Page 8 of Kane

Devon was in trouble. Whatever he’d gotten tangled up in had something to do with Kane Beckett.

My brother might be the one who joined the police academy and wore the badge, but I could out-stubborn him any day of the week. And I would do just about anything to protect the only real family I had left, even if it meant stepping into the lion’s den.

4

KANE

The moon hung heavy overhead, spilling pale light across the cracked asphalt and dented metal bleachers. It was just past midnight, but the heat hadn’t broken. The scent of scorched rubber and hot exhaust hung in the air, clinging to the humidity that wrapped itself around me like a second skin.

Even the other lifelong Floridians looked uncomfortable as they shifted in their seats and fanned their red faces. But still, there was high energy buzzing through the crowd.

Engines screamed across the track, low and vicious, the kind of sound that vibrated in your chest and straight down to your toes. My boots crunched over the gravel as I stepped into the pit lane, the roar of modified motorcycles cutting through the rest of the noise like thunder.

This wasn’t some sanctioned event with prize banners and safety barriers. No, this track—tucked into an abandoned airstrip miles off the grid—was the kind of place that bred legends and buried the rest.

Illegal. Unforgiving. And mine.

My road captain had a new ride. She was purring like a beast, her black frame sleek as sin under the pit lights. Axlewas crouched beside it, fine-tuning the clutch with a small hex wrench, his jaw tight with focus. Grease stained the ends of his fingers, and his cut hung open over a sweat-dampened shirt, but it was obvious he was in love with his new lady.

“That bike better fuck you like she loves you,” I muttered with a grin as I stopped beside him.

Axle didn’t look up. “She’s the only thing I’ve ridden lately that didn’t disappoint.”

I scoffed. “Like you’ve been riding anything else.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Axle with a woman besides his sister. Definitely before he’d been in a coma after a bad wreck during a race. Not that I had any room to judge.

Axle chuckled. “I have the perfect woman, right here.”

“She’s twitchy in the back end,” I noted, studying the curve of the tires. “Shifts her weight mid-sprint.”

“She likes to be teased,” he said with a smirk. “If you know how to touch her.”

“I’d rather not get into your kinks.”

Axle snorted, tightening the final bolt before standing. “Something on your mind, Prez?”

My gaze tracked the next rider speeding past, one of the two semi-pros I sponsored through a back-door team. Not club members, but good enough to keep the heat on our competitors. “I want eyes on the prize tonight. Smoke ’em clean, but don’t make it look easy. I want ’em just cocky enough to bet bigger next time.”

Axle rolled his shoulders and jerked his chin up. “You got it.”

The speakers crackled, announcing the final heat. He swung his leg over the bike and fired it up, the engine snarling with anticipation.

Before I could take a step back, Jax slid up beside me like a shadow in motion.

“Prez,” he said quietly.

I didn’t look at him. Whatever it was could wait. “This about the proxy team? I already know. We’ll debrief after the race.”

“It’s not the race,” Jax said, voice low but deliberate. “We need to talk.”

Frowning, I followed when he walked to a quieter, more isolated spot. “It’s a woman.”

I turned my head, slow and sharp. “What woman?”

“One who’s been asking around Crossbend. About you.”

My jaw flexed. “You pulled me out of a heat because some bored tourist got curious?”

Jax shot me a frown as he adjusted his ball cap with our team logo on it. “She’s not just asking about you. She mentioned Devon Quincy, too.”