Page 6 of Racer

Storm slapped my back as I passed. “Just don’t fuckin’ die. We don’t have enough patience to train a new you.”

“And the world can barely handle one of me,” I said, smirking.

Fox’s voice followed me as I reached the door. “Racer.”

I paused.

Fox stepped around the desk, folding his arms across his chest as he stared me down. “Don’t fuck around on this. Find whoever’s doing this and make sure they regret breathing.”

I grinned, teeth bared. “I’ll make sure they bleed out slow enough to regret every bad decision they ever made.”

Storm’s mouth twitched. “Try not to get brain matter on your boots. Shit’s hard to scrub out.”

Kane clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re gonna like my team. They’re as tight as the Iron Rogues, and they don’t fuck around.”

“Let me guess,” I said, slinging my cut back over my shoulder. “You got a pit crew full of old mobsters and retired street racers?”

“Close,” he said. “But better. One of my best mechanics is about half your size, and she’ll probably outsmart your ass before you even finish a sentence.”

I snorted. “She hot?”

Kane’s expression cooled a little, protective. “She’s also Axle’s little sister.”

That perked my interest in ways I didn’t expect. “Good to know.”

Maverick shook his head as I headed for the door. “Try not to fall in love, dumbass.”

“Don’t worry,” I called back. “I’m way too smart for that shit.”

2

EMILY

It was good to be surrounded by cars again, even if the nurses practically had to force me out of the hospital. I’d finally agreed when Kane sent over a Redline Kings prospect who’d taken my spot at his bedside and promised to call if Mason woke up while I was gone.

The garage was quieter than usual. A couple of guys were wrenching on their bikes in the back corner, music low and conversation even lower. Nobody said anything to me as I passed through the main bay, which was exactly how I liked it today.

Mason’s car sat near the back—what was left of it. The front end was crushed like an aluminum can, the passenger side mangled beyond repair. But I wasn’t looking for cosmetic damage.

I knelt beside the frame, dragging my fingers along the steering wheel. The data logger housing mounted in the middle had been ruined in the crash. When I cracked the casing open, my stomach sank. The device wasn’t just corrupted—some of the components were mangled beyond recognition. A high-speed hit straight to that side of the car would’ve done it.

“Crap,” I muttered, sitting back on my heels.

“You sure didn’t waste any time takin’ a look at Axle’s car.”

I looked up to see Kane smirking at me from a few feet away.

“Maybe she’ll answer me before any of you guys do,” I muttered, holding up the mangled logger.

He stepped closer and gave a low whistle. “That’s what’s left of the data unit?”

“Yeah.” I turned it in my hand. “Probably didn’t survive the impact.”

Kane squinted down at the logger. “No salvaging anything off that.”

I nodded slowly, a pit forming in my stomach. “Which means we have no data.”

He hesitated. “And no way to prove Axle didn’t fuck up and cause the crash.”

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