Page 4 of Racer

Kane’s easy smile faded. “Shit’s fucked in Florida. Got something that needs your particular skill set.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Which one? My charming personality?”

Maverick snorted at that, and I frowned in mock offense.

“My talent with a stick?”

Storm shook his head, muttering, “Considering your monk-like existence lately, having a hard time believing you’ve got any skill with a stick off the track.”

I shrugged, skipping over the monk comment. It had been a long fucking time since my dick had even twitched for a woman.

“I’d prove it,” I drawled, “but I’m not about to give some chick a reason to think I’m next on the list just to show off my prowess.”

“Next on the list?” Kane asked.

“To fall for his woman,” Maverick explained with a smirk. “Racer’s under the bullshit impression that he’s stronger than the rest of us. Thinks he can’t be tamed by a woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I rested one foot on my opposite knee. “You call me in here to play matchmaker?”

It was Kane who snorted this time. “Not my type, Racer, but I’m flattered.”

“Your loss,” I quipped.

Even Fox cracked a smile at that before his expression became stoic again and he got back to business. “Kane’s got a problem. One that might be bigger than it looks on the surface.”

I looked at Kane, who was all serious now.

“This about the Redline crash?” I queried. “Saw the footage.”

The Redline Kings MC was at the center of a racing empire—both legal and underground. One ruled by Kane.

He was a fucking legend on the track, but it wasn’t his wall of trophies that kept him at the top. Though he didn’t look it, he was a brilliant businessman, a fucking billionaire. And someone no one dared to fuck with.

He was known for his sharp reflexes, calm dominance, and operating with brutal precision. He valued loyalty and had a reputation for being merciless to those who crossed him—especially when it came to protecting the integrity of his races.

Recently, one of his drivers had clipped the turn and drove straight into a support beam, causing the pit-side building to collapse. It had nearly killed the driver and three people inside.

Kane nodded, leaning forward slightly, and bracing his hands on his thighs.

“Thank fuck for Wrecker,” he murmured. “That motherfucker reads debris like a blueprint.”

Wrecker was one of my club brothers. A civil engineer who was trained to safely dismantle or clear debris from disaster sites to facilitate rescue efforts. There wasn’t anyone better, and through cameras, he’d been able to talk them through the rubble to get to the trapped people and get them out.

“Thing is,” Kane said, his voice cool and eyes hard, “underground circuit’s been getting hit hard. That’s not the only wreck.”

I frowned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I’ve had six drivers crash in the past few months. And a handful more from other teams. Wrecks on the underground circuit are fucking piling up. Most walked away, but a couple didn’t. Two fatalities—both when the cars caught fire before we could get them out in time.” He exhaled slowly, as though he was trying not to snap. “They’ve all been blamed on driver error, but I know my fucking crew. Something’s off.”

My jaw ticked. “You think someone’s fucking with the cars?”

“I think someone’s fucking with the entire circuit,” Kane confirmed.

Something in his voice darkened. Kane was cold steel when he needed to be, but I knew those deaths had to weigh on him. He ran a tight domain, one where skill and loyalty meant everything.

“Then a few days ago, my Road Captain, Axle, went down,” Kane continued. “Took a turn sharp, car didn’t respond. He’s in a coma now. Might not wake up. His sister’s…” He paused, jaw tightening. “She’s the only family he’s got.”

“Besides you,” Storm added.

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