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She points to the right. “Around the bend.”
I text Rooster and Dex to let them know we might have found our guys.
Shit, I wish I’d asked Jake or someone else I trusted to come with us. I don’t want Heidi anywhere near the discussion I might be about to have.
“Hey, why don’t you…” I start to ask then realize her attention’s focused somewhere else. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip and little worry lines crease her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, following her line of sight straight to the ugly orange car, lining up to race someone else. “Someone you know?”
“Huh?” Slowly, she turns her head my way, but her gaze lands somewhere over my shoulder. “Looks like a jerk I know from school.”
My fists curl. I’d already had to “chat” with one asshole earlier this year. Some motherfucker who didn’t understand no means no or the significance of the giant rock on Heidi’s left ring finger. Heidi begged me to stay out of it, swore she could handle it herself. I agreed until the day I picked up her phone and read through the garbage he was sending. Shit no self-respecting man should ever say to a woman. Stuff no one was going to say to my woman and go unpunished.
“Someone I need to have a talk with?”
She opens her mouth, hesitates, then shakes her head. “God, no. Please don’t.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“How should I know?” she snaps.
Whoa. Not a tone Heidi ever uses with me. Or anyone really. “Heidi, what’s wrong?”
The lines on her face smooth out, and she flashes a quick smile. “Nothing.”
While I’m studying her, my phone goes off again. “Fuck.”
I flick my thumb across the screen.
Rooster: Where you at?
“Is it Marcel?” Heidi asks.
“No, it’s Rooster. I gotta talk to someone here.”
She stands. “Okay. Let’s go.”
At the bottom of the stands, we stop to watch the orange car lose another race.
I take Heidi’s hand, and she directs us to the time shack. It’s appropriately named. Big enough for maybe one and a half people to stand inside.
Ella’s standing outside the tiny building with Eraser. She grins as soon as she sees Heidi. “Want to ride shotgun with me?”
Perfect.
The girls take off to get ready.
“Ella’s a good driver,” Eraser assures me. “And no one gets near her car.”
Focus. “Where are they?”
Eraser leads me to the parking lot where two greasy guys in leather jackets are yelling and jabbing their fingers into some guy’s chest.
“Two in a row!” one of them screams.
Griff comes up next to me and rests his arm on my shoulder. “That kid had no business running against me. But he made the bet. I won it fair.”
“I saw it. He never had a chance.” I turn to Eraser. “He race here often?”
“Sometimes.”
“Heavy better at the fights, too,” Griff says. “Doesn’t get in the ring himself.”
“I see that.” Kid hasn’t made a move to defend himself yet.
“What’s the plan, Murphy?” Dex asks, coming up behind me with Rooster right next to him.
“I’ll go,” Eraser says. “Back me up?”
“Right behind you.”
Rooster cracks his knuckles and mutters, “Fuck yeah.” Apparently, the earlier skirmish didn’t satisfy him.
We arrive right as the shorter, greasier biker shoves the kid to the ground.
“What’s going on here?” Eraser’s deep, loud voice freezes all three of them in place.
“None of your fucking business,” one of the bikers answers without turning around. He’s got his stringy hair slicked back into a dumbass bun.
Quick like a viper, Eraser’s arm shoots out. He wraps his hand around the guy’s arm and jerks him around to face us. “This is my place. Everything that happens here is my business.”
The shorter guy turns, standing shoulder to shoulder with his accomplice.
The kid they’d been yelling at picks himself up off the ground and slowly backs away.
Short and greasy jabs his finger in Griff’s direction. “He shouldn’t be challenging cars he knows are—”
“Who are you?” Griff steps up, getting in the guy’s face. “His mommy?” He gestures to the taller one. “You the daddy?”
“Fuck you.”
“I offered your boy a chance to look under the hood. Didn’t want to see what he was up against. Not my problem.”
Griff’s so much more reasonable than I would be if some joker accused me of cheating.
Greasy shuts his mouth but doesn’t exactly back away.
“Your boy challenged me,” Griff says. “Not my job to educate him.”
An engine shrieks to life, calling all of our attention to the source. The ugly orange BMW now making a mad dash for the exit.
“We’re all adults here,” Eraser says, stepping up to Griff’s side. “Make our own choices. If he’s racing with your money, then you need to check out the cars.”
“You want a re-match. I’m ready when you are.” Griff makes a big show of searching the parking lot. “What’cha got?”
My gaze drops to the S.O.S. inked into the back of greasy-guy’s hand. Motherfuckin’ South of Satan MC, no doubt.
I step in front of Griff. “What the fuck you doing here, anyway?” I jerk my chin at his tatted hand, and he quickly shoves it in his pocket.
“South of Satan got no business in New York.” I flash a grim smile. “Thought we made this clear to some of your bros not that long ago.” I’m not bragging. Just stating the facts.
He sneers at me without denying he’s with their MC. “It’s like that? You think your crew runs the show out here now?”
That’s not a question worth answering. I step back and cross my arms over my chest. “Where you coming from? East of here is all Lost Kings’ territory. South belongs to the Wolf Knights MC and West is Devil Demons MC. You ain’t riding with any of those clubs, so who the fuck you think you are showing your face here?”
The taller one turns, showing us he’s not sporting any club colors. “We’re not here for our club.”
“Yet, you’re tryin’ to hustle out here, why?”
“None of your fucking business!” the shorter one yells.
I stare that fucker down, but, otherwise, remain utterly calm. “You’re doing business at my friend’s track, so that makes it my club’s business.”
Sure hope this support club thing works out, since
I just basically announced Eraser’s business is under my club’s protection.
The taller one—who seems to be the keeper of the common sense between the two of them—widens his eyes at my announcement. “We need that money.”
“Not our problem,” Rooster says.
“You’re going to regret this,” short guy says.
“You threatening me?” Eraser challenges. “I should’ve booted your asses after that stunt with Granger’s hood.”
Instead of denying they tampered with anyone’s car, the two assholes smirk.
“Time to go.” Remy’s low, threatening tone can’t be mistaken.
The two bikers study us. Six to two. Not even a contest. Any one of us could take both of them out with minimal effort.
“You overplayed your hand,” Eraser says. “Coulda kept quietly bankrolling select racers and making money. But you got greedy.”
Taller one’s common sense seems to fade. He steps up to Eraser. “You owe us money.”
Eraser doesn’t step back an inch. “I don’t owe you shit.”
“Your races are fucking rigged.” Biker number one points a finger at Eraser. “This isn’t the first time you’ve screwed us. No way your bitch beat our driver.”
“Call my wife a bitch again.” Eraser’s deadly tone makes them back away.
“That’s right,” Remy says. “Last fucking chance to leave in one piece.”
“Fuck you,” Biker number two spits.
The two of them walk backwards to their bikes, too scared to turn their backs on us. As they should be.
They tear up the grass on their way out, and Eraser flips them off.
While I was focused on that clusterfuck, I didn’t realize, we’ve attracted quite a crowd. Eraser turns and raises his arms, calling everyone’s attention to him. “No more outside investors. You ain’t got the cash, you don’t race here.”
A couple guys jog over to talk to him. Since the day-to-day details of how he runs the races aren’t my concern, I don’t stick around. How he plans to enforce that rule, I have no idea.
Rooster and Dex follow me a few feet away. “What the fuck was that about?” Rooster asks.
“We had trouble with SOS trying to cozy up to the Wolf Knights a few years ago,” Dex explains. “Their club’s a joke.”
