that picture and not, oh, Marsha Zimmer.”

  “I was here to get him,” Brody said, pointing a thumb behind him at the kid, who must be his nephew, Hannah realized. “The racing was... I didn’t plan on it, but it was an unexpected situation. What’s your excuse?”

  Hannah looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, then turned to raise her camera to grab a few more shots before she responded, “I don’t need an excuse. I don’t need to ask permission or forgiveness, thank you very much.”

  The kid snorted, and Brody shot him a look.

  Ticked off by Brody’s domineering attitude, Hannah walked away without saying another word, intending to take some more pictures. A second later, Brody was right behind her, the kid hanging back.

  “So that’s your nephew?” she asked, sparing him a glance before she took a shot of two girls in stiletto heels both bent under the hood of a car, checking out the engine.

  She’d spoken with them earlier and found out they owned and raced the car. In fact, they were one of the few all-female racing teams. Hannah had been fascinated by them and their story about how they’d gotten into racing. She didn’t know their real names, of course, but she couldn’t wait to write about them.

  The girls joked that they changed into their boots or sneakers before they got in the car, but the “do-me heels” and the short skirts threw the guys off. It made the pair seem less threatening, allowing them to get the drop on their competitors out on the track.

  “Yes, and you know that’s the reason I came here. I only ended up in that car... Hannah, could you put down the camera?” he said, sounding irritated.

  She did as he asked, but didn’t say one more word.

  “I’m sorry I said what I did. I know I was out of line, I was just shocked to see you. How did you get here? And it is a dangerous place.”

  “I followed you after you blew me off and left the house. And I think I’m a lot safer taking pictures than you were driving,” she said. “How’d that happen? You fell in a car and it took off?” She spared sarcasm in her tone.

  “No. Aiden was scheduled to race, and I didn’t want him to do it, but the stakes were already set. I tried to buy out his bet, but they wouldn’t go for it. If he reneged, they’d have taken the car to make up for the losses—and to discourage people from backing out of other races. But the car doesn’t belong to Aiden, so I took his place. I settled the bets and made sure he didn’t lose the car or kill himself. I couldn’t let him get in that car, and so I did it.”

  Hannah’
s irritation dissolved like sugar in rain.

  “That was good of you, Brody. I’m sorry for being so snotty about it, but I thought you’d come to race, which is why you didn’t want me with you.”

  It was his turn to look surprised. “What? No. I haven’t done this kind of thing in over a decade,” he said, shaking his head. But then his lips stretched into a happy smile. “But it was fun. Nice to show that little twerp in the Corvair a lesson, as well.”

  “How did you convince them to let you take Aiden’s spot? They must have known you’d be a ringer.”

  “They didn’t recognize me. Sometimes that happens when I’m not on the track. People don’t really know me in plain clothes.”

  Hannah nodded. “This is amazing,” she said in awe, looking over the field of bodies and cars. It painted a picture that was young and powerful, the music slamming a beat so strong she could feel it through the pavement along with the rumble of the engines.

  “We should get out of here before all hell breaks loose, as it’s likely to.”

  She looked around the scene, not as miffed as she was, but still reluctant to leave. This was what she wanted, what she craved, dangerous or not. The vibe here was raw, real and edgy. Brody sighed and slid a hand over her shoulder.

  “Okay, listen, you’re right. I should have let you come with me. I should have known you’d appreciate an opportunity like this. Did you get good pictures?”

  She smiled at him again, genuinely this time. “I got some incredible pictures.”

  “I can’t wait to see them,” he responded, looking to each side as if worried. Then a car skidded off the track, hitting a tree, flames lighting up that end of the runway.

  Hannah gasped as the other car in the race skidded through the finish line, forcing onlookers back several feet at the last minute. She was also relieved to see someone exiting the flaming car, but then a fight broke out near the finish line. Things were turning ugly fast.