Turn & Burn (6 page)

The fat bastard started to wheeze. Then I spied his teeth and realized he was laughing. “Gerald Sherrill? Good God, girl, that man couldn’t even throw a decent fuck into his wife. Or so she told everybody after they got divorced.”

Liar. I knew you’d cover for Colt.

I threw caution to the winds and mocked his tone. “Good God, man, this is the Bible belt. A man your age, fucking a seventeen-year-old while in uniform? Every church deacon in town would demand your head on a platter, because they have daughters my age, asshole. If you did that with more girls than just me, expect others to step up and say so if I go public. Just takes one to break the ice. Or, you could check out my story and that bribe would remain our little secret.”

I spied an opening in the traffic. Letting out the clutch, I prayed I splattered his uniform with mud. Let him come after me. As soon as I walked out of jail, I’d light up the internet. I’d email my story to every news agency and blogger in the state and let the chips fall where they would.

I made it through the light and went straight across at the top of the bridge. There weren’t any blue lights behind me when I made the final turn into the lane that led to Ridenhour headquarters.

A couple of newer model sports cars streamed into the parking lot behind me. There were a few spaces available along the sidewalk, but I picked a spot away from the building. No sense in letting some drunk put a big ding in the door when Dale was trying to sell the car. The lot offered no concealment. Oh, well, Dale would know I was here. Nothing I could do about that now, except hope he got here before Harry, Ernie, and Francine arrived.

Willing my heart to stop hammering, I eyed the building. The corporate coat of arms—crossed black-and-white checkered flags underneath gold letters that would look right at home on a circus poster—blared from the front of the building. Huge panes of glass surrounded double front doors, but gold tint blocked any view inside. Red floodlights cast a warm glow across the rough-cut sandstone facade. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but not a building twice as long as a football field and three stories tall.

My insides still jerked from the confrontation with the sheriff.

“Dammit, I have to get my shit together. Deep breaths.” I gasped, but the humid air in the car wasn’t much help. Staring at the hood of the ‘Cuda, where I’d had sex so many times, out on that lonely country road, wasn’t helping, either.
Then get out of the car.

I unhooked the seat belt and grabbed my purse, making sure my cell phone hadn’t fallen out when I looked for my ID. Reaching behind my seat, I groped for the shoebox in the floorboard and swapped my flats for the high heels, then snagged my skirt.

Laying my small clutch on top of the car, I fought to balance on the tall heels while I put one foot at a time through the waistband, careful not to let the hem touch the asphalt. Humidity glued my hair to the back of my neck. The weather felt more like Easter than Christmas.

The minute I straightened to tug the skirt over my hips, the deep throb of an engine made my pulse jump again. I couldn’t mistake the red Shelby GT500 Mustang hurtling into the lot. It was the same car Colt and Caine had used to teach me to drag race almost four years before. I tracked the vehicle while I raised the zipper and fastened the hook.

Okay, I’m here, I’m pissed, and somehow, they’re going to feel my pain.

The Mustang swung wide, then swooped into the parking space behind the Barracuda. I was surprised to see Caine behind the wheel. I met Colt’s eyes. His sardonic smirk made me turn away. Rattled by running into them so soon after my confrontation with Mack Brown, I couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with my car keys, so I dropped them beside the front seat and slammed the door.

Striding across the wet asphalt, I muttered, “All I want for Christmas is for them to have grown huge beer guts.” Hopefully, the jolly old elf couldn’t read minds, because I took a moment to imagine Colt, lying face down on that hood, while a felon named Big... something... broke his dick off in the blond-haired pretty boy’s ass—every redneck’s biggest nightmare.

The picture in my mind made me smile. It really was time to turn and burn, but I cursed Robert under my breath for all I was worth. If he’d just thrown a decent fuck into me this morning, I might not be imagining the sting of Colt’s hand on my ass. My pussy might not be soaked at the memory of Colt’s fingers plunging into me before he pinned my legs over my head and offered me to Caine.

“Hold up.” Colt’s lazy drawl carried across the lot. “I’ve been totin’ your shit since the day I first laid eyes on you, little sister, but I ain’t carryin’ this.”

Realizing I’d forgotten my purse, I turned to see Colt holding the small clutch away from his body, like he feared it might spray him with estrogen. I longed to abandon the accessory, but I needed my phone.

Caine stood by his side, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread in an aggressive stance that made the hairs on my arms stand up. He wore a close-cropped beard that transformed him from garden-variety hottie to fucking gorgeous.

Stop running.

Retracing my steps, I stopped an arm’s length away and grabbed the purse by the corner, but Colt held fast. Time had worn the plastic, Ken-doll perfection off his face. With laugh lines forming at the corners of his eyes, he looked better than ever. No trace of a gut protruded over his black belt. Grinning Grinch faces popped from a red tie that exactly matched his shirt. Black pants completed his attire.

Sweat trickled between my breasts.

It was time to kick off a more important fight.

I let go and lifted a foot. “See these stilettos?”

They both took their damn sweet time, sliding heated gazes down the front of my outfit, lingering on the small swells of flesh over the bustier, before making their way to my foot.

“Good thing you wore those.” Caine pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. He wore a solid green shirt and identical black slacks. I couldn’t recall ever seeing either brother dressed up. “I drove right off and left the booster seat at home.” He grinned as though he thought I’d find his joke amusing. “Damn, you look gorgeous.”

“Yeah, I see those bend-me-over pumps,” Colt drawled.

My nipples stood up, tingling like tuning forks, but I hoped the stiff bodice covered that reaction. “Take a good look at the heel. I swear to God, Colt, if you annoy me tonight, I’ll drive one right through your foot.”

“Yep.” He nodded, keeping his eyes downcast. “I think you could. But you damn sure better know,”—he slowly raised his head—“if you pull a stunt like that, I don’t give a goddamn who’s around, little sister. I will turn you over my knee and spank your ass till it matches my shirt.” Giving me the full blast of those eyes, he grinned. “And we all know how much you like that.”

I’d thought four years of serving alcoholic drinks had short-circuited my childish tendency to blush, but heat crept across my cheeks.

I stalked forward and snatched the bag from his hand. “You lowlife bastard. I don’t know why using every guy in Cabarrus County that would give you five bucks to humiliate me wasn’t enough for you. I’ll never know why you felt you had to drag my mother into the middle of that shit. Was it because your mother didn’t want you? Was that why you had to fuck up my relationship with my mother on top of making me into a whore?”

Surprise flickered across both of their faces.

“But tonight, I’m here for Dale and no one else. That should mean something, even to you. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.” Moving close enough to spit in Colt’s eye, I added, “You had no issues telling my mother half the truth. But did you ever once consider what would happen if I told Dale? Because, if you had two working brain cells, you’d realize I have absolutely nothing to lose.”

He opened his mouth, but I spun and stalked away. The pencil skirt tightened across my ass with every step. Every pore tingled with the knowledge they stared.
Take a good look, assholes.

I had to stop to allow another vehicle to whiz past. The low-slung car’s sleek lines were so sexy, I had to stare. Four interlocked rings on the grille proclaimed the vehicle an Audi. Plenty of girls I went to school with drove Audis, but I’d never seen one like this. I crossed to the sidewalk while the car wheeled into a space near the door.

I smoothed the skirt down my thighs, watching the driver get out. The floodlights burnished short, wavy hair and lit the black satin stripes down the sides of his tuxedo pants. His red bow tie matched his cummerbund, but why in the world had he worn a shirt with red-trimmed ruffles? This wasn’t a wedding. All he needed was a red cape and he’d look like a matador.

“Twin turbos.”

I glanced around to see Caine. Reaching past me, he opened the door, but his eyes were narrowed on the car, too. The throb in my nipples kicked up a notch, but my mind raced.

I could play nice with Caine, because he rarely opened his mouth. In fact, that might be the best way to go. Maybe I could play the pair against each other. And what was the only topic Caine had strung together more than ten words about? Cars.

“Jesus, what a sexy ride,” I blurted. “It’s gorgeous.” The entire vehicle was luscious ebony, even the Audi emblems. Low profile tires hugged black rims. Raindrops beaded on the black paint.

“Five point two liter V-10. That baby’s cranking a thousand horsepower to the tires. Shame it’s haulin’ around about two hundred pounds of pure horse shit.”

I blinked, but recognized the Audi driver’s face when he skirted the rear end and rounded to the opposite side of the vehicle.

“Oh, that’s the problem child? The tuxedo threw me. I’ve only seen him in racing gear.” Kolby Barnes, Ridenhour Racing’s young superstar driver, opened the passenger door and helped a bleached blonde step out. I eyed her low cut, sequined gown. And I’d been worried my outfit was too racy.

“Fake tits.” Caine’s comment came wrapped in a deprecating tone. He pressed a big hand to the small of my back and pushed me toward the open door. “I like ‘em real myself, and more’n a mouthful is wasted.”

If he was trying to say he liked my small boobs, the attempt made me roll my eyes. I stepped inside, but immediately drew up short. The huge entrance was easily fifty feet wide.

Watching the race on television in no way prepared me for the impact made by sixteen racecars, parked at forty-degree angles like gleaming sentinels, eight on a side. The hoods were raised. Engines cleaner than my dorm room floor glinted under tiny overhead spot lighting. Shiny paint rioted with colorful decals. I inhaled the scent of carnauba wax, detecting undertones of gas and motor oil. Caine’s hand still rested on my waist. Between his touch and the aroma surrounding me, my panties got wet.

Make nice. Make him believe all is forgiven.

I darted a smile at Caine. “Your tie’s adorable. When did you decide to grow a beard?” He ducked his head and slid a hand along his necktie, decorated with drawings of vintage glass Christmas ornaments.

“It fucking itches,” he muttered, letting go of the tie to rake his jaw. “I was fooling around with something in the garage. Just ran out of time, or I’d have shaved.”

The display hall opened onto an elegant reception area, replete with an Oriental rug large enough to carpet Dale’s entire house. Round tables, replete with red and gold linens, dotted the elegant carpet. Place cards shaped like cars dotted the tabletops. On my left, glass cases housed gigantic trophies. Despite my heels, I had to go on tiptoe to see the very tops.

What were these guys compensating for?

Opposite the trophy wall stood an evergreen that had to be twenty feet tall. Gold ribbons festooned the branches. Thousands of tiny white lights glowed amidst glittering red balls. The ceiling loomed three stories above. On the second and third floors, offices overlooked the huge space. A glass ceiling capped the giant atrium.

I glared at floating balls of mistletoe. They dangled from the skylights by thin threads of clear filament. There were so many, they’d be hard to avoid.

A white-haired woman interrupted her conversation with a man I pegged as the caterer and came forward to greet us.

“You must be Shelby. So nice to finally meet you, dear. I’m Doris Ridenhour. We spoke on the phone.” The team owner’s wife also wore a red gown, but her neckline was more modest than that of the bimbo on Kolby Barnes’ arm.

Caine let go of me and took a step toward one of the hallways that led off of the airy space.

“Not so fast, you handsome devil.” Mrs. Ridenhour grabbed Caine’s sleeve, halting him in his tracks. To my amusement, she put her hands on either side of his jaw and tugged his face down to hers, holding him like a naughty child. “Never mind that I used to change your diapers during the race. I’m stealin’ a kiss.” She lifted a thick fringe of false eyelashes toward the mistletoe overhead.

Caine’s cheeks turned ruddy beneath the painted lips she pressed to the side of his face. When she let him go, he shot me a dirty look and hurried out of the room.

Oh, poor baby, was I supposed to save you?

I was still laughing under my breath when Colt appeared. Spreading his arms, he grinned at Doris and swiveled his hips. “Come here, darlin’.”

“Good God, Colt, you get better lookin’ every time I lay eyes on you,” Doris purred. When the elderly woman kissed him right on the lips, I decided she’d already hit the punch. I scanned the room to see where the hell the bar was. I could use a drink.

Eyeing the way Caine’s pants tightened across his sculpted ass before he disappeared down the long hallway, I decided to forego booze for the evening
. That’s the fastest way to end up buck-naked on someone’s desk.

“You gotta be Shelby.” A deep voice boomed behind me. I got a fast impression of a red, gold, and white plaid jacket that shouldn’t be allowed off a golf course, before I was enveloped in a bear hug. I held my breath, trying not to inhale the generous application of Old Spice. After a firm slap between my shoulder blades, the man let me go and took a step back. His steel-toned hair was so thick, I decided it had to be a toupee.

He beamed. “Dale talks about you so much, I swear, I feel like I’ve known you all my life, sweetheart.”