Page 15 of Racer (Iron Rogues MC #15)

RACER

T he heat rolled heavily through the open bays of Kane’s garage, but it didn’t hit me as hard as it had when I first arrived. I was surrounded by motorcycles and cars, tools that felt like extensions of my arms, and the sharp scents of motor oil, scorched rubber, and a lingering bite of race fuel.

Other than when I was buried inside my woman, this was where I found the most peace.

Two weeks ago, I’d heard a whisper about it being up for grabs. I didn’t even have to think about it. Just wired the cash.

Now she sat in front of me, a 426 Hemi under the hood, and hell stitched into every inch of her.

Her matte-black frame looked like burned charcoal.

She had redline pinstriping tracing the body curves, thin as a knife’s edge.

Black chrome tailpipes, matte graphite wheels, and the interior was blood-red leather with black diamond stitching.

The pointed nose cone, that wicked rear wing, and the low-slung body—she was sin on wheels.

Built to own the fucking road and leave everyone choking on its exhaust. It was the kind of machine that didn’t just roll in— she announced herself.

Deadly, distinctive, and intimidating the hell out of everyone watching.

I couldn’t wait to get her out on the road again, but I was also planning to test the sturdiness of the frame by having my woman bouncing on my cock in the back seat.

Head out of the gutter and into the game, man.

Thankfully, I was kneeling in front of the Charger where the growing bulge in my pants wouldn’t be obvious. Discreetly, I adjusted myself before turning my attention back to the task at hand.

Emily dropped to her heels beside me, her fingers tracing along the fuel lines as she spoke under her breath, more to herself than to me. “Pressure’s clean. No inconsistencies.”

Her blond hair was yanked up into a messy knot as usual, but she had a pencil tucked through the locks, making it look as though she’d just walked out of a sexy librarian fantasy.

Even the cute smear of grease across her cheek made my brain short-circuit.

She belonged here—this garage was basically her kingdom—and it drove home how fucking perfect she was for me.

She wore low-slung jeans and one of my racing shirts, knotted at her side to keep it from swallowing her whole.

I should’ve been thinking about sabotage.

The race ahead. The plan. But all I could focus on was how the cotton had thinned out across her chest and my name looked right at home stretched over her tits.

Focus, asshole .

Outside the shop, the growl of engines echoed, and I got to my feet as five familiar motorcycles rolled in.

Fox swung off his bike first, composed and casual in his sleeveless tee and cut, the tattooed script along his forearm flexing as he tossed his helmet into Reaper’s hands. “Nice weather. Almost makes me miss Old Bridge.”

Reaper snorted, handing the helmet right back. “Miss it when your balls stop sweating.”

Midnight just muttered, “You fuckers bitch more than pregnant old ladies,” before heading toward the main bay with that cold-eyed calm that meant he was already thinking about bullets and body bags.

Maverick shook his head. “I’d love to see him say shit like that in front of our women.”

A rare grin cut across Fox’s face. “Dahlia would shove her piercing gun right between his legs.”

“At least when he finds a woman, he’d have some pretty jewelry to distract her from the lack of size,” Deviant quipped as he dismounted.

Midnight’s only response was to raise his hand and flip them off as he continued walking away.

Deviant and Reaper followed, already arguing about code structure for sensor input.

“I’m telling you, if you’d just run the baseline through my tracker before the sweep, it wouldn’t have flagged the?—”

“It flagged because your system’s dumb as shit,” Deviant grunted, adjusting his tablet. “Unlike mine, which actually knows what it’s doing.”

“You two gonna make out or solve the problem?” I called.

“Depends on how fast you fix that shitbox,” Reaper deadpanned without looking up. “Heard she’s only pretty from a distance.”

“Don’t be mad ’cause she’s prettier than you,” I shot back, smirking. “She’ll smoke every one of your Frankenstein projects.”

Kane’s tech guy, Jax, was waiting for Deviant when he entered the garage and immediately peeled off to an empty office, setting up enough tech to probably ping satellites and hack the Vatican. Kane stood with Fox, Maverick, Edge, and Midnight, quiet murmurs already brewing between them.

I turned back to Emily, who was halfway underneath the Charger now, flashlight wedged between her shoulder and cheek.

“Rear mount’s clean. No sensor loops,” she said, voice echoing from beneath. “We’d be seeing telemetry drift if it’d been tapped.”

“Check the secondary fuses,” I said, crouching beside her. “Far left. There’s usually a kill switch rig there on these older builds.”

She slid out long enough to grab the tool I held out for her, cheeks flushed pink and brow furrowed. That little crease between her eyebrows—focused and frustrated—somehow made me want to flip her over and fuck her senseless across the hood. But I kept my damn hands in check. Barely.

“This car’s a monster,” she muttered. “But she’s clean so far.”

That was the problem.

I felt it before I saw it. Something itched at the back of my skull, like static crawling under my skin. We’d planned for sabotage. Wanted Franklin to rig the car with some coward’s trick so we could expose him. Instead, we were coming up empty, which didn’t sit right.

“Angel, come on out and let me get under her.”

Emily slid back out and quirked her brow. “Pushing me aside for an older woman?”

I laughed and grabbed a fistful of her shirt, pulling her up into a sitting position. “She’s got nothing on you, angel.” I kissed her hard and fast, then grinned salaciously. “How ’bout I ride you on her hood and prove it?”

Her cheeks flamed pink, and she shoved at my chest with a giggle. “Get to work, grease monkey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a snappy salute.

I switched places with her, took her light and glided under the chassis.

Since she’d already done a sweep of the obvious places, I started systematically checking every nook and cranny.

When I got to the passenger side footwell, I almost missed it and moved on.

But that same itch warned me to take a closer look.

“Wait a second,” I said softly.

“What is it?” Her voice was anxious.

“There’s something tucked behind the firewall insulation. It’s not wired into the usual harness.”

What the fuck?

I carefully removed the unfamiliar object, then eased out slowly. Cradled in my palm was a small black box the size of a cigarette pack. Flat. Seamless. Way too clean. Shit.

“Get Kane.”

By the time I set the device on the workbench and cracked it open with a flathead, Kane, Fox, and the rest were already crowding around. Midnight and Edge flanked Emily instantly, keeping her half shielded with their bodies.

The second I pulled the casing apart, my blood went cold. And from the muttered string of curses behind me, I knew Fox recognized it too.

“Fucking hell. That’s a pressure detonator.”

“Remote backup too,” I muttered, tilting it. “And a fail-safe tied to the engine’s RPM. If I’d redlined past six-five, it would’ve cooked us both.”

Emily’s breath hitched, and I turned to look at her.

Her lips had gone pale, and one of her hands was gripping Edge’s forearm without even realizing it. But unsurprisingly, her chin didn’t drop. She didn’t so much as fucking flinch. She just stared at that trigger as though she thought she could destroy it with her will alone.

Mine.

Possessiveness grew inside me. There was pride in her strength, but mostly, I was ready to rip apart anyone who was a threat to what we were building. My hands were shaking with rage.

Kane looked like he was ready to kill.

“That’s not sabotage,” he seethed. “That’s fucking execution.”

I crossed my arms. “We wanted proof. Now we’ve got enough to burn Franklin and his whole operation to ash.”

“Do it,” Kane growled. “Shut it the fuck down.”

Maverick clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got the green light. Go full scorched earth.”

Everyone except Edge, Midnight, and Reaper peeled off to start making calls—organizing a meeting with the clean owners and preparing to circulate the evidence.

Meanwhile, I paced, my mind sorting through everything and weeding out the noise so I could focus on what needed to happen next.

Emily sat on the workbench and watched me silently. Her trust and quiet strength were the only things keeping me from losing my shit and going feral.

Franklin had upped the game. He wasn’t aiming for a crash to save him from losing. He wanted to end it all. And in his convoluted mind, he thought taking me out was the key. Probably figured if he couldn’t rig the race with subtlety, he’d make a statement. A warning.

Yeah, that wasn’t ever gonna happen.

“New plan,” I muttered, dragging a palm down my jaw. “We hit every one of Franklin’s teams. One by one. Sabotage their rides. Screw their odds. Blow their standings. Not literally,” I added, glancing at Emily’s surprised expression. “Just fuck ’em up enough to wreck their wins.”

Reaper looked at Edge. “Get us a list of rigs, and we’ll play musical parts.”

Deviant and Jax stalked over, their expressions telling me they’d been briefed on the situation. I explained the new plan, and Deviant grinned darkly. “I can spoof tuning data that’ll fry their performance without leaving a trail.”

Emily rose to her feet, stepped in close, her hand on my arm. “Let me help.”

I shook my head. “No.”

Her glare could’ve sliced paint off steel. “Racer?—”

“I said no!” My voice came out harsher than I meant it.

But just the idea of her being anywhere near those motherfuckers nearly had my head exploding.

“This time, it’s not just code or sockets.

It’s breaking and entering. Disabling security.

Possibly dropping a few assholes who get in the way. You’re not going.”

She crossed her arms, toe tapping, chin lifted. “It’ll go faster with one more person. And I know those garage layouts. I know where the parts are kept. I’ve worked beside half of those crews.”

I stepped into her space, fisted the front of my shirt where it hung on her body. “And if someone puts a hand on you?” I growled, the angry beast inside me rising, ready to decimate anyone or anything that could hurt my angel.

Her mouth opened, then closed. I watched her struggle, pride and fury at war in her beautiful face. Finally, she gritted out, “What if I take one of your guys with me? They won’t let anything happen.”

I still hated the idea of her in any proximity to danger, but she’d managed to box me in a corner. If I didn’t let her have her way, it would imply that I didn’t have faith in my brothers.

Fuck.

I glanced at Midnight, and he lifted a brow. “You trust me with your bike. Trust me with your girl.”

My eyes moved to Maverick.

He held up his hand. “Swear on my patch, man. She won’t so much as get a scratch.”

It fucking burned, but I nodded.

“Fine,” I growled. “But if one hair on her head gets touched?—”

“Then you’ll paint the walls with someone’s insides,” Emily cut in. “Yeah, we know.”

My heart stuttered as I looked down at her. At the fierce light in her blue eyes, the set of her jaw, the curve of her perfect lips. My little mechanic angel. She was my heaven on earth, and if I lost her, I’d drag the whole world down to hell.

I lowered my head until my mouth brushed her ear. “When this is over, I’m gonna claim your body. Inch by inch. Remind you who you belong to until you can’t fucking walk.”

She shivered, then blushed. And I was back to balancing on a wire between protectiveness and raw, filthy hunger.

I kissed her hard, then turned to face my brothers.

“Go suit up,” I rasped. “We roll in one hour.”

Emily took my hand and gave it a brief squeeze before walking away with a sway in her hips that made my fists clench.

Fox stepped up beside me, voice low. “You good?”

“Not even close.”

“That’s love.”

I stared at Emily disappearing into the locker room. “No. That’s obsession.”

Fox snorted. “Can’t argue with that.”