Page 71 of Fueled Hate

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Kyle gloats, tossing the STI key fob to Andrew as he looks to Dylan. “My little brother needed a shit car for parts.”

“Fuck this,” Bryce says, lunging towards Kyle but Parker steps in front of Bryce, shoving him back as Kyle continues gloating.

“Ya friend lost. The best driver won. Deal with it.”

“Race me, motherfucker. Right now. Winner takes all.”

Kyle rubs his hands along his chin, tsk-tsking. “Nah, I got what I wanted.” Kyle gawks towards me as he motions to his car. “Come on, baby. You can fuck a winner tonight.” Nausea flows through my stomach as Kyle grabs his crotch.

Dylan is quick to move, but Parker is already prepared, stepping in front of him. Andrew shoves a still cackling Kyle towards his ZR1. Thankfully, Kyle drops into the driver’s seat, spinning the tires as he takes off, steering back into the field to do a few more victory donuts, laps, engine revs, and whatever the hell else that will get keep the crowd going. And the majority of them do follow the ludicrous show, making their way to the starting line while a small crowd stays behind.

All I see is Dylan. He stands rigid, shrouded with defeat.

Reaching for him, my fingers brush along his bicep. When he jerks away from me, I jump back, tucking my hand under my arm.

“What the actual fuck, Dylan?”

“That’s enough,” Dylan replies, no emotion in his voice.

Bryce gets in his face, yelling obscenities, but Dylan remains still.

I’m gutted, I can only imagine how Dylan feels. “Stop it, Bryce. It’s bad enough already.”

“Why? Why did you do it?” Bryce demands.

“It’s done. I lost.”

Bryce stands nose to nose with Dylan. “No, you didn’t lose. You let him win.”

“He won.” Dylan remains in place as Bryce finally backs away from him.

“You know that’s bullshit. I know it’s bullshit.” Bryce’s head hangs down as he shakes it before looking up to Dylan. “You let off just before the line.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Did he? Dylan had the lead up until the last second.

“Did you?” I ask as he tenses up, never acknowledging me.

“Sadie, let’s go.” Willow lightly grasps my elbow.

Bryce continues his rant as he shoves Dylan. “This isn’t about him. This isn’t about her. This is about you.” Bryce steps up in Dylan’s face, bringing his finger to Dylan’s temple, pressing it against his head. “Your head is fucked up, and you still got behind the wheel and ran that race.”

“You’re wrong,” Dylan says nonchalantly.

Bryce gawks at him for a few seconds before throwing his hands up in frustration. “Get in the fuckin’ car.” Bryce stomps away, Dylan follows him a few seconds later, and they both drop into the GT-R as Bryce drives off in a fury.

“What the hell just happened?” Willow asks aloud the question I’m thinking.

“He wouldn’t do it on purpose. It was too important.”

“We should go.” Willow loops her arm in mine as we slowly walk back to her car. “Let’s head to your house before it gets too much later.”

The Mustang. I need my car. But I can’t get his defeated, agonizing expression out of my mind. “I need you to take me somewhere else.”

They have to be headed back to Bryce’s hotel, so I ask Willow to head that way. After a few minutes of telling me I should give him some time, she finally gives in and agrees to drive me there but insists on coming to the room with me. Whatever. I need to see him, and Bryce too. The charming, happy-go-lucky guy was more intense than I ever pictured he could be.

We arrive at the hotel, hurrying through the lobby. As we attempt to go upstairs, a desk clerk stops us. Mid-explanation, I hear Bryce say my name from behind. Turning, I see a sullen Bryce standing there. Alone.