Page 18 of Racer

Whatever this was, it was complicated and about to get messy.

And I didn’t give a single fuck.

6

EMILY

The Harley’s engine vibrated through me as I held on to Jude. Riding on the back of his hog wasn’t anything like I expected. Completely different from being on my brother’s motorcycle, which was the only thing I could compare this to.

Most bikers didn’t let just anyone ride with them, at least that was how it was in the Redline Kings. Putting a woman who wasn’t related to you on the back of your bike meant something to my brother’s club. I didn’t know if it meant the same to Jude, though.

By the time we pulled into the side bay at Kane’s garage, my nerves were tangled up with something sharp and aching that had nothing to do with fear. My pulse was unsteady, and I was keyed up from how aware I was of the man.

I swung off and stepped back quickly, trying to steady myself before I said something stupid.

“I need to check my brother’s Mustang,” I blurted. “The Shelby GT350R-C. I’ve been over it a dozen times, but…maybe you’ll see something I missed. If you have time to look?”

Jude gave a short nod and followed me inside.

The Mustang sat under a canvas tarp, untouched since I’d gone over it. I hesitated before peeling the material back, part of me still hoping we’d find something less nefarious to explain Mason’s crash.

“What’ve you already checked?” he asked, voice quiet but steady.

I rattled off the list automatically. “Brake lines, suspension, throttle linkage, fuel system. The works.”

When I finally looked up, Jude watched me with something that looked a lot like admiration. “Let’s take a deeper look. Pop the hood.”

We were quiet as we got to work, but the silence between us wasn’t awkward. We were focused. Intent.

The longer we worked, the harder it was to ignore him. Which was weird for me because I’d never had trouble focusing when I was in a garage. Give me a busted engine, and the rest of the world disappeared. But tonight, with Jude beside me, every turn of his wrench tugged at my attention like a magnet. I felt the heat coming off his body each time he leaned past me. I was hyper-aware of the stretch of his muscles, the flames tattoo rippling on his forearm. And the scent of him—a heady mixture of oil, sweat, and something dark and woodsy that lingered.

It was distracting. Maddening. And entirely new.

I’d just started checking the fuel rail and injector housing—nothing cracked, nothing loose—when Jude’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“Emily,” he said, low but firm.

I glanced over and found him crouched low on the passenger side. He was frowning at a cluster of exposed wires he’d pulled free from the fuse panel, the beam of his small flashlight making the colors gleam.

“This is wrong,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?”

He gestured for me to come closer. I moved toward him fast, wiping my hands on my thighs as I knelt beside him.

“See this junction?” He pointed with the butt of the flashlight. “This splice. Factory harness doesn’t route this way. Someone reran part of the feedback loop.”

I leaned in, heart thudding. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” His jaw ticked. “This isn’t just rerouted—it’s bridged. Fail-safe input’s been bypassed so it’d register clean even if the engine started to fail. None of the warnings would’ve triggered. If Axle’s engine started to cook or misfire, the ECU wouldn’t throw a code. The telemetry would’ve looked normal right up until it didn’t.”

I stared at the spliced wires, blinking hard. “They rigged the feedback so the car lied to him.”

“Exactly,” he agreed in a grim tone. “Confuse it so the driver doesn’t get a warning until it’s too late.

“And look there.”

I wiped grime off the side panel and looked closer. There was a melted toggle behind the cage bar. “Holy crap. With the fuel shutoff bypassed—that’s why the engine kept pulling until it snapped.”

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