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  Star shrieks and makes a running leap for Ace. She wraps her arms behind his neck and her legs around his waist. He doesn’t even stumble back when he catches her. His hands cup her ass, using the fabric of her skirt as a buffer. Not waiting for a cue, he bends down and grants her a kiss. After indulging her, he untangles Star’s clutches. She lands on unsteady feet, her pretty face flushed down to the valley of her cleavage.

  Like a panther on the prowl, Ace keeps moving. He reaches out and curls his fingers into Slipstream’s green hair, pulling him in until their foreheads touch. They breathe in together, sharing the exhaust-filled air between them. And like an indirect kiss, their exhales mingle. Slipstream looks up at Ace worshipfully as the other straightens and returns his attention to me.

  “RC,” he says in a graveyard’s hush. “It’s been too long.” He opens his arms wide.

  The composure I fought hard to keep crumbles like ten-thousand-year-old stone bombarded by constant rain. I push away from my GT and rush into his waiting arms. He wraps me within their safety and twirls around several times. Did I mention Ace and I grew up at Open Arms together? Well, that’s another reason why I can’t seem to challenge him. Stupid familial bonds. Inhaling his clean scent, I’m that unsure girl again he teases for having the worst time on the simulator. Breathless, I pepper his face with kisses like a happy puppy. Ace’s full-bodied laugh snakes into my tight muscles, lifting me higher than hydrogen. The day’s stress melts away. No absurd requests from the boss. No corpses. No insane course maps. He eases my feet to the ground, letting my body slide down the length of his, then cradles my face in his hands.

  With our gazes locked and loaded, he says, “I heard you found Hubcap’s body. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  And just like that he reminds me of what I’d love to forget. I swallow, piecing together the tough shell he easily broke through. “It’s fine. I’m okay. I’m more worried about the IC map.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “That you would.”

  “Shut up before I punch you, jackass.”

  He lets go of me and steps back, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. “Always the cruel one, my RC.”

  “She’s not yours,” Bedlam says, gravel ever present in his throat. Goose bumps dot my skin. I feel his intent stare at the base of my spine. A delicious quiver runs down my inner thighs. Like I said, complicated.

  We all turn to look at him. He rests his long body on the side of his Zonda like a ladder against a wall. Besides baggy pants and racing shoes, white bandages cover every exposed part of his body, leaving only his left eye visible. I know all too well what’s under those yards of gauze. Our eyes meet for the briefest second. I suck in a breath at the slight softening of his gaze. My cheeks heat. He gives me a quick nod of acknowledgment.

  “Right,” Ace says.

  “Race me tonight, Ace.” Impulsively, I grab the front of his shirt before my feelings where Bedlam is concerned overwhelm me. I need a distraction. “Tonight I’ll beat you.”

  Ace covers my fists with his hands. “I’d love that, doll. But not tonight.”

  I barely hold in the pout and whine. “And why not?”

  “He’s mine tonight, love,” Bedlam says.

  “Oh kinky.” Star giggles. Fearless, she edges closer to Bedlam and traces circular patterns along his bandaged arm. He eyes her like a dog about to bite—focused and still.

  “Come here, my sweet.” Ace gestures for Star to approach him. Like me, he notices the murder that flickers to life in Bedlam’s eye. Like an obedient pet, she skips to him. “That’s a good girl.” He tucks her under his arm. “Maybe some other time, RC?”

  “You mean during the Impulse Cup?” I ask.

  He merely smiles.

  Ace and Bedlam hardly race each other outside the IC. This is why this exhibition match is the most important race tonight. The credits amassed by the betting must be staggering. Most of the time, they focus on retaining their places on the Index by winning challenges. I can act like a child and release a full-blown tantrum to get my way in front of Terra One television. Ace would give in. He’s that kind of guy. But the temptation to watch two masters of the downhill battle each other far outweighs my urges to beat any one of them. Patience. I can wait. The IC presents many opportunities to win. I just have to bide my time.

  “The next downhill, you’re mine.” I kiss his cheek and let go of his shirt.

  Another hush among the crowd causes all of us to face the entrance to the plateau. The snarl of a powerful engine pushes against the techno beats. The DJ lowers the volume again.

  “A V10?” Star guesses.

  “No, my sweet.” Ace kisses the top of her pink head.

  “V12,” Bedlam mumbles, the sound like rocks rubbing.

  “Another V12? Here?” Slipstream comes to stand beside me. “Impossible. I thought I’m the only one who has a V12.”

  Headlights on bright round the corner. The commentators switch from their debate on who will win the race between Ace and Bedlam to analyze the newcomer. They’re speaking so fast, it’s hard to keep up.

  “It seems we have another player joining the party. The organizers haven’t said anything. Did you get the memo?” The first’s curiosity articulates the one crawling over the crowd as everyone waits with bated breath for the car to complete the turn.

  A newcomer? I don’t like it one bit.

  “Certainly not Hubcap,” the second quips.

  A chorus of “Boos” come from the motor heads. An audible smack and the following expletive from the second commentator defuses the mounting tension. Too soon to be making jokes. A collective gasp sucks the thin mountain air all into surprised lungs as the car exits the corner.

  The first commentator regains his composure and says over the speaker, “That’s a V12 Zagato from the looks of its huge air intake at the front, the double bubble roof, the almost wagon-style, and the snake-head-looking rear end. The GT90 isn’t the only monster on track anymore. Look at that cherry-red body with black rims. Sex to the E.”

  “Pass around the mop, children. Drool needs to be cleaned up and fast. But who can it be? I’m pretty sure everyone’s accounted for tonight.” Paper shuffling trails the second’s words.

  “The passenger door is opening.” The first breathes into the microphone, which has many of the girls shivering in disgust. “That’s Goose. Mechanic royalty if there was one. He’s a regular here. The driver’s getting out. I repeat, the driver’s—”

  “Holy god of road racers! That’s—”

  “What’s Zamara doing here?” Star steps out from under Ace’s arm and puts her hands on her hips, legs wide apart.

  “Looks like you have more problems than not racing me tonight, doll.” Ace whistles under his breath at me. Something tells me he knows about my little meeting with the boss this morning.

  I’m already moving forward like a bull seeing red. Star makes a grab for me but misses the sleeve of my leather jacket by mere centimeters.

  “Remember, aim for the jugular,” she says.

  “Aren’t you going to stop her?” Ace asks someone. Maybe Bedlam because he’s the one who answers.

  “And risk being caught in the crossfire? No, thank you.”

  Beyond pissed, I don’t hear the DJ starting up the techno or the commentators ogling the Zagato. I charge the car and put all my weight into the swing I send Goose just as he notices me coming. My fist connects with his chin with a gratifying thud. The blow sends the mechanic easily twice my size stumbling back. He grabs on to the car to keep from falling to the ground. Not slowing down, I grab the front of his overalls and slam him against the hood.

  “Why did you bring her here?” I ask through bared teeth. I should have known Zamara would pull something like this. Goose is the son of the boss’s chief mechanic. He helps out at the Bitterblade garage, maintaining their fleet of vehicles. Sometimes on his days off, he’d hang out at my place, comparing notes with Screw. Betrayal ooz
es out of my pores.

  “RC, please!” he chokes out.

  A hand rests on my tense forearm. “Please let him go,” the voice that grates on my nerves says.

  I turn my head toward Zamara slowly and snarl. “Wait your turn, Princess. You’re next.”

  “RC, please,” she pleads.

  “Miss Zamara,” Goose says around the crushing force of my arm across his throat. “Let me handle this.”

  My knee slams between Goose’s legs. A collective “Oh” from all the guys drowns out his pathetic yelp as he cups himself. I let him go. He slides off the Zagato and falls to the ground.

  “Handle that, asshole,” I spit. Then I grab Zamara’s wrist. I yank the passenger door open and shove the insolent boss’s daughter in none too gently. Before she can protest, I slam the door shut. Striding to the driver’s side, I slide in and press a button. The locks engage. When I reach for the ignition, the key is missing.

  “Zamara,” I bark.

  She dangles the key in front of my face. When I lunge for it, she drops it into the cleavage of her V-neck sweater. I yank my hand away before my palm makes contact with her left breast.

  “This isn’t a joke,” I hiss. “Give me the damn key.”

  She arches her eyebrows. “And why would I do that?”

  My molars ache from gritting my teeth hard to keep from cussing the stupid girl out. “The key!”

  “Or what?” she challenges. “Unless you’re willing to feel me up, I’m staying.”

  “The Gathering is no place for you.”

  “Who says?”

  “I do.”

  Zamara sits back and crosses her arms. “Some authority you are.”

  I lean into the seat as well, refusing to acknowledge the excellent setting of the bucket seat. Goose knows his stuff; I have to give him that. I also have a feeling the engine is in excellent condition just by the way it purred when they arrived. I take three calming breaths and count down from ten in my head. When I reach one, I open my eyes and meet Zamara’s curious stare.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Like my car?” she asks, delight twinkles in her jade eyes. “I’ve been working with Goose for months to get her ready for tonight.”

  “You can’t be here, Zamara. I’m serious.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  Disgusted by the determination in her eyes, I glare at Goose, who finally manages to stand on both feet. At least he has the good sense to flinch and say nothing. It scares me to think how far Zamara will go to get what she wants. She’s been content to lurk in the shadows for years until her stupid eighteenth birthday. She knows her father can’t do anything if she decides to be a part of the races short of locking her in HQ. Although, I’m all for that idea.

  “I’m only saying this one more time….” I breathe in. “You don’t belong here.”

  “The hell I don’t. Ace and Star are here.”

  Referring to the underboss’s daughter and the adopted son of the counselor pisses me off even more. They are nothing like Zamara. They can take care of themselves. Heat creeps over my face the moment I lock gazes with her. The fire behind her eyes stirs something in me I don’t understand. Beyond the brown ringlets and spoiled princess facade hides a mysterious sensuality I’ve never seen before. From the sexy pout on her lips to the challenge in her lifted eyebrow, Zamara exudes an aura well beyond her eighteen years. Embarrassed at being turned on, I flick my gaze away and breathe out a curse.

  “Let’s do it this way,” I say, making a snap decision I’m sure I will regret later. “Ace and Bedlam are about to race. I’m not going to miss that.”

  “So I can stay?” The excitement returning in Zamara’s tone makes me nervous. Shit. She is going to be the death of me. I can feel it like a deadly premonition.

  I lift a staying hand. “I’ll drive the Zagato down to the corner where I believe the battle will be settled. If you don’t faint before then, I’ll consider taking you along during the IC.” I touch Zamara’s lips to stave off her response. She nods frantically, rubbing her lips against my fingertips. I pull away before I forget myself and move my fingers to other places on her body. She shouldn’t have worn a skirt so damn short. “The key?”

  Chapter Five

  I ATTEMPT to focus on Goose as Zamara straps herself in. But I’m failing. The Y-straps trace down the curve of her breasts and fasten between her legs. What little fabric of the skirt she has on bunches, further exposing a creamy length of thigh. And maybe, just maybe, because I can only watch her from my periphery, a pink sliver of lace. I bite my tongue at the click of the seat belt; then I give Goose instructions to drive my GT500 down to the paddock and hand it over to Screw and Mac. This includes a stern warning not to scratch my baby. I add that my crew should head for the garage and meet me there after the race between Ace and Bedlam. No matter how much I want to, I’m not racing anyone tonight. Zamara put a wrench in my plans. I have to keep an eye on her before the animals that usually populate the Gathering eat her alive. No one will care that she’s the boss’s daughter. They might even take it as an incentive. Many of them would consider death a small consequence for messing up Zamara since the damage done is the goal. We can’t have that. Lastly, I assure Goose I’ll bring the princess home. Her indignant huff sends satisfaction spreading across my chest.

  She settles into the bucket seat, wiggling her ass so she sits comfortably. I wish she’d stop doing that. Reaching my limit, I tug at her skirt. She slaps at my hand, and I glare. Goose takes his cue and leaves, spinning my GT’s keys on his finger and whistling. The coward. Screw will deal with him. When Zamara raises her eyebrow in challenge, I shift my focus on learning as much about the Zagato as I can. My GT has a V8 engine, but it’s supercharged, so it has more horsepower even if the Zagato has a V12. To be honest, I don’t know what Goose is thinking since the engine weighs down the car. I’ll have to be careful when cornering or we’ll pitch over the guardrail and tumble to our fiery deaths down the ravine. Not a week before the IC. I growl, sensing Zamara’s flinch more than actually seeing it. The girl is a fool. If it wouldn’t get me killed by her father, I would smack her upside the head for putting me in this position. She forced my hand. If I don’t handle this right, who knows what else she’ll do.

  She glances my way. Thank the racing gods she doesn’t say anything. I close my eyes and insert the key into the ignition. The metallic scrape calms me instantly. Then I close both my hands around the leather cover Zamara had chosen for the steering wheel and squeeze until I hear the telltale groan of fabric against the frame. My palms tingle. If she manages not to faint before we reach the corner I mentioned earlier, then I’ll have to make good on my word. I may have made a huge mistake.

  The Zagato can handle anything I put it through. At least I hope it can. I remind myself to have faith in Goose’s skills. The engine hums when I twist the key in the ignition. Such a beautiful song. I can listen to it all night. It reaches inside and grabs a hold of the deepest parts of me. The muscles between my thighs clench as I position my feet on the pedals. I savor the excitement shivering underneath my skin, causing me to flick my tongue over my lower lip. My eyes shoot open, and my vision narrows over the first corner. I tap the accelerator, and it bounces back obediently. Same goes for the brakes and clutch. Good, the car is tuned. Whether to perfection is yet to be determined.

  “You ready?” I say without glancing at my passenger.

  Zamara sucks in a quick breath. I’ll take that as a yes. Gods of racing, please forgive her for she knows not what she does. Foolish, foolish girl.

  A grin makes its way up my lips. “Remember, you can’t faint. No matter what I put this car through, you have to stay conscious, or this is the most you’ll get out of being here.”

  “Just drive,” she says, facing forward. Admiration for her show of grit injects into my system. I bite back a retort. She’ll find out for herself soon enough. Everything will begin at the first corner—the point of no return.

  I
rev the engine. All twelve cylinders sing for me. The Zagato comes to life, a powerful feline purring in delight. I send a silent apology to my GT. Driving someone else’s car is like cheating. I’ll make up for it later. Right now the Zagato rears to go, responsive as a sensitive virgin, ready to be let loose down the mountain path.

  “You may want to close your mouth,” I say when I release the Zagato from its restraints.

  The force of the takeoff pushes Zamara further into her seat. She grips her restraints with both hands. Already she’s breathing hard. I almost laugh. In seconds I go from zero to sixty, braking late into the first corner. The car slides sideways, its nose less than a few centimeters from the apex of the curve. A whimper escapes my passenger.

  A burst of speed comes from the engine on the short downward-facing straight. Like a plane switching to autopilot, my instincts kick in. I’ve driven down Mount Giga countless times. I know every curve like a lover. Upon reaching the entrance to the next corner, I turn my right foot inward, operating the brakes with my toes while using my heel to increase the throttle. I shift from third to second before winding the steering wheel in a smoothly controlled arc toward the corner apex; then I let go as the car drifts around the curve.

  “What are you doing?” Zamara screeches like a startled banshee. Her pretty eyes bulge from their sockets.

  “Checking my eyeliner.” Feeling a bit mischievous, I twist the rearview mirror toward me and turn my face left, then right, focusing my attention on my eyes. Then I reach down and pull out a kohl pencil and apply more on the lower lid of my right eye. “I don’t think I added enough.”

  The car continues to skid around the corner, its bumper meeting with the guardrail. The long strip of metal is a meager defense against plummeting to our deaths. But what can I do? We only live once, right? Red lights from recorders fly by. Hangers-on from behind the rails cheer us on, raising their cameras higher to get the best video of the drift. The drones are capturing this too. Which means her father must be watching. I can only guess what the boss must be thinking. If I’m still alive tomorrow, then he approves of the lesson I’m teaching his daughter. Since this is not a sanctioned run, no bets can be made. I snort as the car’s front bumper zooms by mere inches from the unprotected, easily breakable limbs of the hangers-on.