Page 7 of Furious
“Sorry officer, I wasn’t looking where I was going—Hunter?”
The voice is familiar and so is the face that’s snarling at me the second he recognizes me.
“Fox? What the hell are you doing in Star Cove?”
His snarl turns into a derisive smile that makes me want to sink my fist into his face just for old times’ sake.
“Who’s asking? Hunter, the cop, or the asshole whose family killed my racing career?”
I can’t believe the nerve on this piece of shit. He basically rode his bike over my brother’s dead body, trying to win a race that had been suspended. “The last thing I remember is you getting in the way of the emergency crew after my brother had been hit by one of your bikes. If anyone killed your career, it was your own lack of humanity and compassion. No team would want an asshole who keeps racing when another competitor is down.”
Fox doesn’t show any signs of contrition. It shouldn’t surprise me. What comes as a surprise, however, is what he says next.
“No one gave a shit about that. I was in the zone and I didn’t realize what happened until I saw the ambulance. But your old man was out for blood. He couldn’t get the guy who hit your brother, so he made me his scapegoat.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I bite out.
He points a finger at me. “Don’t fucking act as if you don’t know. First, he tried to get Bridgeport PD to charge me for the incident because whoever invaded the racetrack stole one of my team’s bikes. When those charges wouldn’t stick because he couldn’t prove negligence, he used his influence as a sports agent and NHL hall of famer to blackball me. I lost all my sponsors,and my team owner fired me. No one else would even look at me sideways when I was released. All thanks to your father.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to call bullshit on that. Fox is just trying to rattle my cage.
Dad is still a huge name in hockey. How would his reach extend to racing?
Then I rethink the situation. The billionaire who owns the Hartford Heroes—the NHL team Dad won four Stanley Cups with—also owns one of the most successful MotoGP teams. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. That guy has stakes in F1, golf, soccer. You name it.
I used to hate how much influence my father has. Atlas and I weren’t happy when we found out that the MotoGP team we were under contract with belonged to Dad’s old boss.
Of course, we knew that we got hired because we outperformed every other racer who tried out. You don’t win MotoGP titles by hiring racers based on nepotism. We also knew that many talented racers never get noticed and that our father’s connections gave us an opportunity many people have to grind for years to get.
So my father used his connections to make sure someone paid for what happened that day in Bridgeport.
I’ll thank him when he comes back from his honeymoon.
“You know what, Fox?” I smile. “Good fucking riddance. You’ve always been a piece of shit on and off the track. I’m sure it didn’t take my father’s meddling to get everyone to see that. Just count yourself lucky that we couldn’t prove that you had something to do with that incident by either staging it, or at the very least by not watching your equipment diligently enough that anyone could have hopped on one of your bikes and gotten on the track.”
That’s why I became a cop. To be able to do what Bridgeport PD was too busy or too incompetent to do.
“I don’t know what you’re doing in my town, but watch your fucking back.” I scowl.
This asshole has never known when to walk away from a situation.
“Is that a threat?” he cackles. “Ooh scary.” He mocks me, pretending to shudder with fear.
I push him, flattening him against the gas station’s glass paned walls. “Give me one reason.” I growl, my forearm pressing against his throat. “One fucking reason to handcuff you. Or even better, to get my gun out.”
“Hunter.” My partner steps in, grabbing my shoulder with a firm grip. “Step away.”
I know Olivia is right.
It costs me everything I have in me to do the right thing, though.
“You’re a fucking psycho.” Fox sputters, his face red as he rubs his throat with a tattooed hand. “You’re my witness. I’m going to pay a visit to the sheriff's office and press charges. Police brutality is not a joke.”
What the piece of shit doesn’t know is that Dad was elected by a landslide. And since he’s taken over the mayor's office, he has been doing a lot to help Star Cove’s small businesses.
He has the support of pretty much the entire town, Dan included. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, son.” He says, looking Fox straight in the eye. “I haven’t seen anything other than two friendly cops coming to help me with a few problems. Now if you need gas, pump number one is open. We also have coffee and a great selection of hot and cold snacks. Beer and liquor too, as long as you can show valid ID. If you don’t need any of the above, I suggest you get on your way. I don’t like loitering, we even have a sign right outside that says it.”
Fox grabs a can of chewing tobacco and throws a twenty-dollar bill in Dan’s face. “Keep the change. Fucking shitty Podunk town. If I weren’t desperate for a job, I’d be out of here faster than the fucking wind.”
