Page 5 of Full Throttle

Mickey Ackerman wasn’t the best driver in the world, but he could design a cage like you’ve never seen. He was on the shorter side, balding at the back of his head, with brown eyes.

I looked over to where I left Jer and Leon, jerking my chin in that general direction. “Just in town networking. You know how it is,” I replied, putting my hands into my jean pockets.

Mickey’s eyes followed my chin, his eyes going wide. “Holy fuck, that’s Leon Torrance.”

I nodded. “Yup, and that’s Jeremy Jones beside him.”

Only the people in this world knew who those men were. Mickey had been in this for nearly two decades. “So you’re Oasis now?”

Was I?

I wasn’t sure.

I knew that I represented Oasis, and my engine designs would bring in a lot of money for them, but I wouldn’t say that I was a part of Oasis. Not yet at least. Mickey didn’t need to know those complications, though, so I just gave him a nod. “Been with them for a couple of weeks now.”

A cocky smile spread across his face. “They heard about your big brain, didn’t they?”

Playing the part, I returned his smile. “Yeah, Mickey, they did.”

“Well, good for you. It's about time you settled somewhere. St. Louis is a good place to do that.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Leon and Jer heading over to us.

“Cain,” Jer called, eying Mickey.

“Jeremy, this is Mickey,” I introduced, gesturing to my old friend.

Recognition flashed in Jer’s dark eyes. “Ah, you’re Brandon’s guy, aren’t you?”

Mickey beamed. “That I am.” His eyes moved to Leon, who was silent and tense beside me. He didn’t want to be here.

“And this is Leon Torrance,” I said, giving Mickey a tight smile.

Mickey held his hand out, but Leon didn’t move.

Clearing his throat, Mickey’s hand dropped. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Torrance. I would give anything to design a car for you.”

“Is that what you do?” Leon asked, his voice sounding boring.

Cosmetically, yes.

Mickey dove right into it, about what he does, how long he’s been doing it. He went on for about three minutes before the echoes of cars in the distance cut the one-sided conversation short. All four of our heads snapped in the direction of the roaring engines, and in the distance, the first two cars came drifting around the corner of the building. The crowd cheered, pumping their fists in the air and screaming out names.

“I designed both of those cars you see there,” Mickey noted proudly.

“Damn, that driver is good,” Jer muttered, his eyes on the Mazda in first place as Leon hummed lowly in agreement.

“You did the Mazda?” I asked Mickey, not tearing my eyes off of it. It was sleek and clean—fucking glorious.

“Sure did.”

A second later, the Mazda came into the middle of the crowd, drifting before coming to a complete stop right after the finish line. The crowd moved in, cheering. The driver was announced the winner as the four of us watched from a distance, waiting for the door to open.

When it did, I expected a pair of jeans or sweats.

Instead, on a chilly fall night in Denver, I saw a bare, long, and shapely leg stretch out with a purple Van covering the foot. When the woman stood up, a water fall of reddish brunette hair greeted me.

“I want her,” Jer said.

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