Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “I think so,” she says. “They were trying to run us off the track! They were trying to make me crash!”

  Somewhere behind us comes the sound of tires losing a lot of rubber, and I look over to see the Viper turning around.

  “Kate, get out of here,” I tell her. “We need to get out of here now.”

  She spins the Chevelle around, staying on the dirt as we try to make our escape. The other driver has no interest in sticking around, though, and the Viper cruises past us on the track and out through the gate.

  * * *

  I offer to call into work. I even offer to take Kate to the shop with me, but she insists that she’s fine.

  Still, I don’t feel all that great leaving her alone in her apartment when I don’t know who was driving that other car or why they tried to run us into a wall.

  Kate doesn’t want to deal with her mom, so her parents’ house is out. I think Mick is off, but that’s still a bit weird for all three of us. The only real option is to drop Kate off with her friend Paz.

  Things have been pretty tense between the two of them since Paz sent me up to that room to be ambushed by Kate’s mom. After what happened at the track, though, both Kate and I are feeling a lot more forgiving right now.

  On the way there, I’m telling Kate that I’m going to find out who went after us and why, but she tells me just to drop it. Pulling up to the curb in the flatbed, Kate and I kiss before she gets out of the car.

  She’s putting on a brave face, but she’s clearly shaken. I know I am.

  I tell her I’ll call her when I get off work and she forces a smile, saying, “I look forward to it.” Then she turns around and heads off toward her friend’s apartment.

  While Kate was in the passenger’s seat, I did my best to act calm. The last thing I want to do is upset her more. As I’m driving to the shop, though, my blood starts simmering in my veins.

  There are two possibilities: either someone was actually trying to make us crash or someone was playing a stupid prank. It doesn’t really matter which it is, the fact remains we very easily could have wrecked if Kate hadn’t slammed on the brakes when she did.

  I drop off the Chevelle in the junkyard. When I get to the shop, I’m gritting my teeth and clenching my fists. As livid as I am, though, I notice the piece of paper on the windshield of the Galaxie immediately.

  My buyer’s coming by later this week to pick up the old car, but there are a few minor (and a few major) repairs I want to make before I hand it off to him. Right now, though, that’s about the furthest thing from my mind.

  I take the note from under one of the windshield wipers. It reads, “You’re gonna need more than practice to beat me.”

  One of the problems with running a bare-bones auto shop is that, for a good part of the day, there’s nothing to do but sit in the office. Right now, I am the shop’s best customer.

  The note’s unsigned, but I know it’s from Jax. He’s trying to get into my head before the final race in two weeks, but that idiot just bit off more than he can chew.

  The only problem is I don’t know where to start looking for him. Up until the guy actually walked into this shop, I thought he was just some overblown legend based off of someone who used to race.

  It’s not like he has an ad in the phonebook.

  I pull out my cell and find Mick’s number. Although it’s a long shot, if anyone knows where I could find Jax, it would be Mick.

  “Hey, what’s up, man?” Mick answers.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “I’m at the shop,” he says.

  “So am I,” I tell him. “Are you in the office?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  I hang up the phone and walk into the office, finding Mick lounging in the waiting area, flipping through channels.

  “Did you see this?” I ask and show the note to Mick.

  “No,” he says. “What’s that all about?”

  “Jax tried to run Kate and me into a concrete wall today,” I tell him. “I need to know where to find him.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, getting up from his seat. “Jax is not a good guy, Rans. Even if you did find him, he’s got a strapped crew that goes everywhere with him. Just take it as a bad prank and let it go.”

  “I don’t care if it was a bad prank,” I tell Mick. “The guy or one of his people tried to run us into a wall. Kate was in the car, Mick.”

  “How’s it going to change anything if you find him, though? I mean, what are you really going to do to someone like that?”

  “I just want to talk to him,” I answer.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve seen way too many action movies not to know that means you want to beat the piss out of him,” Mick says. “No sale.”

  “You do know where I could find him, though?”

  “I doubt it,” he says.

  “What does that mean?”

  Mick rubs the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t even know if it’s true or not, but I heard that Jax owns a restaurant here in town and he does a lot of his business from a private room in the back.”

  “What’s the name of the restaurant?” I ask.

  Mick shrugs. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

  “Okay,” I say, “so you heard a rumor that Jax owns a restaurant in town, but you don’t know which one it is, and in order to find out whether I’m in the right one or not, I’m going to have to check-”

  “No, no,” Mick says. “I’ve heard the name, I just can’t pronounce it. It’s some French word or French words. There can’t be too many places like that around here, can there?”

  “You’re joking,” I scoff.

  “That’s what I heard. How am I supposed to know if it’s true? I’ve never really had the urge to try to track Jax down for anything.”

  I put my hand to my forehead. “No, I think I know the place,” I tell him. I let out a chuckle. “You don’t happen to know if he’s a Twisted Sister fan or not, do you?”

  The Chevelle’s a liability on public roads and Maye’s flatbed would never get me out of there in time if things go sour. It takes a minute, but I eventually convince Mick to let me take his car.

  The closer I get to Soeur Torsadée, the more ridiculous this all seems. Sure, you never know what kind of music a person’s going to like, but starting up a full-blown theme restaurant doesn’t seem like a move someone like Jax would make.

  Still, when I get to the restaurant, I don’t drive past it; I park.

  I get out of the car and into the restaurant and the hostess—whose name I’m almost certain is not Nikki—asks if it’s just me.

  “I need to talk to Jax,” I interrupt.

  The hostess’s eyes go wide, but she says, “I’m sorry, is Jax a customer?”

  She gives a quick glance toward the back of the restaurant, and I don’t wait for any more confirmation. I just start walking.

  There’s a hallway at the back of the restaurant and I walk down it, finding a large metal door near the end.

  I’m not even in the room before there’s the cold metal of a gun resting against my temple.

  “You opened the wrong door,” the bodyguard speaks.

  My hands are up and my mouth is dry. I did not think this through.

  “It appears our old friend Ransom has decided to grace us with his presence,” that cold voice comes from further in the room. “Ty, lower your piece.”

  The gun lowers, and I finally take a breath.

  “Come in,” Jax says. “Sit down. I imagine if you’re here, we must have much to discuss.”

  My more reasonable senses are telling me to just apologize and get out of here, but I’m not feeling particularly reasonable at the moment.

  “I get that you’re trying to get into my head, but you risked an innocent woman’s life today, and I’m here to see that you answer for it,” I tell him.

  Jax smiles. It’s a big, white, toothy, emotionless smile that disappe
ars just as fast as it came.

  “It has been some time since someone has had the nerve to come into the private room of my own restaurant and threaten me,” he says. “How, oh dear Eli Ransom Faust, do you intend to make me answer for it?”

  The next second, the guard who’d had his gun to my head spins me around and pushes me up against the wall. Kicking my feet apart, he frisks me for a weapon.

  I didn’t bring one.

  The guard nods and Jax speaks again, prodding, “Well?”

  “I want your word that neither you nor any of your guys comes near her,” I tell him. “If you can’t give me that, I guess I’ll have to figure out a stronger bargaining position.”

  I glance toward the gun now in the back of the guard’s pants.

  A different kind of smile comes over Jax’s face. “I will make you a proposition,” he says. “I will agree to your terms if you will agree to mine.”

  “What?”

  He scratches his chin, saying, “As you may have heard, I intend to profit from my little tournament.”

  “I heard you’ve been taking pink slips,” I respond.

  Jax shrugs. “For an opportunity to win a quarter of a million dollars, people will risk a lot,” he says. “I wonder if you are prepared for such a risk.”

  “You’re probably going to have to get to a point eventually, otherwise we might never know,” I answer.

  Jax tilts his head from side to side, his neck cracking loudly.

  “I have collected four cars through my own races, my people have collected a few more. What I keep hearing, though, is that yours is the only one in town that has consistently evaded the police. Is it the driver or is it the car, I wonder.”

  It doesn’t sound like a compliment. “So you want my car?” I ask. “In exchange for what?”

  “Firstly,” he starts, “I will abide by your wishes and not only ensure the safety and autonomy of Kathryn, but you, as well. There will be no further attempts at intimidation and I will chastise the individual who played so carelessly with the wellbeing of you both.”

  “You said ‘firstly,’” I observe. “What’s secondly?”

  “Secondly,” Jax says, “I will give you the option of simply handing over the keys to your vehicle as well as transferring legal ownership of the same to me for the price of $1—as otherwise it would be viewed as a gift when it comes time to do taxes—or, should you so insist, we can race for it and I can take it from you that way.”

  I’m wondering how a scumbag like this guy ended up so educated.

  “So, basically, either I just give you the car, or I have to throw the race?” I ask. “What happens if I say no?”

  “You misunderstand,” Jax says, holding up his hand. “Whether you enter the race or not is of no matter. I do not just want the second half of the pack, though,” he says. “Three is better than two.”

  “What happens if you lose?”

  Jax smiles again.“In such an unlikely event, I would naturally demand only the pink slips of those cars behind me. In fact,” he says, laughing, “if you can beat me, you can have my car.”

  He’s still laughing.

  I’m not quite so amused.

  “I don’t understand,” I tell him. “That seems like a fair trade. Why did you have your guy try to run us into a wall?” I ask.

  “I thought it might get your attention,” Jax says. “As I am sure you can understand I cannot very well just take these cars without their owners’ permission. There must be an agreement. Without that, I would have to resort to less savory ways of shifting my new collection and that is simply more trouble than it is worth, assuming there is another option.”

  “So, if I agree to give up my car if I lose,” I start, “you’ll back off and we’ll have a fair race.”

  He smiles.

  “Fine,” I tell him, “but if you or anyone comes near Kate or contacts her in any way-”

  “It may be best if we end our conversation while we are still on pleasant terms,” Jax interrupts.

  Looking around the room, the guard next to me isn’t the only person with a gun. I decide to quit while I’m ahead.

  So I nod to Jax and walk out the door, and while the deal sounds good to me, the only thought going through my head right now is, “That was too easy.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Breaking Through

  Kate

  “So you think he’s cheating on you?” Paz asks.

  “No,” I tell her. “I really don’t, but I know he’s keeping something from me.”

  “You know what I’d do?” Paz starts and I tune out.

  I’ve heard enough of her solutions to know whatever she’s going to say, it’s going to have something to do with breaking Eli’s legs. She tends toward the dramatic.

  I don’t even know that there’s really a problem, but ever since that day at the track—I don’t know, it just feels like he’s holding something back from me. We talk and we spend time together, but he’s been distant.

  Tomorrow’s the final race in Eli’s tournament. He might just be psyching himself up for it. If that were the case, though, why wouldn’t he just tell me that?

  “Or, you could just break his legs,” Paz says, coming to the end of whatever horror show she was describing.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “This doesn’t feel like before when my mom got to him and he just wouldn’t talk to me. It’s almost like he’s scared of something.”

  Paz brings a forkful of mashed potatoes to her mouth and consumes it. She hums her satisfaction, staring at her plate. “What’s the name of this place again?” she asks. “These potatoes are fantastic.”

  “It’s called Soeur Torsadée,” I tell her. “Eli and I picked up some dessert from here the first time we went out together. Good stuff, huh?”

  “Mmm hmm,” she says.

  “Anyway, I don’t know, I guess what I need to do is just talk to him about it,” I continue. “It may be nothing, or it could be something big. I’m done wasting time with avoidance.”

  “Good for you,” Paz says, though from the intensity with which she’s cutting her eggplant, I’m not sure that she heard anything I said.

  “Excuse me, Kate?” a man’s voice comes, and I look over to find a tall, bald man with a goatee and a very expensive-looking suit standing over us.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  The man looks over at Paz and doesn’t look away.

  “Can I help you?” I ask him, but he just continues glaring at Paz, unblinking, until my friend says something about a bathroom and excuses herself from the table.

  The man takes Paz’s seat.

  “What was that about?” I ask. “What’s your problem?”

  “No problem,” the man says. “I merely wished to discuss a matter of some delicacy with you, and I believed it would be best done in private.”

  “I don’t know who you’re looking for,” I tell him, “but I don’t know you. You’ve got the wrong person.”

  “You are not Kathryn Chavez, daughter of the Doctors Chavez?”

  I grip my fork.

  “Who are you?” I ask. “What do you want?”

  “I only wish to talk,” the man says. “I am concerned about your significant other, Eli.”

  “Concerned?” I ask. “Why?”

  “I believe he may have gotten himself in over his head,” the man says. “Recently, he barged into my private room and began threatening me. I did what I could to appease him by loosening some of the rules of my tournament, but-”

  “You’re Jax,” I interrupt.

  He smiles. “I see our reputations precede us both.”

  “You’re the one that tried to kill me and Eli at the track,” I seethe.

  Jax shakes his head. “No, no, no,” he says. “I was not there, first of all. Second of all, I have no intention of seeing either of you come to harm. That is why I am here.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I fear your boyfriend has already ag
reed to give me his vehicle, pending my victory, of course,” Jax says. “Seeing him the other day only convinced me that he is not of a proper mindset for such a demanding race. I am afraid he may make a critical error, and I certainly would not want to see him hurt.”

  This is it. This is the reason Eli’s been acting so funny around me. He knows how freaked I was when that car came at us. He was trying to protect me.

  “What do you suggest I do about it?” I ask.

  “The price for loss is the same as the price of forfeiture. Were your boyfriend to simply pay his debt, we could be sure that he would not risk his safety or his life in pursuit of something he has no chance of attaining.”

  “His debt being the car that you haven’t won?” I ask.

  Jax grits his teeth, but forces a smile. “It is only a matter of time,” he says. “I only wished to offer a way out for him. If he insists on risking his life only to come in second, I will not stop him.”

  “You know,” I tell him, “I get that you don’t want to actually get off your butt and put your money where your mouth is, but I never figured you for a coward.”

  Jax’s eyes narrow, his face scrunches up. “In what way am I a coward?”

  “You’re not here because you care about Eli,” I tell him. “You’re here because you think you might lose, and instead of taking this to Eli, you take it to me. Now, it’s all nice and terrifying that you know who I am and where to find me, but if you’re not man enough to race against someone, maybe you should be the one to drop out.”

  “You are making an enormous mistake,” he says and gets up.

  “Oh, one more thing before you go,” I tell him. “I know you think dropping contractions from your vocabulary makes you come across as wise or mysterious or whatever, but it actually just makes you sound like an idiot who’s trying too hard.”

  He stands there for a moment, and I’m starting to think that my newfound confidence may have just ended my life. But he smiles, a wide, toothy grin. “I like you,” he says.

  “Yeah, whatever,” I respond. “Now, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to leave me alone so my friend can come back?”