#Swag (GearShark #3) (10 page)

Actions speak louder than words.

And the way he acted when he kissed me… I shivered.

So once again, I got a glimpse of Jace.

“He literally said you couldn’t hack it, J,” I told myself and pushed off the counter to go change out of the damp shirt so I could finish checking my emails.

In my walk-in closet (that was partially empty because I wasn’t one of those girls that loves to shop and buy a bunch of clothes I’d probably only wear once), I pulled on a pair of black jeans and a grey T-shirt.

My mind kept wandering to the article, to Jace and to the mention Emily made of the cover. I wanted to see it.

Taking my half-empty beer along with me, I padded back to my desk. X-ing out of the article, I went back to Emily’s email to read it, since I hadn’t bothered in the first place.

Joey,

Here is the finalized proof of the feature for
GearShark
. If you have any changes, please send them in immediately, as our production staff has decided this article is going to run in next month’s issue (instead of the following month’s), which means it’s going into production in just a few days. The article is a big hit at the office, and the editor is anxious to get it onto stands.

I have also attached the cover so you can get a peek at it. No changes will be allowed to it.

Also, I’d like to just apologize because I feel like you and I didn’t get off to the greatest start. As a female who works at a magazine with predominately male readers, I want you to know I can see the kind of… challenges you must face in your chosen career. I wasn’t as sympathetic as I should have been. I’ll blame it on the fact Lorhaven was sitting there with us, and his presence was very distracting ;-).

Emily Metcalf

GearShark Magazine

Emily and I would never be friends. She irritated me the way synthetic fabric irritated my crotch.

And I called bullshit on the fact she was “distracted” by Jace. She was turned on, horny, and jealous because she saw me as competition.

However, I appreciated the parts of my interview she omitted.

I clicked on the attachment to pull up the cover. The image appeared on the screen.

My stomach clenched. My breasts tightened, and heat pooled between my legs. They chose the image of me against his back, in his shirt, with it slipping down my arms.

I still remembered the way his body felt against mine, the way my cheek fit against his shoulder.

It was all right there in my eyes, the attraction and heat I felt for him. It was almost electric.

And Jace… that photo was all Jace, no trace of Lorhaven.

The way he held his arm sort of in front of me and the look in his eyes… I hadn’t seen his face during the shoot because I, too, had been focused on the camera.

God help me, he was sexy.

And dangerous.

It was as if he dared anyone to come near either of us.

The image was black and white, done in shades of grey. I couldn’t help but draw a parallel with that. It was like me and him.

Joey and Jace existed in the grey of the racing world. Like we were on separate sides, apart but together… Together we were somewhere else altogether.

I minimized the pic and got up to pace away.

Suddenly, I felt full of energy and tension. My need for a restful, relaxing day was blown to hell.

I felt the need to shed it all. The feelings he incited in me. The image of our photo burned a hole in the back of my brain. Most of all, I wanted him out of my system. I didn’t want to be in such a tightly tied knot.

I snatched up my cell and hit a button. He answered on the first ring.

“I need a race. NRR style,” I said, still pacing.

“Our door is always open,” Drew replied.

“See you in a few hours,” I said and cut off the connection.

I went back into my closet to throw a few things in a duffle bag. Jace was going to eat his words.

He didn’t think I could hack it in his world?

I would prove him wrong.

Lorhaven

I owned this part of town.

Not in the monetary, sign here on the dotted line sense, but in the unspoken yet acknowledged sense.

I’d been running the streets in this part of Maryland for a long time. Since I was old enough to drive. I never really fit in my father’s world.

No. Scratch that. I fit in. I just didn’t want to. I didn’t like it.

His world of numbers, suits, and boring, stodgy dinner parties made me feel like I was suffocating. Like I had one foot in my grave.

I enjoyed comfort. I enjoyed having a nice home to grow up in and a father who took care of his family. But in the back of my head, there was always this voice. This urgency inside me.

There’s something more out there.

When I hit my teen years, I was just like every other boy, no matter how he was raised. Curious, wanting to test my limits and explore. I ended up on the other side of town one night, at a party for someone I didn’t even know.

The music was loud, the girls were fast, and the cars were even faster.

I’d been to lots of parties. I’d been drunk, experimented with drugs, and most definitely wasn’t a virgin. But this was a whole new world to me. A whole different vibe. That voice always whispering in my head suddenly shut up.

I loved the stripped-down nature of the streets. The way everything was black or white. There was no room for BS here, and while money talked (it didn’t matter where you were, money always talked) it wasn’t number one. Respect was.

Everyone here lived by a code. And the cars, hot damn, the cars were off the chain. To a kid who was used to nice stuff, this was a whole new ballgame.

Nothing compared to a shiny body, brand new tires, and an engine that made your insides vibrate when revved up.

This world was a stark contrast to the smooth lifestyle I grew up in. It was gritty here.

I loved it.

After that, there was no going back.

I met Kurt, whose father owned a garage, and I started spending time there after school and on the weekends. Kurt and I worked on cars, chased women, and went to every street race we could.

I used to be the guy on the sidelines. I used to be the one who sat amid the exhaust, loud music, and planned when I would get to be the one on the start line.

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 rest 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.