Page 10 of Racer (Iron Rogues MC #15)

RACER

I stood on the upper platform of the crew box with Kane, Edge, and Emily, my arms braced against the metal railing as we watched one of Kane’s boys tear through the course in the final race before mine.

Miller was a Redline King, a hell of a driver, and one of Kane’s oldest friends.

I’d met him years back when I started racing pro.

He had a quick wit and was smoother behind the wheel than most people were on their best day walking. We’d become good friends.

“Fucking hell. The air here is thick enough to chew,” I griped.

My clothes had become a second skin, and the humidity made every breath feel like it had weight. It was nearly ten p.m., but the floodlights overhead lit the entire lot as though it were high noon in hell.

I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe away the sweat trickling down the sides of my face. When I looked up, I caught Emily eyeing my abs and grinned. Her gaze bounced up to mine when I dropped the damp fabric, and I winked, letting her know she’d been caught ogling. Not that I minded.

Her cheeks bloomed red, but she just shrugged and turned back to watching the race.

Damn. Everything about this woman tempted me.

Shaking my head, I chuckled and returned my attention to the cars.

Miller was in the lead, as expected. His silver and red Dodge Challenger glinted under the lights, dipping and diving through turns with calculated aggression. But as he came into the third hairpin, something was off.

I felt it in my gut before I could name it. Call it instinct born of years of racing. Years of wrecks. And years of watching men die for less than a split-second mistake.

Miller should’ve braked, throttled back, and clipped the inside curve. Instead, the car surged.

“Did he just…?” Emily’s voice was tight.

Dread sat in my stomach like a lead weight.

The engine growled, louder than it should’ve. The car didn’t downshift. It lurched and overcorrected. He swerved to avoid clipping the wall, and I saw the moment he tried to stop—desperately stabbing the brakes, steering into the skid—but the Charger didn’t respond.

“The lights on the dash are still lit up,” I told Kane, already moving.

“What the fuck—” Kane bit out as he followed.

The car twisted again, then slammed nose-first into the barrier on the far end of the track, just shy of the pit entrance. The crowd roared in confusion and panic as the impact sent the car spinning out, tires locked, body rattling.

Then the worst happened.

The front end caught fire. Not just smoke. Flames.

“FUCK!” I started running.

Kane was at my heels, shouting into his comm. Edge jumped off the platform, cutting through the pit crew like a knife.

Miller’s car had stalled partially sideways. Fire danced from beneath the hood, licking toward the windshield, bright orange against the gloss of steel. I slid across the asphalt, my boots skidding as I reached the driver’s side.

The fucking engine was still running. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I yanked on the door, but it was locked—jammed from the impact. Smoke was filling the cabin fast.

“Miller!” I shouted, pounding on the glass. His eyes were fluttering—barely conscious.

“Shut it down!” Kane roared behind me.

“I fucking can’t !” Edge shouted back, trying the kill switch near the wheel well.

Emily was suddenly beside us, fire extinguisher in hand, blasting the flames near the hood as I shouted at Miller again, pounding harder on the window. My blood was surging with white-hot adrenaline.

“Stand back!” I bellowed, hauling back with everything I had and slamming my boot into the side window once, twice—glass spiderwebbed—then a third time until it shattered inward. Miller would have some cuts, but they’d be nothing compared to the burns if we didn’t get him the fuck out of that car.

Flames popped somewhere beneath the engine block, and a fresh tongue of fire shot toward the windshield.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Edge reached through the busted window and popped the latch from the inside, then I yanked the door open. Kane grabbed Miller’s arm as I used the knife from my waistband to cut the harness.

Miller was limp. Singed and bleeding. But still alive.

We dragged him out seconds before the flames reached the fuel line. I felt the heat change—the pressure shift—and I shoved Kane hard just as the entire front end detonated.

The blast threw me back, blinding my eyes with the sudden light. I landed hard on my shoulder, ears ringing, and the world reeling.

And that was when the rage hit.

Not just from the pain in my ribs or the raw scorch of my palms from dragging Miller out of a burning coffin—but the truth I was now certain of.

This wasn't a performance failure. And it wasn’t some random malfunction.

Someone had fucked with that car. And they had meant to kill him.

Not sideline him. Not make a statement. Fucking kill . Just like they’d tried with Emily’s brother.

I pushed myself to my feet, blood thudding behind my ears, and my hands were shaking. Whether it was from the impact or fury didn’t really matter.

Kane called for medics as he knelt over Miller, his expression twisted into something half feral. Edge paced, fists clenching and unclenching, his face dark with murderous intent. Emily held the extinguisher with white knuckles, her mouth pressed tight, eyes locked on Miller.

Sirens sliced through the roar of the crowd—the firemen on their way to join the others currently trying to douse the fire.

“You see it?” I asked, voice low and ragged, looking at Kane. “That delay? He tried to kill the engine, and it didn’t respond.”

Kane’s eyes snapped to mine. “Son of a bitch. An ECU override.”

I scrubbed my hands over my face. “Had to be. And a fuel line rupture. Maybe the seal. It was fucking deliberate.”

“That was a hit.”

I nodded slowly, my eyes returning to my friend who was being loaded into an ambulance on a stretcher. “They wanted him dead, Kane. Not out of the race. Fucking dead.”

Edge stalked over to join us, his eyes black with rage. “The explosion was too clean. Someone planned this.”

“They’re making a point,” I growled, watching the last of the car collapse inward. “And I fucking got it.”

This wasn’t just sabotage. This was a message.

It was for all of us, but especially for me .

That was a bullet meant to graze the side of my skull.

We see you. Back off. Or you’re next.

I stared at the flames as the medics slammed the doors shut on the rig, the wail of the ambulance already blaring in the background.

The sound of the impact was still in my ears, the scraping metal like nails on a chalkboard.

And the sight of the car when the engine refused to shut down even as fire ate through the hood played on a loop in my mind.

It was the kind of thing you never forgot because it was tattooed into your fucking soul.

For a few minutes, I didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just watched.

Until I felt Emily beside me, her fingers brushing my arm.

I turned slowly toward her. The wrath inside me didn’t ebb, but just seeing her next to me, unharmed, brought relief.

There was soot on her cheekbone, and her hair had fallen out of its bun, hanging loose around her face.

Her spine was rigid, her jaw was clenched tight, and her cheeks flushed from heat.

She looked pissed, determined, and so fucking brave.

But I could see the fear swimming in her eyes, something she allowed only me to see.

Needing to touch her, I brushed my thumb over her cheek, clearing away some of the ash. I wanted to comfort her and offer reassurance, but all I could think about was blood.

“My friend almost died tonight,” I said, my ragged voice quiet and even. “That was one of us in that car. One of our own. Again.”

She nodded, her lip trembling slightly, but she still didn’t break. Not even when she whispered, “It was just like that.”

“What was, angel?”

“My brother’s accident. It was so similar…”

Shit. It hadn’t occurred to me that this would bring that memory screaming back. I had no fucking idea how she held it together, and it showed me just how damn strong she was.

“They were trying to scare us,” I growled, teeth bared. “They fucked up because I don’t get scared, I get angry. And I get fucking justice.”

Edge stepped up next to me, his jaw flexing. “Went after another Redline King. Doesn’t get more personal.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice sharper than steel. “And now I’m gonna make it fucking messy.”

I didn’t bother trying to rein in my rage and deadly intent. The warnings had been delivered, but they were like a red flag being waved in front of an angry bull.

If Dez Franklin’s crew was behind this, they’d made one very critical mistake.

They’d tried to kill another brother.

Now they were mine.

And I wasn’t walking away until every last one of them bled.