Page 14 of Racer (Iron Rogues MC #15)

EMILY

T he low hum of a phone buzzing on the nightstand pulled me from sleep. I stirred against the warm weight of Jude’s body, blinking as sunlight filtered through the blinds. His arms were wrapped tightly around me, one hand resting low on my hip.

I wasn’t in a hurry to move, but then it buzzed again, and he reached across me and grabbed it. He squinted at the screen, the faint lines around his mouth tightening.

“Kane,” he muttered.

That pulled me a little more awake. “Everything okay?”

Jude didn’t answer right away. His thumb tapped out a quick reply, then he tossed the phone onto the mattress with a sigh and rubbed a hand over his jaw, the stubble rasping beneath his fingers.

“What’d he say?”

“He wants us in his office.” Jude’s gaze met mine. “Said to bring you.”

My pulse kicked up. “Why?”

“Didn’t say.” He gave me a kiss before climbing out of bed, grabbing his jeans, and tugging them on. “But after last night, I’m guessing it’s not just a friendly check-in.”

I sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around my waist. “You think it’s about the sabotage?”

“That or maybe Deviant found something.” He tossed me one of his shirts, and I didn’t hesitate to pull it on. I liked wearing them because they carried his scent, but Jude preferred me in them because they hid what he considered his. “Either way, we’ll know soon.”

Based on what Jude had told me, the Iron Rogues’ hacker could dig up anything if given enough time. So I wouldn’t be surprised if his guess turned out to be correct.

Once we were dressed, Jude moved to the door and glanced back at me. “You good?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Just a little nervous.”

He crossed the room in two strides, leaning down to press a quick, firm kiss to my lips. “Don’t be. Whatever’s coming, we’ll face it together.”

I might’ve only known him for a few weeks, but I didn’t doubt his sincerity. Without him, I probably would've fallen apart over Mason still being in a coma. But finding love under the worst circumstances gave me hope. Even though I hadn’t actually said those three little words to him yet.

Kane’s office wasn’t fancy, especially considering he’d tipped into the billionaire range last year. But it had presence, same as the man behind the desk. Calm on the surface, dangerous underneath.

Jude and I stepped inside, and Kane gestured for us to sit, wasting no time as he folded his arms over his chest. “Deviant’s been tracking the serial numbers from the tampered components.

Turns out the same altered parts show up in multiple rigs.

Different builds, different teams, all tied to underground circuits. ”

Jude’s jaw flexed beside me. “Coordinated.”

“Exactly.” Kane nodded. “The shipments were routed through a shell distributor. On the surface, everything looks clean. But we followed the money. The supplier’s a front with a silent partner behind it.”

I’d suspected something big, but this sounded like it was on another level.

I leaned forward slightly. “Who?”

Kane’s expression turned to granite. “Dez Franklin.”

After what Jude told me about the guys who’d threatened him, I wasn’t exactly surprised. But hearing our suspicions confirmed still knocked the air out of me.

“He has his hands in more than just the betting rings,” Kane continued. “He’s part owner in at least three of the underground teams we’ve been watching. All the ones that have had ‘technical issues’ at just the right time. Or suddenly surged to win after a competitor dropped out.”

Jude didn’t say a word, but the tension in his frame was almost tangible.

A knock on the door interrupted the moment, and Kane called out, “Yeah?”

The door opened, and Jax stepped in. He was the Redline Kings version of Deviant, maybe not quite at the same level—unless Kane and Mason had been keeping secrets about his skills. Which wouldn’t shock me, considering this was the first time I had been included in club business, thanks to Jude.

“Got it,” he announced, eyes lit with triumph.

“I finally cracked the encrypted ledger from the betting syndicate about ten minutes ago.

The teams backed by the kingpin all exhibit abnormal win-loss ratios, often tied to suspicious crashes or sudden performance shifts. We're talking race after race.”

“Throwing them and rigging results,” Jude muttered, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“And profiting off every damn one,” Jax added. “But now we have names, data, and patterns. Enough to make them sweat.”

Kane gave a grim nod. “We finally know who’s dirty and who we’re going to burn down.”

Jude smirked. “And which team owners we can approach with a plan.”

He sounded so sure, so in control. It made me want to crawl into his lap and never leave.

I snorted at the totally inappropriate thought that maybe then I’d finally learn what promise he’d made to Kane. All three men looked at me, and I pressed my lips together as I waved off their concern.

“Sorry. Just looking forward to making these guys pay so Mason doesn’t wake up wondering what we’ve been doing all these weeks.”

None of them looked convinced I was really okay. Jude flung his arm over the back of my chair, and Kane’s eyes narrowed slightly. His expression shifted, making him less like a club president and more like a protective pseudo big brother.

Jax sat down and waited to see what happened next.

“There’s more,” Kane said quietly.

Jude’s arm brushed my shoulders as he straightened. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Not when my gut told me that this wasn’t going to be about strategy or takedowns. Or even revenge.

He needed to tell me something about Mason.

Kane glanced at Jax, who gave a small nod and mumbled something about giving us a minute before backing out of the office.

“Deviant and Jax have been digging into your brother’s data logger,” Kane told me.

I froze, my stomach doing an unpleasant flip. “I thought it was too damaged.”

“It was pretty damn bad,” he agreed with a sharp nod. “But Jax and Deviant split the load between them. One took the rig’s onboard system, the other tackled the backup telemetry. They worked around the corrupt data and found a sliver of clean entry points.”

My breath caught.

“They recovered some of the crash data?” My voice came out strangled, barely more than a whisper.

Kane nodded again. “Not all of it. But just enough.”

Hope flared that I would finally get the answers I wanted.

Even though Dez Franklin’s guys basically admitted to messing with his car, it wasn’t enough for me.

I needed the details to wrap my head around what happened to my brother.

How they managed to take out the guy I’d always thought of as invincible.

Jude reached over, his fingers interlacing with mine, his grip firm and grounding.

After taking a deep breath, I asked, “What did they find?”

Kane scanned my expression before calling, “Come back in, Jax.”

Jax returned with his laptop tucked under his arm. He set it on the desk in front of Jude and me. Flipping it open, he pulled up the file they’d recovered. “We noticed strange ECU behavior in the crash data. The air-fuel ratio suddenly spiked lean at full throttle, right before engine detonation.”

I leaned forward to get a closer look at the numbers. “They altered the map to reduce the injector duty cycle under full throttle, which fits with what we found under the hood of his car.”

“That’d fuck up the engine for sure,” Jude agreed.

“So the engine stalled on that turn, and that’s why my brother crashed,” I whispered. “But the car ran normally in practice. Mason wouldn’t have missed something like this, and neither would I.”

“They loaded a kill map and set a map-switching condition they knew he wouldn’t hit during practice.” Jax tapped the keyboard to split the screen. “It didn’t change over until he hit 6800 RPM for a full five seconds.”

I thought back to the night Mason crashed. “Probably during the first straight when he went full throttle.”

Jude whistled. “He must be a hell of a driver to hold it together that long with this kind of sabotage in his ECU.”

I sniffled. “The best.”

Jude sent me a sideways look but didn’t argue.

“He drove like a motherfucking champ.” Kane jerked his chin toward the laptop. “They also tampered with the data feedback loop. Fed false data to the dashboard to mask the damage. The Mustang thought it was fine, so Axle got no warning until it was too damn late.”

Jude exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “By the time he noticed the late braking, bad shift timing, and oversteering, it was already too late.”

“Not only was the crash not Axle’s fault…but his skills at the wheel probably prevented anyone else from getting hurt,” Kane pointed out.

I slumped against Jude’s side, relief coursing through my veins.

Kane studied me in silence, then pushed back from the desk and circled to my side. “Deviant also recovered some of the video feed. It’s shaky and fragmented. But enough to see what happened from Axle’s perspective.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Do you want to see it?” Kane asked.

Jude’s hand tightened on mine.

I forced myself to meet Kane’s gaze. “Yeah. I need to see what he saw.”

Jax clicked the file and hit play. The screen flickered once, then stabilized, displaying the split feed: forward camera and dash telemetry. My breath caught when the view from the front of Mason’s Mustang filled the frame, tearing around the first curve with familiar grace.

He was so smooth behind the wheel. Confident. In control.

RPMs climbed. The engine roared. The telemetry numbers stayed in perfect rhythm. There was no warning before everything went to hell. The dash readings remained normal, but Mason swore, “What the fuck?”

Then the Mustang’s front end twitched as if the car had suddenly gone light. Mason fought it, but the car veered, the tires catching just enough to yank the whole frame sideways.

My hand flew to my mouth as the video spiraled. The camera jolted as the car spun, metal screeching. For a split second, I could hear Mason yell. Then the feed cut to static upon impact.

The room was silent.

I sat frozen, my lungs refusing to work, tears slipping free as the stillness stretched. Kane shut the laptop without a word, his mouth drawn tight.

Jude didn’t say anything. He just stood and gently lifted me into his arms as though I weighed nothing. My fingers curled into his shirt as I buried my face in his chest.

The hallway blurred past us.

He didn’t stop until we were back in his room—or ours since I’d stayed in it almost as long as he had. He eased us both down onto the bed without letting go. His back hit the pillows first, and I followed, curled up in his lap as the dam broke.

Sobs tore out of me, harsh and ragged, weeks of fear and guilt pouring out all at once. Jude held me tighter. One hand cradled the back of my head, and the other wrapped securely around my waist, grounding me.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t try to fix it.

Just held me.

And that was everything.

Long minutes passed before I could form a coherent thought.

My voice cracked on the whisper. “He wasn’t at fault. It wasn’t his fault. Or mine. And now I finally have proof.”

Jude’s arms tightened.

And for the first time since that awful night, I felt like I could breathe.