Faster (Stark Ink, #3) (14 page)

A new kind of excitement built in her, alongside her desire for him. They came together in a swirling mass that threatened to overtake her. She struggled to get her pounding heart back under control.

She took one last lick of his salty, sweet skin and looked up at him.

“Foreplay?” she asked breathlessly.

H
er budding excitement slowly turned to dread as they followed the GPS on her phone to a location deep in the Badlands. She parked off to the side of the gathering crowd and frowned.

“I know this route,” she told Emilio as she surveyed the canyons around them. “I’ve raced here before.” She turned and scowled at Weasel who was counting bills and taking bets. He caught her gaze and smirked at her. “Damn it,” she whispered.

Emilio frowned. “What’s the problem?”

Ava tore her eyes from the grotesque amount of bank Weasel was making and looked at Emilio. “He sabotaged the track on the last race,” she informed him.

Emilio nodded. “I figured. That last turn was too torn up to be natural.” He glared at the younger man. “Someone could’ve gotten hurt.”

“But they didn’t,” Ava reminded him. “So, now we’re
here
.”

His brows knitted together. “What are you saying? That he didn’t get the crash he wanted, so he’s trying to stage another one?”

“Pretty much.”

As they made their way to the start line, Emilio glanced down the long track in front of them. Two lines of flares stretched out before them, out into the darkness. “I don’t get it,” he said finally. “Looks fine. Straight line to the finish. What could be easier?”

Ava shook her head. “The fire road’s narrower than it looks. Flash floods come fast and hard during the rainy season. They tear into the dirt and create holes and ruts. The Department of Wildlife Services has a limited budget. They only repair the damage enough to drive utility trucks back and forth.”

She nodded off to the side of the “road.” “You can’t see them well at night, but there are ruts, holes, in some places huge arroyos
on both sides
.” It’s wide enough for two bikes, side-by-side, you know,
if you’re careful and courteous.”
She smirked at the group of riders assembling at the start line.

“Christ,” Emilio grunted. He reached for her arm. “Let’s ditch this shit,” he suggested. “It’s not worth it.”

Ava glanced at Weasel and back to the track. She wasn’t happy about being back here, but there was nothing she could do about the location. She shook her head. “It’s not that bad,” she replied. “Get ahead and stay ahead. That’s the way to win.”

“Ava,” he argued, “it’s not worth getting hurt over. It’s just a few hundred dollars.”

“It’s more than that. Tougher tracks mean a higher payout. Especially ones we
know
are high risk. It’ll be more than a few hundred,” she told him, turning back toward Weasel. “Might even be a thousand.”

God knew Ava could use the money, even though she doubted she could buy her way out of Clint’s little club. She nudged her Honda away from Emilio and toward the crowd of betters off to the side.

Emilio called after her, but she ignored him.

She weaved her way through the spectators, separating herself from Emilio and his insistence that they leave. It just wasn’t an option for her.

Weasel smirked at her as she handed over her entry fee. “Drive safe, now!” he bellowed as she turned away.

Ava gave him the finger.

She could hear Emilio calling her, but he was being drowned out by the rowdy crowd. She pretended not to notice as she headed for the Start line. Once she was on the line, she flipped her visor down and glanced back. Emilio was hanging back, on the edge of the crowd. He looked pissed off.

Ava had almost expected him to leave, but she watched as he dug into his pocket and drew out his own stack of bills. Angrily, he slammed them into Weasel’s hand. Ava frowned and looked at the riders on the line. She vaguely recognized a few of them. No outright cheaters but hard riders who weren’t going to go easy on a noob or a girl.

She chewed her lip and ran her hands on her grips. The last thing she wanted was for Emilio to get hurt—by Clint, by the Buzzards, by racing. She was confident she could beat him. This time. He didn’t know the track the way she did. He’d be too cautious, too conservative with his speed.

It might not be enough to ensure his safety, though.

He parked beside her on the line and turned to face her fully. “We can’t do this,” he announced. “This is crap. This is suicide.” He glanced nervously at the other riders, as though any one of them might be plotting their deaths.

Ava doubted it would come to that.

She pulled up her hair, ignoring his words. He grabbed her arm. “Why are you doing this?” he hissed quietly. “Are you trying to impress me? Show me how tough you are? Because this isn’t the way, Ava. This—”

She gaped at him, irritated as hell that he thought she was racing for him. She might be into him, but she’d been doing this long before they’d ever met, thank you very much. “This has
nothing
to do with you!” she snapped. “And if you can’t hack it, you should go home.”

It was a shitty thing to say, but he’d be better off anyway, for a whole host of reasons.

“This is fucking ridiculous! You don’t need to do this!”

“I need the money!” she bit out, then regretted it. It was truer now than it’d ever been before. She’d started racing to save for a trip to the Grand Canyon. Now, she might be using the money to leave. Permanently. But she didn’t need him to know that, or
want
him to know. “Plus, I do what I want,” she snapped, grabbing her helmet. “You don’t get to tell me shit. You don’t get to tell me to stop racing.”

His jaw dropped. “I’m not
telling
you to do anything!” he protested. “I’m
saying
it’s more dangerous than I realized and
no one
should do it! Honestly, Ava, let’s just—”

Ava revved her engine loudly, drowning out his words. Other racers on the line tweaked their own engines in anticipation.

Emilio glared at her. “Look!” he shouted. “I don’t—”

But the skank appeared, squeezing her (probably) padded ass between them. She ran her hand along Emilio’s thigh.

Ava fought the urge to grab her by the hair and speed off, drag her for a few hundred yards. Watching her touch him was pure hell. Ava wanted him, wanted him yet couldn’t really have him. Between Clint and the Buzzards, it just wasn’t a good idea.

She was used to giving up things, though. Especially lately. Hell, even her own
identity,
as more and more Pop confused her for her mother during his episodes.

She couldn’t save Mom from cancer. And she couldn’t save Pop from his Alzheimer’s. But she could save Emilio. From her mistakes.
From her.

Instead of cat fighting with the skank, Ava looked away, like it didn’t matter, like she couldn’t care less. Anger and loss burned in her chest. She revved her engine again to distract herself.

The skank made her way to the front of the line. Though every part of her tried to resist, Ava flicked her eyes, behind her visor, toward Emilio. She was relieved to see that he was still pissed, still glaring at her. He wasn’t interested in anyone else, not that one, anyway.

Ava was content with that. He deserved better.

She leaned forward, ready to launch off the line. She had to get ahead and stay ahead. And she knew Emilio would be right behind her, where she could see him. He was better off at the rear, with no one fighting to overtake him, but she knew he wouldn’t settle for that.

The skank raised her arms, enjoying her moment. Just before she signaled, though, someone farther down jumped off the line. Ava and the skank cursed in unison, both having had their moment spoiled. Ava released the clutch and her Honda surged forward.

Some spectators shouted angrily, but she knew Weasel wouldn’t pull them back and start over. He was no doubt enjoying the drama. The rest of the line followed, not willing to risk precious seconds, the whole race, the finish line.

Ava roared past the skank and down the fire road, quickly gaining on the Premature Prick in front of her. She wondered where Emilio was, if he was right behind her, but couldn’t risk a look.

Loose-packed dirt flung from the Prick’s rear tire and bounced off her visor. Her own wheels were fighting for traction, kicking up dust. It hadn’t rained, which was both good and bad. No mud, but the loose top layer was just as dangerous. And previous rainstorms had still left their mark. The ditches on either side of her looked like yawning Grand Canyons in their own right. To catch a wheel on them would be disaster.

It was a short track, a near straight line, no time for strategy or even room for one. Anyone who tried to pass would be close enough to reach out and touch the other rider. You had to have nerves of steel to even try.

The Prick was ahead of her, basking in the glory of his half-second lead off the start line. Up ahead, the track curved just slightly, but the glow of the finish line was visible, if just barely.

Ava had to make a move, now, while she still had time to get a lead and hold onto it. She inched closer, weighing her options. She didn’t know this rider, couldn’t recall seeing him before. She had no idea what he’d do when faced with the very real prospect of losing the race. She’d have to risk it, she realized, as they sped into the final hundred yards. It was the only way to win.

She revved her bike, opening up the engine fully. The blast was muffled by her helmet. She moved up farther, churning up rocks and debris, struggling to stay upright in the tight space. His rear tire spun furiously, right next to her right leg. Getting caught in it might kill them both. She pushed harder, trying to overtake him.

He saw her then, turned his head a fraction of an inch. Ava took a deep breath and held firm to her gas line. Just before she came alongside, she saw his leg twitch, hesitate for a split second. And just like that, he made his decision.

She saw his leg come up, committed this time. He extended his boot. He was going to kick her into the ditch.

Ava’s hands took over, moved on their own. Instead of trying to push forward, out of his reach, or letting off the throttle and falling behind (giving up any hope of a lead), she swerved. Not toward the side of the fire road, as most people would have done purely on instinct. But into the road, into his bike,
into him
.

If his leg hadn’t been extended, if he hadn’t been trying to cheat, they would’ve ridden side by side, the faster bike winning out in the final yards. But her bike connected with his boot, pushing him off to the right. He was off balance, moving too fast. Possibly he was shocked that she’d risk such a move in the first place.

Ava was kind of amazed herself.

He swerved, too. Too much, too hard. If he’d put his leg down and tried to finish fairly, he might have even won. But it was too late now. They’d never know. He’d punched his own ticket when he’d tried to kick her off the road, probably even before that, when he’d tried to beat everyone off the jump and gain himself a second or two.

He wiped out. Ava could see it out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t dare look back, not to him or anyone coming up behind him who might try to do the same.

She gave her Honda everything she had, thighs squeezing tight for the ride until they burned, grip so firm that her hands were like stone— immovable, intractable.

She could do nothing
but
win. Her very
cells
wouldn’t allow anything else.

If anyone came up behind, she couldn’t hear them. As she approached the line, marked by two burning trash barrels and a jumble of cheering bodies, she felt nothing but the speed, the power of near-flight. She sailed past them, beyond her need of them. The bike, the ride—for a split-second, it was all she knew.

It was perfect.

She slowed to a crawl as reality crept back in, entirely unwelcome in her buzzing brain. Weasel appeared beside her, waving a stack of cash. Ava tried to ignore him, focusing on the crowd, searching for Emilio, but he pushed the wad at her. She swiped her hand at it, trying to hide the fact that she was still shaking.

Weasel slammed the prize money into her leathered palm, grinning like a goddamn Cheshire cat. He didn’t care that the Prick had false started. He didn’t care that the guy had wiped out several hundred yards away. Hell, he probably loved it. Risk versus reward. Or the risk
was
the reward, at least in his opinion.

“Fuck yeah!” he screamed at her. Apparently his take had been so good that he forgot his dislike of her.

He clapped her on the thigh and she pushed him away, disgusted.

She pulled away from the crowd immediately, cash shoved in her zippered pocket. She searched the crowd again, holding her breath as her eyes slid over bikes and helmets and too-bright halogen lights.

She found him. Safe. A small cry escaped her lips, trapped in her helmet where no one else could hear.

He was ahead of the other riders. He must have come in second. The skank tried to push through the crowd and grab at him, but he made a beeline for Ava, instead.

Her instinct was to go to him, meet him halfway, but she pulled a 180 instead, leaving him behind her. She didn’t ride far, though. To the edge of the crowd and just beyond, where they could hear each other, talk without shouting.

She pulled up short and planted her foot on the dirt. As he came up beside her, she tugged off her helmet.

“Goddammit!” he snarled as he pulled off his own. “That was bullshit, Ava! Complete bullshit!”

“Are you okay?” It was obvious that he was, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking anyway.

He gaped at her. “You could’ve been killed!”

She wanted to shrug, pass it off as business as usual, but it wasn’t. No one had ever tried to kick her off her bike before. Her pulse was still pounding in her ears. Adrenaline coursed through her body, making it rigid, edgy.

“It’s never been like that before,” she admitted. “Never that bad.” She glanced past him, back toward the fire road. “Is... is he dead?”