#Swag (GearShark #3)

by Cambria Hebert

We ran from cops when they showed up, and we partied with the drivers.

  It was home, more so than the place I grew up in. I felt more accepted here, more like myself than any other time or place.

  But I wanted more.

  I wanted to be the one to own it. I wanted the loyalty and respect. I was my father’s son after all. I guess some things just came with genetics. I wanted to be the best.

  My first car was a Toyota. I tricked it out, souped it up, and started racing. I lost a lot, but every loss was a lesson. I started up at the Chesapeake Speedway and picked up a lot of skill.

  My father wasn’t too thrilled with my new hobby. He thought my time would be better spent being dull and stodgy like him. He stopped paying for my car parts and my gas.

  I started taking bets and raking in a lot of cash at the speedway.

  Until, of course, someone ratted me out. That was my mistake. If I’d been on the streets and not the speedway, no one would have said shit. You don’t rat out one of your own. Period.

  But I wasn’t boss yet, and the powers that be didn’t take too kindly to me raking in a shit ton of cash to make my car better than theirs on their own turf.

  My father paid a lot of money to get me out of trouble. I didn’t even spend one night in jail. But I did get banned from the tracks.

  But to me, that was just details.

  Some people called me a cheater.

  Fuck them.

  I didn’t cheat. I had honor. I drove honestly. Like I said, I wanted respect, and cheaters were like gum on the bottom of a real racer’s shoe.

  After that, my allowance started showing up in my account again. I guess my father figured he’d rather let me spend the money on what I was doing than using it to bail me out of trouble.

  I took the money. For a while.

  I started racing more on the streets, and I started winning. People started clapping when my car pulled into a lot. Kurt was always there, either in my rearview or riding shotgun.

  My father didn’t approve of my lifestyle choices, and I made it clear I didn’t give a flying fuck. He accepted it, never turning me out, and I knew he’d always be there if I got into any trouble.

  I always wondered why, until, of course, I found out.

  I became obsessed with winning, with being the best. I entered a couple races across town, on someone else’s turf. It was hostile and tumultuous, but I did it anyway. They just saw me as a kid they could take a car from.

  It was me who walked away with the slips.

  I won some nice cars with expensive upgrades.

  I sold them all and bought myself the Corvette. It took a while to make it unbeatable, but using all the skills I’d learned at Kurt’s dad’s garage, plus some patience, I did it.

  When word got out the number one driver in town was picking up and taking off, there was suddenly an open spot at the top.

  I wasn’t technically in the running.

  I’d spent a lot of time in other circles, winning and taking cars. I made some enemies and earned a reputation. I challenged the exiting driver sort of the way a beta challenges an alpha.

  There was a big race; all the best drivers were there. They laughed because I’d thrown down the challenge.

  I rolled up in the Vette and smoked them all.

  No one ever laughed again.

  I became number one, and this became my town.

  Kurt and I had been drifting apart, and this was the nail in our coffin. Some friends grow up together, and some grow apart.

  Now he looked at me with some sort of derision. With anger that I took the spot that was rightfully his. I didn’t technically grow up on the streets, but he had.

  Thing was he never beat me.

  I’d never let him.

  So we became strangers instead of friends.

  I didn’t hate him. In fact, there was a time I thought about trying to mend the fracture between us. I pulled him closer, but that’s as far as it got.

  I went to the hangars one night after racing and found my brother…

  After that, everything changed. In my obsession with racing, I’d missed a lot of shit, and he’d dealt with it all on his own.

  It became crystal clear that night why my father never cut me off and why I knew he put up with my racing.

  In his eyes, there were worse things I could do.

  And in my eyes, he’d never been worse.

  My obsession shifted to include my brother, and he took up residence by my side. I cut off everyone else. I was at the top, and I isolated myself in order to protect Arrow.

  My isolation, in many ways, worked in favor of solidifying my leadership because it made people wary. My reputation among the other circles of racing, my illegal betting arrest, the fact I had access to more money than anyone else on the streets—it all made taking me over almost impossible.

  Oh, and the fact I beat the shit out of a few people who deserved it made a lot of people think twice before they even challenged me. And I’m not talking I won a couple fights.

  I mean I literally beat some people within an inch of their lives.

  My father paid to get me out of that, too. Not many people knew the details on that. He buried it, and I wasn’t opening my mouth.

  But there are always whispers. The streets have a way about them. Word spreads.

  Basically, I got everything I’d wanted since that first night I went to that street party.

  I was at the top. Nothing happened here that I didn’t know about. And it paved the way for my sponsorship with the NRR. Plus, I had my brother at my side.

  Funny thing when you get everything you work for only to realize you need more.

  But what was lacking, I didn’t know.

  I did know one thing, though. Coming home felt good.

  When I first pulled up in the Lotus, people stopped, turned, and the crowds in the street parted naturally like a sea to let the elite-looking ride pass. That’s the thing with the Lotus. It might be small, but it carried presence.

  There was also the fact it was in my signature color (I had a thing for white cars), and everyone knew my Corvette was trashed.

  The windows were tinted so dark I knew when people peered inside, they couldn’t make out who was driving.

  But then my brother and his black Camaro appeared. The looks of speculation turned to knowing.

  I stopped in the center of the parted crowd, a familiar rush of energy and a sense of belonging washing over me. Before I even climbed out, the Lotus was surrounded, with only enough room for me to get out.

  Just ahead, there was already a line, and several cars were parked there, ready for a race.

  I wasn’t sure if I would race tonight. I might just sit back and soak it all in.

  “Lorhaven!” My name rippled through the crowd, and I grinned and slapped hands with everyone in reach.

  “No place like home,” I drawled.

  “Third place is pretty fucking epic for your first race,” one of the guys closest to me said.

  These people were all my friends.

  But none of them knew me.

  “Appreciate it,” I said without letting on I was disappointed as hell with third place.

  Talk turned to my new ride, the first NRR race, and a bunch of people talking smack to each other. A few of my closest “friends” filled me in on anything I might have missed, and Beneto, the guy who usually oversaw the races, ran around setting up tonight’s stakes.

  I kept an eye on my brother (without him realizing it), but he was all good. He had friends here just like me. People he hung with. But as far as I knew, he kept them at arm’s length as well. It was just as well. Arrow had enough disappointment to last a lifetime. He didn’t need any more.

  No one had yet to try and get any closer to him. Probably because they knew I was a mean bastard.

  The closest friends he’d made since I brought him into the fold was Drew and then, shortly after, Trent. He spent time at their family compound, too, and I knew the re
st of Drew’s family treated him good.

  I’d seen a change in my brother because of those relationships. A change I was grateful for.

  A short time after I arrived, the girls made their way through the crowds and sidled up to me and my car. They were street rats—not a derogatory term around here; it just meant they were at every race.

  What could I say? I had my own groupies.

  Richelle had long, straight hair that was dyed red, and she favored shorts that left nothing to the imagination and tight tops that bared everything but her rack. Lots of her skin was showing, so I looked at it more than her brown, heavily made-up eyes and pink, glossy lips.

  Her friend, Veronica, had shorter hair, but it still hung over her shoulders and was a more natural shade of brown. Half of it was pulled up, and she had a pair of big glittery earrings in her ears. She also was scantily dressed in a white, short skirt that showed the bottom of her ass cheeks when she walked. The shirt she wore was low cut and backless, so she wasn’t wearing a bra. She was clearly going for the whole “naughty schoolgirl” look because the socks she wore stretched up to her knees and had bows on the sides.

  I wasn’t into the naughty schoolgirl look. I liked women.

  Like Joey.

  “Ladies,” I said, leaning back against my car.

  Richelle came close, dragged a finger down my chest, and then boosted herself up to sit on the edge of the hood.

  She crossed her legs and swiveled toward me and slid her tongue across her teeth. “I like the new car.”

  She was basically a walking sex invite for me.

  I grinned lazily down and slid a little closer to put an arm around her waist.

  It doesn’t dip in at the side like hers. It isn’t made for my hands.

  “See anything else you like?” I asked, my voice dropping.

  She laid a hand on my chest and tipped her head back. “I hear you’re going to be on the cover of a magazine.”

  Surprise that word spread that fast filtered through me, but I didn’t show it. “Think I make a good cover model?”

  “Oh yeah,” she purred, her palm rubbing over my pec.

  I’d gotten the email yesterday, with the article draft and the cover proof. I’d actually received the cover twice, once from Emily and once from the perv photographer.

  Seeing that photo for the first time had been like a punch in my stomach. I still felt slightly hollow in the spot, even though I tried to ignore it.

  God, she was insanely gorgeous.

  And to see her practically curled up against me that way…

  I almost told that perv to change the photo. I didn’t want anyone to see her like that. It was too intimate. Too sexy… And it reminded me of the way her breasts felt against my bare back.

  But then I deleted the email.

  I wanted people to see.

  In a sick way, it was like staking my claim on something that wasn’t even remotely mine.

  “Wanna go for a ride?” I asked, shoving the image, the article, and the woman out of my brain.

  “Not racing tonight?” she asked.

  “I’d rather be ridden instead.”

  A sexy glint came into her eyes. “A ride it is.”

  The sound of purring engines cut through the sound of the crowd. My head snapped up. I found Beneto in the crowd. “You invite some racers?”

  “Nah, man. Wasn’t me.”

  I knew by the sound of the engines, the cars were top of the line. Made me even more curious and suspicious.

  I started to pull away from the girl in my arm, but she wasn’t about to let me go. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  The crowd started to part the way it had for me. Richelle, plastered herself against my side, like she was marking her territory, but I barely noticed her.

  A bright-yellow and black Skyline maneuvered into view. The last time I’d seen it, the tires were carrying it out of sight.

  I felt in that moment the way I did right now.

  Like a wad of something was stuck in my throat. Like it was slightly hard to breathe in deep. My chest felt kinda empty, matching that hollow feeling I’d had since I saw the cover.

  It made me oddly suspicious that the space beneath my ribs was vacant because my heart had just relocated to my throat.

  Behind the Skyline was Drew’s cobalt Fastback. Of course he’d be trailing along. He and Trent acted like they were Joey’s bodyguards.

  Both cars stopped almost simultaneously. Drew’s name rippled through the crowd; everyone knew him here. His presence at my races was annoyingly common.

  But no one knew the yellow Skyline.

  I did.

  Joey’s here.

  I thought when she’d driven away over a week ago, I wouldn’t see her again for a long time.

  The driver’s door opened, two long, shapely legs unfolded, and a pair of black heels hit the pavement. She straightened, tossing back a heavy curtain of long curls, and shut her door.

  The catcalls and whistles started almost instantly.

  They set my back teeth on edge, and my fists clenched.

  “You know her?” Richelle asked, rubbing against my chest.

  God, was she still there?

  Joey had on a pair of black jeans with rips up the thighs. The contrast of her skin against the dark fabric was like a damn neon light, and it pissed me off. The waistband rode her hips, and the shirt beneath the black leather jacket was cropped so her belly button was exposed.

  Unlike all the street rats, she wasn’t wearing a shit ton of makeup; in fact, I couldn’t tell if she wore any at all.

  She didn’t need it anyway.

  I heard Drew and Trent exit the Fastback and greet some of the people surrounding the area, but my eyes never left Joey.

  As if she could feel my stare, she looked my way. The urge to grab her and fuck her mouth with my tongue like I had before almost robbed me of my sight. Black spots swam before my eyes, and when they cleared, she was still looking at me.

  As I stared, her chin lifted, and her eyes narrowed.

  She was still pissed.

  Oh, that excited me.

  “Aren’t we leaving?” Richelle purred and arched against me.

  Joey’s eyes slipped off mine to the girl wrapped around me. The angry look she wore intensified, and the corners of her lips pulled up in distaste.

  I glanced down at Richelle. “Leaving now would be rude,” I said, making it look like the quiet words I spoke were a lot more exciting. “Guests just showed up.”

  Richelle stuck out her lip in a pout. “I thought you wanted a ride.”

  Oh, I do. I wanted Joey to straddle my lap and grind herself so hard against me my lower half went numb.

  I smiled at the thought. Richelle thought I was smiling at her.

  I felt Joey still watching. I hoped she was jealous.

  “You must be lost, little girl,” Kurt’s voice boomed. “Because pro racers aren’t welcome in this part of town.”

  I whipped my head around as Kurt stepped up toward Joey.

  She turned away from me completely, planted her hands on her hips, and stared at my friend-turned-stranger.

  “The only thing little around here is the dick in your pants,” she retorted.

  There was a moment of shocked silence that she would dare say such a thing. My laugh murdered that silence.

  It burst out of my chest full throttle.

  Kurt’s eyes fired toward me, and he scowled. Everyone within earshot roared. Laughter, catcalls, and more erupted through the night.

  His face flared with embarrassment but also anger. The girls around here weren’t like Joey; he hadn’t been expecting such a sharp comeback.

  He wanted to make her pay for that.

  I watched him step close and lean forward. His lips moved. It was too loud for me to hear what he was saying.

  I watched Joey’s face because that would be a clear indicator of what he said.

  She rolled her eyes.

&n
bsp; My lips twitched, but then a not-so-humorous feeling stomped out the amusement.

  Joey didn’t seem so upset by whatever Kurt said, but it pissed off Drew and Trent. Both men stepped forward defensively. Trent went so far as to shove Kurt back.

  I abandoned Richelle where she was, ignored her call, and strode forward. People moved as I walked.

  “Pro racers aren’t welcome on this turf. So unless you want to take me up on my offer to find out just how small my dick isn’t, I suggest you leave before—”

  Trent lunged at him, but Kurt was ready and sprang back out of reach. But he collided with me.

  He twisted around, surprise on his face.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Sounds like you’re over here delivering orders when it ain’t your place.”

  “They’re your orders, not mine,” he snapped and pointed at Joey. “You know who that is?”

  “I’m well aware who Joey Gamble is,” I replied, hard.

  It pissed me off he didn’t know. He didn’t know who she was to me.

  She isn’t anyone to you.

  Liar.

  “Gamble?” Kurt echoed. The ferocity in his eyes slipped, and he glanced back at her.

  The back of my neck tingled.

  My jaw clenched. “Don’t play fucking games, Kurt. You know who she is.”

  “The G is for Gamble. You’re Ron Gamble’s daughter,” he said, like he was only just working it out.

  He was either really good at acting or really fucking stupid.

  He wouldn’t be winning any Academy Awards in this lifetime, so I guess that made him a moron.

  Joey lifted her chin. “You got a problem with that?”

  She was nothing less than defiant, but I couldn’t help but feel like I’d just done something wrong.

  I thought everyone around here knew who she was. The first and only other time she’d been on my turf was when Drew showed up with her. The second she got out of the car, people knew her. They called her out right away.

  You hadn’t known she was Gamble’s daughter…

  I glanced at Kurt. I watched the realization click, watched his eyes fill with an emotion I did not like.

  “Pros aren’t welcome here,” I told her, hard. I glanced at Drew. “You know you ain’t, either.”

  Nearby, Arrow stiffened.

  Great. Later I’d have to listen to him bitch about me treating his BFF bad.