Page 36 of Racer

I turned back to Emily, who was halfway underneath the Charger now, flashlight wedged between her shoulder and cheek.

“Rear mount’s clean. No sensor loops,” she said, voice echoing from beneath. “We’d be seeing telemetry drift if it’d been tapped.”

“Check the secondary fuses,” I said, crouching beside her. “Far left. There’s usually a kill switch rig there on these older builds.”

She slid out long enough to grab the tool I held out for her, cheeks flushed pink and brow furrowed. That little crease between her eyebrows—focused and frustrated—somehow made me want to flip her over and fuck her senseless across the hood. But I kept my damn hands in check. Barely.

“This car’s a monster,” she muttered. “But she’s clean so far.”

That was the problem.

I felt it before I saw it. Something itched at the back of my skull, like static crawling under my skin. We’dplannedfor sabotage. Wanted Franklin to rig the car with some coward’s trick so we could expose him. Instead, we were coming up empty, which didn’t sit right.

“Angel, come on out and let me get under her.”

Emily slid back out and quirked her brow. “Pushing me aside for an older woman?”

I laughed and grabbed a fistful of her shirt, pulling her up into a sitting position. “She’s got nothing on you, angel.” I kissed her hard and fast, then grinned salaciously. “How ’bout I ride you on her hood and prove it?”

Her cheeks flamed pink, and she shoved at my chest with a giggle. “Get to work, grease monkey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a snappy salute.

I switched places with her, took her light and glided under the chassis. Since she’d already done a sweep of the obvious places, I started systematically checking every nook and cranny. When I got to the passenger side footwell, I almost missed it and moved on. But that same itch warned me to take a closer look.

“Wait a second,” I said softly.

“What is it?” Her voice was anxious.

“There’s something tucked behind the firewall insulation. It’s not wired into the usual harness.”

What the fuck?

I carefully removed the unfamiliar object, then eased out slowly. Cradled in my palm was a small black box the size of a cigarette pack. Flat. Seamless. Way too clean. Shit.

“Get Kane.”

By the time I set the device on the workbench and cracked it open with a flathead, Kane, Fox, and the rest were already crowding around. Midnight and Edge flanked Emily instantly, keeping her half shielded with their bodies.

The second I pulled the casing apart, my blood went cold. And from the muttered string of curses behind me, I knew Fox recognized it too.

“Fucking hell. That’s a pressure detonator.”

“Remote backup too,” I muttered, tilting it. “And a fail-safe tied to the engine’s RPM. If I’d redlined past six-five, it would’ve cooked us both.”

Emily’s breath hitched, and I turned to look at her.

Her lips had gone pale, and one of her hands was gripping Edge’s forearm without even realizing it. But unsurprisingly, her chin didn’t drop. She didn’t so much as fucking flinch. She just stared at that trigger as though she thought she could destroy it with her will alone.

Mine.

Possessiveness grew inside me. There was pride in her strength, but mostly, I was ready to rip apart anyone who was a threat to what we were building. My hands were shaking with rage.

Kane looked like he was ready to kill.

“That’s not sabotage,” he seethed. “That’s fucking execution.”

I crossed my arms. “We wanted proof. Now we’ve got enough to burn Franklin and his whole operation to ash.”

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