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“It’s spelled with a Y.” She shrugs a tiny shoulder, then loops her arm around mine. As if he has a sixth sense, Koen takes that moment to turn around and give a fiercely protective look. I hold my opposite hand up in surrender and raise my brows back at him.Message received,my hands tell him. Not long after, Kydd turns as well. He nudges Koen with an elbow. Begrudgingly, Koen turns back around.
“Spelled with a Y. That makes sense. Can’t say I’ve ever seen that. It’s nice.”
“I don’t mind it.”
Somehow, I let her guide me to the double-door entrance of the building. All joking and poking fun stops between the brothers as Kydd hangs back and holds the door open for Dyana and me. My step falters for a split second, but I don’t stop. Dyana doesn’t miss the misstep, though. Her grip on me tightens, and she looks up at me. Her expression is even yet leaning toward encouragement.
“I’m guessing I don’t have a choice,” I mutter and for once, my heart rate spikes. It doesn’t stay up for long as I manage to breathe it off the ledge. It’s nice to know that my calm has its limits, I guess. I’m the kind of person who could lose traction of a back tire and slide or experience a speed wobble and be totally fine whereas some guys would have to pull over and collect themselves. I’m just not a jumpy guy once the race gets going. But this moment has me a little on edge. I’m not sure what I’m walking into.
It isn’t Dyana who answers, but her brother. “‘Fraid not.” Kydd drapes his arm over my shoulder. He’s got about four inches on me and is nearly double my build. Formidable and not at all who I’d expect to be named Kydd. His dark hair is long like Spencer’s but his is in horrible disarray, as if he couldn’t be bothered to do a thing with it other than run his fingers through the length repeatedly.
“Do I get any sort of heads up, or are you just tossing me to the wolves?”
“They aren’t wolves unless you give them a reason to be,” he says, and Dyana scoffs.
“Kydd, don’t be dramatic.”
“Hush, Dy,” Koen calls from in front of us as the door swings shut behind us, closing us in. I’d say it’s an ominous feeling, but Kydd’s warning eases my mind. Just keep my cool and tell the truth like I’ve been doing and shit is going to be just fine. I may not have asked for this in particular, but I did sign up for it when I followed them back.
“Got it,” I tell them. The crew leads me to a room in the back after crossing over the main part of the warehouse. I would think this was actually a working factory from the looks outside, but it’s housing what looks to be rare cars. I can’t tell one hundred percent because they’ve covered them, but I know the low, wide look of a supercar. They aren’t hard to spot.
Kydd notices me looking at the cars and says, “Now that you’ve seen them, the Hellions own you.”
My gaze bounces to him and he smirks. I can’t tell if it’s a good smirk or a bad one. I know I won’t forget his warning though. If word gets out about these cars, it’ll be my head on a spike.
Automatic loyalty.
Spencer is on the side of the table closest to me, with his back facing us. The other guy, the older one that drives the Chaser, has his sights locked on me as soon as I fill the doorway with Dyana latched onto me.
“Johnson, take a seat.” Spencer doesn’t turn around or greet any of us. He doesn’t sound too happy at all.
“I’m good with standing, but thanks.” Dyana squeaks beside me and her little body tries to urge me toward the table, but I won’t budge, because I’m not burying myself in a room full of Hellions. I know better than that.
“Johnson, this is Ilya Hendrix.” His head tilts to the other side of the table. I’ve heard that name before. He’s a former professional drifter. A few years back, he quit at the top of his game.
“Open container in a park. No other arrests or charges,” Ilya rattles off in a flat tone. I nod and laugh.
“You guys don’t waste any time.”
“You show up on my mountain driving like that, then follow us back here without batting an eye. Yeah, I’m going to run some shit on you.”
“Understandable. You have a lot here to protect.” This statement draws his attention back to me. His hard eyes are dark, speculative, almost black, but there is a glint of respect.
“You’re right. There is a lot here to protect.” There’s another warning in there somewhere. One that I will heed. He will do anything to protect his guys.
“You raced on Landon Johnson’s team.” It isn’t a question, but an uncomfortable truth.
“Rich boy,” Spencer grunts. I didn’t think I was his favorite person, but the way he said that, I’m thinking he doesn’t want me here at all. I get it. New people are hard to trust, but they’re the ones that brought me here.
“Not anymore. Left the team, left his house,” I correct gently. “Renting a room in my buddy’s apartment.”
“Driving around in a BMW 328i—”
My hackles raise and I cut him off, using my observations to stand my ground. “Says the one in a Japanese classic. S14. It’s worth, what a cool fifteen to twenty grand even though it’s almost thirty years old? Not to mention what’s under the hood. Kydd’s got a fucking E30, a rare classic—six-hundred of them made—at about seventy-five grand and Koen is riding around in a Mercedes E53, A.M.G. Those things aren’t even manual, yet somehow he has a six-speed manual transmission. How much did that cost? And you’re worried about my car?” The room goes silent for a moment before Bridger and Kydd begin to chuckle.
“Just have to go with your gut sometimes,” Ilya tells Spencer, who huffs out small breaths from his nose as his shoulders jump. He’s laughing? I’m lost. Clearly, I’m not following what is happening here. “You’re in.”
Ilya’s words leave me puzzled as he stands, swipes his phone from the table, and makes his way toward the door. He stops to kiss Dyana on the cheek before he goes. Koen and Bridger follow silently, but Kydd stays.
