The driver scans the cars carefully. His interested gaze lands on us, and a slow smile crawls over his face.
He lopes over the grass and stops a few feet in front of us. “You racing that tonight?” He nods at my car. No hello or introduction.
“No,” Ella answers for me.
He flashes a wad of cash. “I’m prepared to pay up.”
“As you should be if you roll in here looking to race.” She rolls her eyes and turns away. “But, we’re not interested.”
Like all guys with too much confidence and too little common sense, he continues anyway. Two friends follow him over, all three of them leering at us like they’re coyotes who came upon a pair of one-legged gazelles.
I scan the area for Murphy and find him watching the scene intently. He gives me a quick nod, and I relax. He won’t let anything happen to us. Behind him, Rooster and Dex are also focused on what’s happening.
“Two pretty girls must be here for a little fun,” Red Mustang says. “Come on, midget. You weren’t shy about taking my money last week.”
Ella glares at him. “We’re here with our husbands.”
“Husbands!” One of his friends, a short butterball of a kid, who doesn’t look old enough to dive, shouts. “You’re too young and hot to be married.”
“So, should I talk to your men about a race?” The emphasis Red Mustang puts on men sounds more like pimps.
Where’s my damn hammer when I need it?
Ella smiles sweetly. “You can try.”
He drops his voice and leans in. “How about we race for something else this time, sweet little thing?”
“Such as?” Ella raises her eyebrow like she knows what he’s going to say but wants to force the words out of his sleazy mouth.
He sweeps his predatory gaze over Ella and then me. “Loser gives head. I bet you suck a mean dick, and even if you win, I wouldn’t mind shoving my face between your thighs.”
Before either Ella or I have the chance to kick him in the nuts, Eraser’s up in the guy’s face. “The fuck you say to my wife?”
Murphy, Dex, Rooster, Remy, and Griff are right behind Eraser. A wall of muscles and tattoos that would have me peeing my pants if I were Red Mustang guy.
Faced with a bunch of scary bikers and fighters staring them down, Red Mustang’s friends shrink away, leaving their ballsy jerk friend to fend for himself.
“That’s not how you talk to ladies,” Dex says.
Rooster nods. “Time to move along, son.” He waves his hand between Ella and me. “Ain’t nothing here your pretty boy hands can handle.”
The dark looks Murphy and Eraser cast Rooster’s way suggest they didn’t plan to let this guy walk away unscathed.
“If you don’t vacate the premises within the next five seconds, you’ll be eating your dick for dinner,” Murphy threatens.
The kid casts a look our way that says he’s thinking of a comeback. Inside, I’m laughing. Better make it memorable since it’ll be the last words out of his mouth.
Red Mustang points to Ella. “This one ain’t a lady. She’s a fuckin’ hustler—”
He doesn’t even get the last word all the way out before Eraser throws him to the ground.
Ella bites her fist and backs away, knowing she shouldn’t interfere.
The guys fan out around the scuffle, providing Eraser privacy for the beat-down. The friends, Red Mustang rolled up with, are long gone.
Eraser drives his boot into the guy’s gut one last time. “Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”
“Sorry about that.” Ella gives me a tight hug. “Always something colorful here!”
Honestly, this was mild compared to some of the things I’ve seen at clubhouse parties. “Thank you for the racing lesson.”
“Any time! I’m serious. I hope you come back.”
The fight seems to have sparked Eraser’s need for his wife’s immediate attention. He flips her over his shoulder and smacks her ass a few times. Laughing as he spins around, she waves at me. “Stay for the party!”
“Aw, they’ll fit right in,” Rooster says, slapping Murphy’s arm.
Heat sears my cheeks, and I refuse to look at Rooster or Dex. Murphy’s taken me out of the clubhouse the same way more than once.
“Are we staying?” Dex asks.
Murphy pulls Dex in and says a few words against his ear. He nods and taps Rooster. The two of them head toward the stands.
“So, we’re staying?” I ask.
“Is that okay with you?”
I shrug, surprised he’s asking. I knew tonight would involve a bit of club business.
At the car, Blake refuses the keys. “Nope. All yours now, beautiful.”
“You sure?”
“You’ve got this.” Since I know how much Blake hates to be a passenger in most vehicles, his faith in me means a lot.
He only has me pull it into a regular parking spot. Before he opens his door, I reach over and touch his arm.
“Why’d you let it get that far?” I ask.
“What?”
“The guys who hassled Ella and me.” Anywhere else that guy wouldn’t have gotten within three feet of me with Blake around, so I’m curious.
His lips twitch. “Think your old man’s a pussy?”
I dismiss his question with a don’t-be-ridiculous snort. “I know you had a reason. I’m just curious.”
He stares out the windshield. “I gotta know if he has the right temperament for club life. Can’t have someone crazy popping off at every guy who looks at his wife. But I also don’t want someone supporting our club who doesn’t protect his girl.”
“So, he has good judgment in your eyes?”
Blake seems to think over the question. “Yeah. He stepped in at the right time. Didn’t get carried away. I wanted to check her out, too.” His voice lowers. “The wrong old lady can be dangerous for a club. I wanted to see if she ran her mouth or if she’d interfere while he took care of business.”
“If anything, she told me not to engage with him.” I feel the need to defend Ella for some reason. “She didn’t encourage it.”
In a more serious tone, he asks, “Were you okay? You weren’t worried, were you?”
I don’t hesitate. “Not at all. I knew you were watching us.”
He leans over and kisses my cheek. “I’m always watching out for you.”
I press my hand to his cheek and keep him turned my way. “I always have your back, Blake. Whatever you need me to do.”
“My fierce old lady, huh?”
“You know it.” I press the button for the window to slide down and let some of the cooler night air drift inside. The scent of gasoline and rubber fills my nostrils.
A violent sneeze shakes me out of my seat.
Blake clasps my shoulder. “You all right?”
“I’m fine, I…” My attention’s drawn to a familiar orange and black BMW zipping into the parking lot. What the fuck is Bryce doing here? It has to be him. No one else has a car that damn ugly. He stops to talk to someone, then stomps on the gas, burning rubber to line up with the other cars racing tonight.
“Heidi?”
“Huh?” Slowly, my gaze returns to Blake’s questioning expression.
I can’t have this. How and why are these two parts of my life colliding tonight?
Nineteen
Murphy
Heidi seems distracted but insisted she was feeling fine and wanted to stay. She wanted to watch the races from the car, but I coax her into the stands where we have a better view of all the events.
In all the years I’ve been busy chasing wind, I haven’t given a lot of thought to racing. My general dislike of cages might have something to do with it, too. But maybe I’ve been missing out. While there’s a lot of downtime in between races, it’s still exciting to watch.
I nudge her with my elbow during one of the breaks. “How’d you feel racing the Hellcat?”
“It was exciting once I got the hang of lining up right.
” Heidi gestures toward the starting line. “Although, Ella wasn’t lying. Lots of people seem to have trouble nailing it on the first try.”
“You win any?”
Her gaze searches the cars lined up to race, and finally, she points to one I can’t quite make out. “That little Porsche Boxster. Smoked him.”
“Nice.” I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close to my side.
All the cars are loud, but one high-pitched whine seems to stand out from all the others, and I turn, searching for the source.
A pale orange and black car. A BMW maybe? Whatever the kid did to modify it wasn’t an improvement unless the goal was to make it ugly as shit.
Griff said he wasn’t racing, but he lines his black Nova up next to the orange car.
It’s not even a contest. The Nova screams to life and jumps off the line, leaving the other car in the dust and the crowd on their feet cheering.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out, expecting a text from Teller asking how Heidi’s test drive went.
Eraser: They’re here.
My gaze immediately scans the area as if I’ll know who the fuck he’s talking about by sight alone.
No one jumps out at me, but there’s a whole area of the racing complex not visible from here.
Me: Where are you?
Eraser: Time shack.
I turn to Heidi. “Where’s the time shack?”
She points to the right. “Around the bend.”
I text Rooster and Dex to let them know we might have found our guys.
Shit, I wish I’d asked Jake or someone else I trusted to come with us. I don’t want Heidi anywhere near the discussion I might be about to have.
“Hey, why don’t you…” I start to ask then realize her attention’s focused somewhere else. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip and little worry lines crease her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, following her line of sight straight to the ugly orange car, lining up to race someone else. “Someone you know?”
“Huh?” Slowly, she turns her head my way, but her gaze lands somewhere over my shoulder. “Looks like a jerk I know from school.”
My fists curl. I’d already had to “chat” with one asshole earlier this year. Some motherfucker who didn’t understand no means no or the significance of the giant rock on Heidi’s left ring finger. Heidi begged me to stay out of it, swore she could handle it herself. I agreed until the day I picked up her phone and read through the garbage he was sending. Shit no self-respecting man should ever say to a woman. Stuff no one was going to say to my woman and go unpunished.
“Someone I need to have a talk with?”
She opens her mouth, hesitates, then shakes her head. “God, no. Please don’t.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“How should I know?” she snaps.
Whoa. Not a tone Heidi ever uses with me. Or anyone really. “Heidi, what’s wrong?”
The lines on her face smooth out, and she flashes a quick smile. “Nothing.”
While I’m studying her, my phone goes off again. “Fuck.”
I flick my thumb across the screen.
Rooster: Where you at?
“Is it Marcel?” Heidi asks.
“No, it’s Rooster. I gotta talk to someone here.”
She stands. “Okay. Let’s go.”
At the bottom of the stands, we stop to watch the orange car lose another race.
I take Heidi’s hand, and she directs us to the time shack. It’s appropriately named. Big enough for maybe one and a half people to stand inside.
Ella’s standing outside the tiny building with Eraser. She grins as soon as she sees Heidi. “Want to ride shotgun with me?”
Perfect.
The girls take off to get ready.
“Ella’s a good driver,” Eraser assures me. “And no one gets near her car.”
Focus. “Where are they?”
Eraser leads me to the parking lot where two greasy guys in leather jackets are yelling and jabbing their fingers into some guy’s chest.
“Two in a row!” one of them screams.
Griff comes up next to me and rests his arm on my shoulder. “That kid had no business running against me. But he made the bet. I won it fair.”
“I saw it. He never had a chance.” I turn to Eraser. “He race here often?”
“Sometimes.”
“Heavy better at the fights, too,” Griff says. “Doesn’t get in the ring himself.”
“I see that.” Kid hasn’t made a move to defend himself yet.
“What’s the plan, Murphy?” Dex asks, coming up behind me with Rooster right next to him.
“I’ll go,” Eraser says. “Back me up?”
“Right behind you.”
Rooster cracks his knuckles and mutters, “Fuck yeah.” Apparently, the earlier skirmish didn’t satisfy him.
We arrive right as the shorter, greasier biker shoves the kid to the ground.
“What’s going on here?” Eraser’s deep, loud voice freezes all three of them in place.
“None of your fucking business,” one of the bikers answers without turning around. He’s got his stringy hair slicked back into a dumbass bun.
Quick like a viper, Eraser’s arm shoots out. He wraps his hand around the guy’s arm and jerks him around to face us. “This is my place. Everything that happens here is my business.”
The shorter guy turns, standing shoulder to shoulder with his accomplice.
The kid they’d been yelling at picks himself up off the ground and slowly backs away.
Short and greasy jabs his finger in Griff’s direction. “He shouldn’t be challenging cars he knows are—”
“Who are you?” Griff steps up, getting in the guy’s face. “His mommy?” He gestures to the taller one. “You the daddy?”
“Fuck you.”
“I offered your boy a chance to look under the hood. Didn’t want to see what he was up against. Not my problem.”
Griff’s so much more reasonable than I would be if some joker accused me of cheating.
Greasy shuts his mouth but doesn’t exactly back away.
“Your boy challenged me,” Griff says. “Not my job to educate him.”
An engine shrieks to life, calling all of our attention to the source. The ugly orange BMW now making a mad dash for the exit.
“We’re all adults here,” Eraser says, stepping up to Griff’s side. “Make our own choices. If he’s racing with your money, then you need to check out the cars.”
“You want a re-match. I’m ready when you are.” Griff makes a big show of searching the parking lot. “What’cha got?”
My gaze drops to the S.O.S. inked into the back of greasy-guy’s hand. Motherfuckin’ South of Satan MC, no doubt.
I step in front of Griff. “What the fuck you doing here, anyway?” I jerk my chin at his tatted hand, and he quickly shoves it in his pocket.
“South of Satan got no business in New York.” I flash a grim smile. “Thought we made this clear to some of your bros not that long ago.” I’m not bragging. Just stating the facts.
He sneers at me without denying he’s with their MC. “It’s like that? You think your crew runs the show out here now?”
That’s not a question worth answering. I step back and cross my arms over my chest. “Where you coming from? East of here is all Lost Kings’ territory. South belongs to the Wolf Knights MC and West is Devil Demons MC. You ain’t riding with any of those clubs, so who the fuck you think you are showing your face here?”
The taller one turns, showing us he’s not sporting any club colors. “We’re not here for our club.”
“Yet, you’re tryin’ to hustle out here, why?”
“None of your fucking business!” the shorter one yells.
I stare that fucker down, but, otherwise, remain utterly calm. “You’re doing business at my friend’s track, so that makes it my club’s business.”
Sure hope this support club thing works out, since
I just basically announced Eraser’s business is under my club’s protection.
The taller one—who seems to be the keeper of the common sense between the two of them—widens his eyes at my announcement. “We need that money.”
“Not our problem,” Rooster says.
“You’re going to regret this,” short guy says.
“You threatening me?” Eraser challenges. “I should’ve booted your asses after that stunt with Granger’s hood.”
Instead of denying they tampered with anyone’s car, the two assholes smirk.
“Time to go.” Remy’s low, threatening tone can’t be mistaken.
The two bikers study us. Six to two. Not even a contest. Any one of us could take both of them out with minimal effort.
“You overplayed your hand,” Eraser says. “Coulda kept quietly bankrolling select racers and making money. But you got greedy.”
Taller one’s common sense seems to fade. He steps up to Eraser. “You owe us money.”
Eraser doesn’t step back an inch. “I don’t owe you shit.”
“Your races are fucking rigged.” Biker number one points a finger at Eraser. “This isn’t the first time you’ve screwed us. No way your bitch beat our driver.”
“Call my wife a bitch again.” Eraser’s deadly tone makes them back away.
“That’s right,” Remy says. “Last fucking chance to leave in one piece.”
“Fuck you,” Biker number two spits.
The two of them walk backwards to their bikes, too scared to turn their backs on us. As they should be.
They tear up the grass on their way out, and Eraser flips them off.
While I was focused on that clusterfuck, I didn’t realize, we’ve attracted quite a crowd. Eraser turns and raises his arms, calling everyone’s attention to him. “No more outside investors. You ain’t got the cash, you don’t race here.”
A couple guys jog over to talk to him. Since the day-to-day details of how he runs the races aren’t my concern, I don’t stick around. How he plans to enforce that rule, I have no idea.
Rooster and Dex follow me a few feet away. “What the fuck was that about?” Rooster asks.
“We had trouble with SOS trying to cozy up to the Wolf Knights a few years ago,” Dex explains. “Their club’s a joke.”
White Lies Page 14
