#Swag (GearShark #3) (3 page)

He must be new here. Everyone else knew I didn’t give a shit.

If he had died, it would have been his own fault.

“Get him the fuck outta my sight!” I growled. I didn’t have time for this.

A couple guys moved in and picked him up.

“Jones!” I barked and turned my back. A guy in a set of coveralls and a backward hat appeared. “Gonna need your tow trucks tonight, man.”

He nodded. “Have ‘em here in five.”

I held out my fist, and we pounded it out. “Thanks, man.”

Here on my turf, we didn’t call the cops. They’d just throw us in the slammer anyway. I wasn’t too fond of the metal cages they liked to lock racers in. Accidents happened, and we cleaned them up ourselves.

Besides, I was pretty sure if this got around, my sponsor would read me the fucking riot act.

I was lucky it hadn’t been worse. I had a race coming up.

Might be time for a little break from the streets. At least until my next race was over.

“You sure you’re okay?” Arrow asked, coming up beside me as I studied the mess that was my Corvette.

“I’m fine,” I replied.

“I had it under control. I was going to move,” he said, regret and agitation in his tone.

He was pissed I jumped in front of him. Pissed I protected him.

My brother lived too long without protection from assholes. He could be pissed all he wanted, but it wouldn’t stop me from being the brother I should have been before.

“Losing control of the streets,” someone said from behind.

I turned away from the mangled cars and stared, unflinching, at the approaching man.

Kurt Bodean was a regular on my streets. He raced here, lived here, and generally annoyed me here.

It wasn’t always that way, at least the last part anyway. We actually used to be pretty tight. We’d grown up together, worked in some car shops together, but over the years, we’d grown apart.

We’d always sort of balanced on the line of friends and rivals. The older we got, the more it felt like we were just keeping each other close to keep an eye on the other. The fact I had money had always been a sticking point with him.

But when I started out-driving him and took control of the turf, all the “advantages” I had become too hard to ignore.

Jealousy was an ugly monster.

“I think I controlled the street just fine tonight,” I drawled lazily.

“Letting juniors in your races doesn’t speak of control to me.”

I rolled my head toward Kurt and levelled my eyes on him. “You know damn well that junior has been around for a while. He’d have been fine if he hadn’t installed a bunch of shit in his car he wasn’t ready for.”

Kurt glanced toward the cars, then back. “I’m thinking your attention must be pretty divided lately, with the NRR and trying to maintain control here.”

He had a buzz cut that suggested he didn’t have time to bother with his hair, but on his chin was a goatee he clearly kept trimmed. So my thoughts on his style and maybe some of his problem was premature balding.

“You got your eye on my place?” I asked, my own eyes narrowing on his face.

What was it with everyone tonight?

Couldn’t a man get one night off from someone trying to take something from him?

“Maybe,” Kurt replied.

Well, at least he was honest. And unlike the junior who wrecked my car, he actually had some shit to back it up.

I stepped up to him. We measured each other as if we’d never met before. “My spot here isn’t vacant,” I said evenly.

“Maybe it should be.”

I didn’t like the glint in his eye.

“You should watch yourself,” I warned.

He didn’t back down, but I didn’t expect him to. I wouldn’t have if I were angling for the top spot. I wasn’t dumb. I knew this was coming. The way some people saw it around here, now that I was driving for the NRR, I didn’t need to be on the streets.

I begged to differ.

Never forget where you come from.

It’s exactly there that made a man who he was.

I came from these streets.

I wasn’t some pampered pro driver who had everything handed to them. As far as I was concerned, these streets were the path that led me to the NRR.

Jones pulled up in a tow truck, followed by another one that looked just like it. People around us burst into action, preparing to pry the Charger off my car and tow them both away.

I’d seen what happened when men forgot. One victory, one step into a level higher than where they’d been made them arrogant. It made them think they were better than those they left behind.

In truth, we were all the same. Me, Kurt… hell, even Junior who ruined my car.

What set us apart was sheer determination. Sheer will… And a heavy dose of hard work.

Even though the most bitter liked to say it was money and luck.

Money and luck didn’t hurt. But it wasn’t defining.

Sometimes not even all of the above was enough. Sometimes we got smacked back down to where we started, and we had to begin again.

That’s why knowing where you come from wasn’t something you could leave behind.

If I had to begin again, I would, here, on
my
turf.

Until that point, my feet were going to be firmly planted in both racing worlds. This one and the NRR.

And no one was going to get in my way.

Joey

There were boys in my kitchen.

Not just any boys.

Trent and Drew.

“How did you get in here?” I scowled. I was happy to see them, but it was morning and I hadn’t had any coffee yet.

Plus, today was the day.

“The housekeeper loves us,” Trent said around a bite of an oversized homemade muffin.

Drew was busy nursing a cup of steaming coffee, but he did smirk when Trent replied.

The housekeeper did love them. Everyone did. They were practically the most lovable pair of guys on the entire planet.

And the fact that they loved each other only made them more endearing.

“My father summoned you here,” I stated as I poured the dark, richly scented brew into a white mug sitting beside the pot.

Drew appeared soundlessly beside me and shoved his identical half-empty cup under my nose. I fought a smile as I refilled it for him. He looked as disgruntled as I felt about the early morning hour. His hair was either artfully arranged to look unkempt or…

Knowing Drew, it was just uncombed.

The scruff on his jawline was a permanent fixture. It seemed a little more pronounced this morning, and for once, he wasn’t wearing a leather jacket and black jeans. Instead, he was dressed in a pair of battered, loose blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and an open, cotton plaid button-up. It was bright yellow and cobalt blue. The colors seemed to make his already blue eyes even bluer.

“Finally got him to cave about you coming over to the dark side,” he mused, approval written all over his coffee-guzzling face.

When I first met him, I’d been interested in being more than friends. If I hadn’t seen the way he looked at his best friend, I probably would have pursued him.

But his heart was already spoken for, and now I couldn’t imagine him as anything other than a friend.

“Ron Gamble doesn’t cave.” I poked him in the chest. “And his agreement came with a list of conditions.”

I turned to lean back against the counter and let the first sip of coffee slide down my throat and touch my soul.

It was some good shit.

“One of those conditions being a dual interview with Lorhaven,” Trent unnecessarily pointed out while shoving the rest of his muffin between his lips.

I gave him a sour look, and he grinned, blueberries stuck in his teeth.

Besides the food crammed in his mouth, Trent was a lot more pulled together than Drew, in appearance anyway.

He had the whole “effortlessly preppy but still managing to look cool” vibe going on. His dark-blond hair was styled in a disheveled way, a pair of navy board shorts hung low on his hips, and a white cotton polo with the top two buttons undone hugged his wide upper body and seemed to stretch around the muscles in his biceps.

Perched on the top of his head were a pair of Oakleys, and on his feet were flip-flops. I honestly never thought men looked good in flip-flops… but he did.

“One of the conditions being to get some media time.” I corrected. Then muttered, “Lorhaven comes with the damn interview.”

Now that he had a full mug of coffee, Drew retreated to where Trent was and leaned up against the counter beside him. Automatically, Trent shifted so their sides were pressed together.

Drew held out his mug, and Trent palmed it to take a sip. When he was done, he placed it back in Drew’s hand, allowing his fingers to linger on Drew’s for a few seconds before pulling away.

The room practically crackled whenever they were in it. I’d honestly never seen anything like it. Certainly not with my father and my mother, not with my father and any woman that had come and gone from his life since I’d been born.

I’d never experienced it either.

I would have argued attraction like that didn’t exist, but I couldn’t deny what was right in front of me.

Made me wonder if something like that would ever touch my life, or if it was reserved for only a select few.

“The tables are turned,” Drew mused, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. Clearly, the coffee was starting to hit his bloodstream.

“What?” I asked. Clearly, it wasn’t hitting mine yet.

“Seems like just yesterday you were sent to help groom me to drive for the NRR. And now it’s me being sent to help you cross over.”

I scowled. “You didn’t need help. I don’t either.”

Drew just smiled. He never seemed to take my independent nature to heart. “Nah, but it will give us an excuse to hang out.”

“Yeah, you gonna let us into the pit for your next race?” Trent asked, wagging his eyebrows.

Drew chuckled.

I laughed. I missed them. Sometimes we went weeks without seeing each other, especially when Drew was racing in all the preliminaries for the first indie season. Even though we were expected to see each other more now, I knew it would still be hard to come by.

The NRR season was starting, and my season was already in swing. I told my father I’d honor my commitments, and I would. I never backed out on my word.

But I kind of wished I could.

I’d never say it out loud to anyone, but the pros were wearing me down. It was hard to fight (and fight alone) when there was no end to the struggle in sight.

I loved cars. I loved racing and the feel of the road beneath my tires. I even loved being strapped into a racecar without much room to move.

But I was ready for a change.

I was ready to embrace the indie world, and I hoped they would embrace me as well.

“I got a pit pass with your names on it,” I told him and snatched up a muffin. The idea of Trent and Drew in the pit with my crew made me look forward to my races a little bit more.

“I got you a T-shirt.”

“A shirt?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

Trent smiled quick and motioned toward the lump of fabric on the island. I hadn’t even noticed it.

Abandoning my breakfast, I snatched the cotton off the counter and held it up. The shirt was yellow, a color that seemed to become Drew’s signature, and on the back it read:

Drew Forrester

PIT CREW

I smiled and pulled it back against my chest, holding it up for them to see. A quick glance down, and I saw the outline of a racecar on the front.

“I love it,” I told them and folded it carefully to place it down. “Thank you.”

“We’ll coordinate schedules later. Dinner?” Drew asked.

I nodded. “You guys in town for a while?”

“‘Til after next week’s race,” Trent answered.

That was right. The first indie race of the official season was at Gamble Speedway.

“You can’t stay at a hotel all week,” I told them. “Stay here.”

“I don’t know,” Trent deadpanned. “This place is kinda small.”

Drew laughed.

I rolled my eyes. “I think we can fit you in. You can have the suite near my wing.”

“I was kinda hoping you’d say that,” Trent admitted. Beside him, Drew’s face grew dark.

What was that about?

Before I could ask, Drew pushed off the counter. “You ready? Can’t be late for your big interview.”

“I’m sure Lorhaven wouldn’t mind,” I muttered. “He’d probably prefer it. Attention hog.”

Trent barked a laugh and flung his arm across my shoulders. “Give him hell.”

We went through the house, but at the front door, Drew paused with his palm on the handle. “You mind driving?” he asked over his shoulder.

That look was back in his eye.

“Of course not. The Skyline is right outside.”

Trent nodded. “We saw it on the way in.”

I pulled the keys out of my pocket, and we headed out into the summer sunshine. It was early, so it wasn’t too hot, but I could tell by the balminess in the air it was going to be a warm day.

I got in the driver’s seat, Drew climbed in the back, and Trent took shotgun. No one said anything on the way down the long driveway, but as we approached the gates, the tension in the car seemed to increase.

I glanced at Trent and then back at Drew.

“What?” I said finally.

Trent hitched his chin toward something on the other side of the gate.

One black SUV and one unfamiliar car was parked out on the street. As I watched, the SUV’s passenger window rolled down and a camera with a huge lens appeared.

“The press is following you around?” I asked, irritation in my tone.

“Fucking bloodsuckers were waiting in the lobby of the hotel when we came down this morning,” he spat.

And that explained why Trent seemed relieved when I offered him a room here. Behind the gates where press couldn’t get.

Anger warmed my cheeks. “They hound you guys a lot?”

“Just when we’re on the road,” Drew said. “We have gates at home now.”

“Thank fuck,” Trent muttered.

They were on the road a lot. I couldn’t imagine having a camera up my ass every time I stepped outside. I dared a glance at Trent. He was staring down the black SUV with something close to rage simmering beneath his stare.

“Hey,” I said and touched his arm.

His hazel eyes collided with mine. I saw the hard edge there, the absolute steel and determination to protect Drew from as much of the intrusion as possible.

It made me sad for them.

They weren’t a circus act.

They were two really awesome men in love. They were friends, brothers, businessmen. They deserved privacy and a chance to live their lives without Trent being on the defensive every time they left the house.

“You can stay at my place anytime you come to town,” I told him softly, patting him with my hand.

The relaxed, almost playful guy I saw this morning in the kitchen came back to the surface. He grabbed my hand and kissed the back of it. “Thanks.”

“You two are looking awfully cozy up there,” Drew drawled from the backseat.

Trent winked at me. “Don’t get your boxers in a bunch, Forrester. You know you’re my favorite.”

Drew grunted like he was satisfied, and I pulled the car out onto the street, noting that almost immediately, the paparazzi pulled out to follow.

Guess it didn’t matter we left the Fastback behind; the assholes knew Drew and Trent were with me.

“So tell me,” I said, turning away from the rearview and hoping to distract the guys from the vultures behind us. “How much of an asshole is Lorhaven going to be today at the interview?”

Drew snorted. “On a scale of one to ten?” he asked. “Twenty.”

Oh, good. Something to look forward to.

Not.