Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
She was supposed to be hidden. Protected. And instead, she was sitting at one of Kane’s tracks, right under our roof.
Fuck.
I stared at the screen until the lines blurred, the glow etching her picture behind my eyelids when I blinked.
Possessiveness hit me like a sucker punch. Not caution, not distance. Possessiveness. The kind of instinct that said she was mine already even though I hadn’t heard her voice or seen her move.
And that pissed me off more than anything.
Because I didn’t have time for this shit.
The night crawled. To distract myself, I worked on other files, checked traffic cams, and updated secure comms for a few of our businesses. My body hummed with caffeine and frustration, the office a cocoon of light against the dark windows.
It was early afternoon by the time I noticed the sun seeping through the blinds. I shoved out of the chair and dragged myself to the shower. The water hit hot and fast, scalding my skin, but it didn’t burn the questions out of my head.
When I surfaced from the steam, I finally checked my phone. It buzzed with updates from the brothers—mostly security checks and race prep. Plus all the other techy bullshit people needed me to get done.
I shoved my cell into my jeans, pulled a clean shirt over my damp skin, and grabbed my cut and my keys.
Brake Point Run loomed in my mind as I swung onto my bike, the thrum of the engine under me steady and grounding. Kane would be there by now, overseeing the setup, the crowd, and the chaos.
I had to fill him in. And I needed fucking answers.
2
LARK
Nerves buzzed beneath my skin. I’d already landed the job with Redline Holdings, but today was my first chance to really prove myself. Luckily, the chaos surrounding me helped to hide how out of my depth I felt.
The hum of engines vibrated through the ground beneath my sneakers, a steady undercurrent to the action swirling around me. Voices shouted over one another, radios crackled with half-finished instructions, and the heavy scent of gasoline wafted in the humid air. The sun beat down on the track so hard the asphalt seemed to shimmer, and sweat dampened the back of my neck as I hurried across the lot.
I wasn’t used to this kind of heat, but it was worth it to live not too far from the beach. Even if I hadn’t set foot on the sand once in the three months since I’d moved to Crossbend. Heck, I’d barely left my crappy apartment since I first arrived in town. But no more hiding out for me. This job was the first step in building my new life here, and I intended to keep it.
Clipboard in one hand, a walkie cradled between my shoulder and ear, and a stack of lanyards slipping down my other arm, I juggled more than felt possible. But somehow, I made it work.
“Hey, new girl! You know where the VIP guest passes go?” someone yelled over the noise.
I didn’t look up right away, my eyes locked on the names I was highlighting on the top sheet before I glanced up with a quick smile. “Blue bin under the table in the registration tent!”
The guy nodded, already rushing away.
I had only been hired a few days ago, and I already felt like I was chasing a train at full speed. But that was what I’d wanted. A chance to prove myself. And a distraction from the mess that’d been my life over the past two years.
“Credentials! Where are the driver credentials?” a man barked from the next table.
“Right here!” I slid the stack of lanyards off my arm and handed them over. My smile widened, in contrast to the irritation pinching his face.
He grunted, but some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he stalked off.
I let out a quiet breath, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Defusing tempers and keeping the chaos running smoothly—that was the job. And I needed to be good at it if I didn’t want to get fired during my first event.
I headed for the tent where drivers picked up their credentials, swiping at the sweat trickling down my temple. The heat was merciless, the kind that baked from above and reflected right back at you from the asphalt.
“You’re gonna keel over if you don’t hydrate,” a feminine voice called out.
I glanced up, startled, as a woman with red hair pulled into a French braid strolled toward me, helmet tucked under her arm. The white fireproof suit she wore shouldn’t have been flattering, but she looked great in it. The top half was unzipped and hanging from her hips, so it took me a moment to notice the red, black, and gray markings of the Redline Precision team.
“Uh—sorry?” I managed, blinking as she jerked her chin toward the water bottle that sat half forgotten on the table, its condensation long gone.