Red: Burning Desire (Spectrum Series Book 7)

by Allison White

  A sharp whistle behind me breaks us apart, followed by an obnoxious, “Oh, lover boy!”

  “Ty,” we say in unison before I turn and find him running over to us.

  “What’s up?” I ask him.

  “There’s this drag race tonight, down by the docks,” he says and smiles, like I’m supposed to catch onto something I’m missing.

  Rachel gasps behind me. “The one on Carnal Street?”

  “Yep.” He winks at her, and she flushes, crossing her arms over her chest. He looks her up and down, and I reach out to punch him in the chest. He chuckles and gives her one last shitty wink before looking at me. “So are you in?”

  “I don’t know. I have a test coming up, and I have to study for it—”

  “He’ll be there,” Rachel cuts through my words and nudges me with a small smile. “The place may be the hub for criminal acts and delinquents…but you should have some kind of fun. Distract yourself a bit,” she surprises me by saying. She’s a sweet girl who would rather stay in and watch Disney movies, so the fact that she’s suggesting I go to this supposed magnet for crime is a little more than shocking.

  “Really?” I can’t hide my surprise, and she laughs.

  “Yes, really.” Turning to Ty, who is such a hornball he doesn’t know how to not stare at anything with boobs, I find him staring at her with a creepy smile. “Text me the details so I know when to get ready.”

  “You got it,” he says, but his attention is on something behind us. Shock and lust flash across his blue eyes as a gasp leaves his lips, that he licks ferociously. “Who is that?”

  I turn to Beth, who’s waving at us. She stumbles over her hot pink Nikes but quickly rights herself and winks at me like she didn’t almost face plant on the running treadmill. I’m not even facing him fully before he’s brushing past us, sauntering over to her like a gangsta with a heavy machine gun in his Nike shorts.

  “How you doin’?” I hear him say to Beth, before Rachel rolls her eyes and drags me over to the room for spin-cycling.

  Chapter Forty-One

  I don’t know what the proper attire for a drag race is, so I end up pulling on a black long-sleeve crew top and dark jeans. After tying up black Converse and tugging on a black knit beanie, I feel relieved when neither Mike nor Ty nor any of the other guys tagging along are wearing chains or leather or something.

  Of course, I imagine the dress code to a supposed place where criminals hang out would be what a metal band wears on the front of their latest “totally rocking” album. I wonder what rave reviews I can accumulate dressed like this. Probably something along the lines of: Eh. He tried.

  Rachel’s beside me in one of the guys’ cars, fidgeting with her thumbs. She has her brunette locks braided over her shoulder, a glittery black headband pushed on her hair. She’s wearing jeans and a frilly white shirt with a jean jacket over it. I admit, she looks pretty cute, and when I tell her, she blushes and bites at her thumb. I frown and finally cave into my worried thoughts. She looks like she’s on her way to her own execution.

  By the way, should I be prepared for a band to be called Execution playing when we arrive, lead singer swinging around on a chain or, like, not? I wave the frightening image to the back of my head and lock the door on my way out.

  “Regretting agreeing to come?” I tease her, nudging her gently and drawing her attention on her immaculate white Converse to my probing eyes. Hers are wide saucers, and I lose my humor in a matter of nanoseconds.

  “Seriously. Is everything okay? I don’t have to beat up a guy, do I?” I hold up a tight fist, and her frown cracks into the tiniest smile. It may not be a beaming grin, but it’s something, at least.

  “No. No boys need to be beat up,” she says. “My mother just texted me some sad news earlier. That’s all.” She tries to show me a bright smile, but her eyes are too dim for me to not notice.

  “Can I ask what the news was? Unless you just don’t want to talk about it? That’s fine too,” I frantically add. I don’t want to pry into a wound that’s barely holding up as it is and make things even worse for her. That’d be a really shitty thing to do, and she’s been such a great friend to me; I want to be there for her, like she was for me. It’s the least I can do for her.

  “My mother used the money I had saved for spring break to help my stepfather with some kind of business transaction. She says that it will help everyone in the end, but it’s hurting me now, and I don’t think that’ll change when he’s a few thousand dollars richer.” She huffs out and goes back to picking her nails.

  “That’s horrible.” I briefly dislike her mother for going behind her back and using her money she saved on her own to help her husband. If he’s involved in the business world, he should have enough money and more to pay for some sort of fee or whatever. My father taught me how to fit a large amount of money in dress pants without looking like a thief with items stuffed in my pants.

  I bite my lip and watch her nod solemnly, her large brown eyes fixated on the deserted area we’re passing by. The party’s on the abandoned side of town, at some factory that shut down ages ago and is now used for rave parties and the occasional drug business transaction. No parent would allow their child anywhere near the place, which is why the rebellious attraction pulled kids even more to the place. A wicked game of psychology, the factory is.

  But back to Rachel. She’s obviously heartbroken over what her mother did, and I want to put a smile on her face. Even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. “How about you and I do something together for the break?”

  Her eyes light up like a moon. “Really?” She sounds more surprised than I am comfortable with. She needs to know that I can be there for her as she is with me. It’s only fair for me to invite her on vacation for spring break. I didn’t have any plans before, but now I do.

  “Yeah.” I nod, sporting a grin, hoping it’s contagious enough; sure enough, it is, and she’s grinning up at me like I’m her savior of the sorts. “We can go anywhere you want, except Miami.”

  “Why Miami?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

  “Weird, bad, and really confusing memories there,” I tell her, referring to my summer trip there. Memories I’d blocked out for my sanity and well-being of my heart flood my head like it’s The Grand Rapids. And it takes a while to shut the floodgates, but when I do, I offer her a small smile.

  “Okay, that literally leaves everything else. Thank you, Noah.” She touches my bicep, flushes as if doing so is extremely ridiculous, and curls her hands in her lap. “You are the sweetest person I know.”

  “Then you must not know a lot of people,” I joke, and she laughs and pushes my arm playfully. I like this lightened version of her, and I will myself to keep her around for the rest of the long drive.

  When we arrive, I’m stoked to finally get out and stretch my unnaturally long legs. The building is tattered and browned from years of deterioration from the weather. Covering a massive part of the dirt area are flashy cars and plain ones weaving throughout. From where we are, the spotlights illuminate the factory. I hear loud and distinct guitar riffs and screaming and can practically feel the ground shake from the jumping bodies that are gyrating shadows in the broken and grimy windows.

  This party isn’t my type at all. When I was roaming the world, I experienced many different versions of parties tied to contrasting cultures, but none had a band that could be heard from about fifty feet away. That image I had locked away before, with the lead singer swinging around the stage by a chain, and perhaps now a ball-gag in his lips painted in black lipstick, unlocks itself, and he swings before my eyes. I wave him away, tuck him in his room, lock it, burn the key, and wait for everyone else to get out of the car so we can walk up to the party.

  The rest of the guys hop out, and I overhear Ty ask Mike quietly as we walk toward the building, “Do you think they’ll let me race this time?”

  “Noah! Wait up!” I hear a familiar squeal behind me. I have no time to look over my shoulder,
because Beth’s sidling up next to me, baring more cleavage than the seductive smirk and eye squint she’s throwing at me shamelessly, and unsuccessfully so. “Hey there. What do you think of my dress? And my heels are kind of amazing, don’t you think?” She reaches out and pulls me closer to her petite body that’s one wrong breath away from spilling out of the short, nude dress with rhinestones, her heels matching the design.

  I watch her pucker her velvet-red lips for a while, for entertainment purposes, before answering. “You look…are you not cold? It’s the middle of November,” I remind her, but I’m sure she can feel the slight bristled wind against her bare thighs. At least she’s wearing an oversized jean jacket, which has sequins spelling her name on the back. I smile a little more for some reason.

  “I’m fine, but I hear body heat works wonders,” she whispers and moves to grab my butt, but thankfully, Ty swoops in and whisks her away to a line of cars with neon lights around the wheels and girls dressed like her surrounding them and the muscled men lounging on them.

  I hear her curse him out and him counter each colorful phrase with a “Damn, you’re a fiery one. I love it, babe,” followed by a field kiss to the cheek. I look away laughing when she smacks him and stomps somewhere into the buzzing crowd.

  “I’m sorry for her.” Rachel chuckles beside me, crinkling her nose after her friend. “She can be a bit…much. I swear she isn’t always so horny and shameless. She only seems to know how to flip that switch on and is full-on frisky around you…or any other guy for that matter.”

  “Except for Ty,” I point out.

  “Except for Ty,” she agrees, chuckling.

  “So…do you know what we can do besides gawk at cars?” I ask her, but I don’t expect much of an answer. She knew where this place was earlier, but I doubt this would be her usual weekend activity. Then again, you never really know a person. You can know every single detail of their life, but not know what goes on inside their heads or hearts, their true desires or pleasures.

  “Nothing you and I would do…drugs.” She whispers like it’s a bad word she can get spanked for uttering.

  I smile tightly because I don’t know how to tell her that I loved doing drugs at one point in my life. I wasn’t a junkie or anything. I didn’t need rehab, but I was sort of hooked to an extent. It was shortly after graduation and my parents barely batted their eyes at my disappearance. I fell into a brief hole of depression and took to drugs and alcohol and partying and flying to dark parts of the world. I thought I would never get out of the continuous loop of darkness until I broke free and did what I set out to do in the first place: paint and travel and learn.

  But now, I don’t do any drugs. It’s not like if I got a whiff or puff or snort I’d turn into a wild pack animal; I would just rather not get caught up in the harmful side effects they bring.

  “You’re right. How about we just check out the cars?” I suggest, and she nods, smiling without showing her teeth.

  For the next hour or so, we slowly roam around the spacious lot like we’re in an art museum and not a drag race/rock and roll type party thing. The cars are similar to those I’ve witnessed in Tokyo, Japan. Neon lights surround the wheels and impressive engines are showed off like show ponies. I’ve driven one of these before. I nearly flew off the side of a cliff, but that was mostly my fault for having not driven one in my life. Ever. The important part is that I survived, right?

  Cars are speeding around, racing up and down the deserted roads, and spinning around on the lot, creating a storm of golden clouds. I get her and me a few beers from the cooler, and we find ourselves dancing to an R&B song. She’s a terrible dancer, with her shaking like she’s being electrocuted, but I can’t say I’m any better. But it doesn’t matter because we’re having a great time getting tipsy over the next few drinks and stumbling around to the catchy beat and lyrics.

  For a good while, I am carefree and enjoying myself. I’m not moping around the frat house like I got kicked in the ass or had my teddy bear taken away. I’m enjoying myself and not thinking about Red. I’ve given her enough time to decide if she wants me or not, if she wants to give us an actual chance or not. As much as my machismo wants to reign victorious, I can’t let it happen. I can’t just sit around and watch her cry and feel like an ass when she made the decision to ditch me for the millionth time since I’ve met her. I need to chill out and let her come to her final decision, whenever that happens, anyway.

  Rachel’s moving toward me with an unreadable expression when the racing cars growl for attention. I whip around and raise my beer bottle in the air, letting the last drops fall onto my tongue. I watch the two cars speeding toward us. One is a red Porsche that’s pleasant to the eye, and the other is a familiar Chevy Impala or a classic Mustang—I can’t see that well. But it becomes more apparent as they get closer and closer.

  I don’t think they’re going to slow down or stop and prepare my funeral, but the Chevy Impala stops before us about ten feet away before the Porsche screeches to a stop.

  A wave of gold dust wafts into the air, and there are people cheering and jumping around. There are a few guys grumbling and making hand gestures. It’s weird until I realize they’re handing off/collecting money—bets placed on the race. There are a lot more disgruntled people than there are victorious people, and I just need to see who mostly everyone betted against.

  The door to the Chevy Impala pops open, and I’m shocked to find Red. She’s wearing her usual leather jacket, ripped band t-shirt, and combat boots. But she has a red bandana wrapped around her untamed blonde hair. She sports a cocky grin as her opponent hops out of his expensive car, cussing and screaming in a language unknown to me. My heart beats like it’s tumbling in a dryer as I watch her.

  Popping a cigarette in her mouth, she waltzes over to a tall man with tattoo sleeves, who hands her a massive chunk of bills. She pockets it, stiffens, and looks around. Her eyes are frantic and narrowed as they search the crowd. Find me, find me, find me… I find myself chanting in my head, and I hate myself for it. Not even a few minutes ago, I was a confident guy who wasn’t going to stick around and wait eagerly for her to decide if she wanted me or not, and here I am, begging for her to find me in a crowd as I imagine hugging the hell out of her.

  What?

  I’ve missed her; leave me alone.

  “Noah, where are you going?” I hear Rachel say. I don’t understand until I look around. I’m a few feet away from her, and I’m headed toward Red. I shake my head in confusion and shock, but I don’t stop walking. I don’t have any control over my body at this point.

  “I’ll be right back,” I promise her over my shoulder. I turn back around and continue my pursuit of the girl who’s flipping through her stack of bills while smoking a cigarette. Something about the sight makes me hard in all the right places, and I find myself admiring how relaxed yet focused she looks up close.

  I stand here for what feels like an eternity, just watching her. Hoping she can sense me as I can sense her a million miles away. Praying that she feels even a sliver of what I feel for her, because, if she doesn’t, then I get the award for Biggest Sucker on The Planet—ever. I’ve only had to deal with one girl who didn’t feel the same way I did, and I barely made it out unscathed. I promised myself I wouldn’t ever get hurt like that again. But here I am, standing in front of a girl, hoping she loves me the same…

  I really don’t miss watching Rachel’s shitty romance movies—gah, I sound like a whiny girly character.

  As if hearing my yacking inner turmoil, Red’s hypnotizing blue eyes fly up from her wad of cash and strike into my green ones. My nerve cells stand on end, and my breathing becomes uneven and short. I gulp harshly as she stares into my eyes, unmoving, smoke billowing into her hair. She looks even more beautiful up close, so enchanting. The only time I ever got a peek of her face was when she was rushing across the lecture hall or speed-walking away from me outside of classes. But now…now I get to re-memorize every dip and curve and smooth t
exture.

  Neither of us speaks for a considerable, uncomfortably long time. I don’t know how she feels. Is she upset I’m here? Angry? Sad? Does she want to punch me in the face? Scream at me? Or kiss me? Or maybe all the above, and she’ll explode like a star that’s burned for a thousand years.

  “Hi.” I decide to break the ice.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  She takes a few puffs before answering. “Hi.” She sounds unsure.

  Oh, fuck this.

  “Can we talk?” I ask her.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Noah.” She sighs and looks anywhere but my eyes. I couldn’t feel a more intense sharp pain in my chest. She’s acting like I don’t mean anything to her, and it’s pissing me off because I know I do. I didn’t imagine our passion-filled kisses or the way she lights up around me; nor did I freaking hallucinate our date.

  Fed up with her BS, I flick the cigarette out of her hand.

  She gapes at me. “What the hell, Noah?”

  I ignore her and pop open the door behind her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she barks at me as I sit in the driver seat.

  Wordlessly, I reach out for her hips. I pull her in so she’s sitting on my lap like I’m a chair and, ignoring the hardness that I’m struggling to control because of this…position, I close the door, then lock it. She shifts around so she’s straddling me and pinning me with not only her hands on my shoulders but her fireballs for eyes.

  “Noah! Have you lost your mind?” she begins to shout.

  I press my lips to hers, shutting her up. If there is anything I know about girls, it’s that kissing them is the best way to get them to listen to you. They can go on and on rambling and ranting at you when you just want to make them slow down enough so you can get a word in, but they keep going and going, and they don’t take a pause to just listen. I’ve suffered multiple days with this girl, so I think I deserve to have her listen to me for once, to hear me out.