Dirty Brawler: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (with bonus novel!) (31 page)

I push away the paper in front of me, addressing the reporter directly. “If there is blame to be leveled, it should be directed at the team orders.”

“Team orders?” comes the obvious reply.

“To hamper Andy retaining the championship.”

An explosion of activity and questions follow.

I see Steven seething at the back of the room, but I’m ready for him.

“Is it true you and Andy Fortes are in a romantic relationship?” a girl down the front blurts, thrusting a microphone into my face.

I collect my papers and stand. “That’s all we have time for, sorry.”

Steven waits until I’m away from the press to speak to his mind.

He takes my arm, pressing me up against the stairwell wall. It’s the first time I’ve physically witnessed how dangerous he is.

He looks around to make sure we’re alone.

I shrug him off. “Touch me again and you won’t have an arm.”

He stabs into the air in front of my face with his finger. “You fucking whore. I’m going to ruin you and your precious boyfriend.”

I don’t need to listen to this. He can’t touch me.

I step around him and keep walking down the stairs. “I’d like to see you try.”

Steven

Stacey Solomon and I had a thing when I first came aboard Goodall. It was five minutes in the men’s bathroom at the Hilton Berlin—a glorious five minutes—but that was it. The thing I appreciate about Stacey, however, is that she does everything for a reason, to further herself, even if it means sucking cock after cock after cock. I’m pretty sure she’s been through every heavy hitter in the top tier of Formula One. Good for her.

She’s surprised when I call, but as soon as I mention Andy Fortes, she’s on board. She hasn’t even asked about compensation yet.

“Do you know Sara Young?” I ask.

Her voice comes back sugary, sickly sweet. “Cute little thing. They’re totally fucking, you know.”

Everyone suspects it, but they’re yet to make it official. I act clueless. “Andy and Sara?”

“Yeah,” Stacey replies, “but if you want me to seduce Andy, it’s not going to work. He hasn’t been very receptive to my advances lately.”

“No, not Andy. I need you to focus on Sara.”

A short little laugh. “Girls aren’t really my thing, Steven, and I don’t think Miss Caliber is quite into munching vagina.”

“I don’t want you to seduce her. I need you to invite her to lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“On me, of course, perhaps slip a little something into her drink.”

“And what would that be?”

“Nothing that will do any long-term damage.”

In a way I can’t believe what I’m asking, that these words are actually coming out of my mouth, but desperate times call for desperate fucking measures. People, bad fucking people, will have my head if Andy takes out the championship again. When I can’t pay them back they’re going to take something else instead, and it won’t be my wallet.

With the silence I think I’ve lost her, but then her voice comes back low and thick. “I see, but
that
will cost you.”

I knew she’d come through. “Name your price.”

Andy

Sara’s looking at her phone like it’s an ancient alien artifact. Austin seems like years ago now. She was right. The media forgot about the crash soon enough, not that Steven let it go so easily.

“What’s up?”  I offer.

We’re on top of the Hyatt Hotel, the crazy mass of Mexico City like an ivory spider’s web below. It’s dusty, dry. I don’t think this place has ever seen rain.

Sara slips her phone into her pocket. “I just received a very strange offer.”

“Not another man, I hope?”

She leans against the railing. I want to lift the back of her dress up and fuck her silly. I don’t care if anyone sees us.

She smirks. “A woman.”

“How curious.”

She laughs. “That’s an understatement.”

“Are you going to take her up on it?”

“The offer? I probably shouldn’t, but curiosity is getting the better of me.”

My phone buzzes. They probably need me at the track. Traffic in Mexico City is always a nightmare, “I’ve got to head off, but whatever it is, enjoy. I’ll be waiting.”

Steven

I cannot believe it worked. It wasn’t hard to find Rohypnol here. They’ll sell you anything if you show them enough green.

I knew it would work fast, dropped in red wine where the dye wouldn’t show. I’ve used it before, after all. Stacey might be a slut, but she has a brain and knew how to get it done.

I sling Sara’s arm around my shoulder, Stacey helping me get her into the passenger seat of the hired car. The loading dock is walled on every side, no cameras. I checked.

My heart’s pumping hard, my cock likewise. It’s fucking exciting. I can see why people get off on this.

I prop her up in the seat, looking to Stacey. “How’d you get her out?”

“Told the maître-d’ she’d had a little too much to drink. He seemed used to it, like everyone who comes in here leaves drop-dead drunk.”

I close the door, Sara’s head slumped against the window, her neck at a bad angle.
Fuck it.

I hand Stacey over an envelope. “For all your effort, and not a fucking word, you hear? You’re as implicit in this as I am now.”

She places a finger to her lips. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“This never happened.”

A thin smile opens up on her face. “
What
never happened?”

Good girl.

Mexico City is a fucking horrendous to drive around in, but this is something I couldn’t leave to anyone else. I look over at her and for a moment consider finding a quiet alley and fucking her senseless, but I don’t have the balls.

Like kidnapping her is any better.

I hear my father.
Whatever it takes, Steven. Whatever it takes.

It’s what needs to be done.

At least that’s what I tell myself as we pull into the hotel, palms sweaty.

I get the key from the front desk and bring her in from the back. She’s light as a feather, even unconscious.

I’m sweating an Olympic pool in this heat. I get her into the room, toss her on the bed, taking out a cable tie and cinching her hands tight behind her back.

I tilt her head to the side so she can breathe. The last thing I need is for her to suffocate. I’m not willing to step up to murder just yet. Give it time, though…

I go to tie her ankles, stopping momentarily to lift her skirt and get an eyeful of the snatch Andy’s supposedly so obsessed with. I start to get another chubby, letting her skirt fall back into place.

For a second I think about calling it all off, but it’s gone too far now. I’m committed. I remember the threats, the money at stake—I’m going through with it. I have to. I won’t survive if I don’t.

I take out the burner phone and the vocoder I’ve had for a while. Haven’t used this crap since my days in the corporate trenches.

I’ve got to hand it myself, so far, so good. If all goes to plan, I’ll be five-million dollars richer come morning, every debt I have gone like that.
That
will buy me all the pussy I’ll ever need.

Andy

Somehow it’s even hotter at the Autodromo Hermanos Rodriguez, a real dustbowl of a track. That’s the thing about Mexico. It gives off the illusion that everything is ship-shape, but look closer and it’s all a patch job waiting to fall apart.

I try Sara. I haven’t heard from her since this morning. Lately we’ve been texting each other non-stop. It’s weird. She’s tied to that phone. I’ve never known her to turn it off.
Maybe she really is having a lesbian affair?

I look to Klaus, who’s still busying checking over the car. He’s the only one of these grease monkeys I trust. “So? All good?”

He cleans with hands. “I can’t find anything wrong with it, Andy. I’ve been over it three times.”

“Okay.”

There’s comfort knowing at least the car is up to scratch today. Question is, am I?

I’m running over the track layout when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number.

It could be Sara.

I answer. “Yes?”

The voice that replies is modulated, robotic. “If you want to see your girlfriend again, lose the race.”

I’m caught off guard. I look around expecting to see a masked figure in the distance, but the lot’s empty.
What the fuck?
“Who is this?”

“Lose the race and she will be returned. Win and she’s dead.”

It has to be a joke,
I think.

The line goes dead. I hold the phone, staring at it, unable to comprehend what’s going on, but this is Mexico. People are kidnapped all the time. People are
killed
all the time. Someone’s betting big on this race and they want me to take the fall, or at least that’s how they want it to look. Something about the phrasing tells me this is no joke.

It takes a while for the dread to settle, but when it does I get straight into action.

I try Sara again, but her phone’s still off. In the few minutes I have before race time, I call her sister, then Caliber, but no one’s heard from her. She’s not in her suite, not at the track and no one’s seen her around the pits all day. I’m starting to get very fucking concerned.

The head mechanic is waving me towards the front of the garage. “Andy, it’s time.”

I pace, hands on my head. I have to make a decision soon.

“Shit!” I shout, kicking my boot into the ground.

There’s no way around it. I could call the authorities, but what are they going to do? The race starts in minutes.

It’s a joke, a bluff.

My phone buzzes again. I swipe across to a picture of Sara lying on a bed, hands tied behind her back, eyes closed.

Fuck.

I can’t take the risk. I have to lose.

*

I make mistakes, but they’re calculated. I keep on Carl, keep the pressure up.
I’m going to lose,
I tell myself,
but it’s not going to be by much.

Even if I wasn’t deliberately trying to throw in the towel, I’m not sure I could take this one out. Carl’s driving like a man with something to prove, taking big risks and pushing the limits.

Coming into the last lap, I see an opening down his right. I could make it, surprise him with a switch. I almost do it by instinct until I picture Sara, lost, hurt… abandoned.
Get her back.

I ease up on the throttle and let Carl cross the line, pushing through in second and slipping ten points behind Carl in overall. It’s not the Grand Canyon, but it’s not going to be easy to claw my way back either.

As soon as I’m out of the car, I’m running to the desk for my phone.

I notice Steven is missing, can’t recall hearing him at all on comms during the race. If he’s behind this, he’s going to pay.

The phone rings in my hand. I answer. “Yes.”

The voice: “Hotel Sombario, room fifty-five.”

I throw the phone down.

“Andy!” calls Klaus. “Post-race briefing,” but I’m already running to the back of the pits.

I flag down the first taxi I can find out on the road.

*

Hotel Sombario is on the outskirts of Mexico City, little more than a white-washed building surrounded by squalor.

I run in, run right past the front desk and up the stairs.

I find Room Fifty-Five, covered in sweat and breathing hard. The place stinks, rancid. A call girl smiles walking past, if it’s even a girl at all.

I knock. “Sara!” but there’s no answer.

Fuck this.
I’m so wired I can hardly think. I stand back and kick in the door, wood splintering off the hinges.

I run in, finding her face down on the bed.

No. God, no.
I flip her over, fingers at her neck. There’s a pulse.

Her eyes open, glassy. “Andy?”

I pull her close. She’s clammy, cold, but she’s alive. “Jesus, I thought I’d lost you.”

“Andy?” she says, confused. “Where am I?”

I hold her away. “What do you remember? Who did this to you?”

She sits up, woozy, hand to her forehead and eyes struggling to adjust to the light. “I went to lunch with Stacey. I ordered a salad…”

“And?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, I… can’t remember.”

I shake her. “Think. It’s important.”

“Andy,” she says, eyes wide as she takes in the hotel room, “what’s going on?”

“Do you remember anything else?”

She lowers her head. “No.”

“Sara!” I shout, patience lost.

She starts to tear up, terror filling her features.

I take her by the back of the head, pull her to my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I thought I’d lost you.”

She leans back. “What happened, Andy? Tell me.”

“I think you were drugged.”

“Drugged?”

“But you’re okay now. You’re safe. Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of this shithole.”

I help Sara to her feet, ignore a maid yelling at us in fiery Spanish me as we pass.

I place three hundreds down on the front desk as we walk by. “For the door.”

The clerk picks up it, confused.

I help Sara into the passenger seat of the waiting taxi, let her sleep while I consider what to do.

I have no doubt Steven was behind this somehow, especially if Stacey was involved, but I can’t prove it, not yet. Until I can, I need to think. I need to get ahead of him—whatever it takes. He hasn’t even begun to fathom the darkness and fucking fire I can summon when required.