Page 5 of Racer (Iron Rogues MC #15)

RACER

T he Redline Kings’ compound was located in a small beach town in Florida called Crossbend, around twenty minutes south of Tallahassee.

Like the Iron Rogues, they pretty much owned the whole town and controlled the surrounding areas, especially if they had raceways located there.

Up in Tallahassee, Kane owned Redline Speedway, one of the biggest raceways in the state.

He’d also bought or built several smaller ones throughout Florida to host other races. The tracks for the illegal races were mostly old, abandoned properties he converted. He didn’t like street racing because they drew more attention from the cops and were more likely to injure spectators.

Their garage sat a few miles off the main drag, tucked into the back end of a repurposed industrial block that looked like it’d seen more illegal deals and burnout streaks than OSHA inspections.

Chain-link fences, razor wire, sun-bleached asphalt baking under the Florida sun.

The air reeked of gasoline, exhaust, motor oil, and the faint tinge of smoke from cigarettes or cigars.

My kind of place. I felt right at home.

I rolled in on my Harley, the familiar rumble of the engine purring beneath me.

A couple of the guys working outside straightened up when they saw me coming.

Both wore a Redline Kings cut. One nudged the other and said something I didn’t catch, but I recognized the posture.

Curiosity. Recognition. Anticipation. I’d been racing long enough—both legally and underground—to know when people were itching to see what I could do.

I parked near the front entrance, cut the engine, and slung my leg over the seat, rolling my shoulders out as I walked toward the bay.

It had been a long, almost seven-hour ride down here from Old Bridge.

Normally, I would enjoy a ride like that, but the heat and humidity—even in April—was oppressive.

Next time, I’d have to do it at night when it was cooler.

Heat shimmered off the pavement, the afternoon sun beating down hard, and my boots crunched over grit and loose bolts. A few Redline Kings were leaning near the entrance, watching me as though they were trying to decide whether I was friend or prey. One of them grinned.

“Look what the fuckin’ wind blew in,” a voice called out from inside, causing a grin to stretch wide across my face.

Edge.

Kane’s younger brother and the Redline Kings’ VP. Same lethal bloodline, just wired a little differently. The man had a smile like a movie star and eyes that belonged to a damn psycho. When we met, I liked him immediately. Even if he sometimes seemed a little unhinged.

“Been a while, Edge,” I said, clasping his forearm when he approached.

“Still smell like burnt rubber and bad decisions,” he shot back, slapping my shoulder before we pulled apart.

“Only on my good days,” I replied with a smirk.

“Then today must be a fuckin’ banner day.” He waved me in. “C’mon. Kane’s waiting. We got you set up in the clubhouse, but we’ll head over there after we show you your office and private bay and get you acquainted with the place.”

Inside, the place was a mechanical wet dream—rows of lifted hoods, scattered tires, tool chests, and racks of parts.

Half-dismantled race cars gleamed under fluorescent lights.

There were grease stains on the floor, shelves of tools that I was itching to play with, and the distant thrum of an impact wrench buzzing somewhere in the back.

My boots echoed on the concrete as I followed Edge through the chaos. We passed a few mechanics who gave me curious glances, a couple nodding in recognition.

Edge led me down a side hall and into an empty office. Bare bones but functional. The AC worked, it looked clean, and there was a stocked mini fridge. That was all I needed.

Kane was already there, leaning against the counter with a beer in hand.

“How was the ride?”

“Hot as fuck,” I replied, dropping my duffel on the ground. “How do you assholes survive breathing bathwater?”

Kane chuckled and cocked his head toward a large picture window on the opposite side of the room. It looked out over a large mechanic bay that was separated from the large area we’d walked through when Edge brought me inside. There was a door next to the window that I assumed led out to the space.

It was large enough to work on both my car and my bike, with plenty of room to spare.

On one end, there were shelves stocked with everything I needed to keep my vehicles running perfectly.

The opposite wall was a large steel roll-up door.

And directly across from the window was a station for cleaning.

“I could get used to a space like that,” I murmured.

Edge grinned. “Right? It’s also the perfect setup for…

private company and after-hours conversations.

That's why we have a few rooms like this, located two stories down. Floors are easier to rinse down there.” His smile went sharp.

“In case anyone gets…difficult. Some folks don’t know when to shut up. ”

Kane rolled his eyes, then looked back at me.

“The car you’ll be racing will be delivered to the track early tomorrow morning.

I have a backup you can use to practice.

I haven’t reported the substitution yet, though.

And I want to keep everything under wraps until the qualifier, so we’ll take you out to learn the track after dark. ”

I nodded. Back in Old Bridge, Kane hadn’t mentioned that the race tomorrow night was a qualifier.

When I realized it, I brought it up to him.

He said he’d have one of his other guys race so I wouldn’t have to go in blind.

Fuck that. I’d bested plenty of racetracks without even seeing them before I rode my bike or car to the starting line.

But to keep him from treating me like a fucking pussy, I showed up this afternoon so I could get some practice before the race.

“Leave your shit here for now,” Edge instructed. “I’m heading back to the compound in twenty minutes. I’ll take it with me.”

“Thanks.”

“The boys know why you’re here,” Kane informed me. “My patches are solid. But I have other employees—drivers, sponsors, freelance techs—who don’t wear the cut. Can’t guarantee none of ’em are dirty.”

I met his eyes. “I’ll watch my back.”

“We’ll do the same,” Edge promised.

Kane took a swig from his bottle, then set it down with a soft clink.

“The Helline Circuit final’s in three weeks.

Since it’s one of the biggest underground races in the South, and money pours in from half the country, that’s most likely when the kingpin behind this shit’s gonna make his biggest move. ”

“You think he’ll show his hand?”

“He has to. The kind of payout tied to that race…it’s too big not to. If we don’t flush him before then, that’s our shot.”

I nodded once. “So I put on a show.”

Kane’s grin sharpened. “Exactly.”

He took me through the garage, introducing me as his newest team member. I watched reactions closely but didn’t pick up on anything that set off alarm bells.

When the time came, Kane grabbed his keys, and we took his car out to a converted shipping-yard-turned-black-market racetrack.

“Perk of bein’ the owner,” he grunted as he unlocked the gates and opened them, allowing me to drive right onto the asphalt ring.

I ran laps for a couple of hours, until Kane seemed satisfied. “Now you’ll be familiar with the track, and nothing will trip you up on the race.”

Stopping in my tracks, I crossed my arms over my chest and turned to face him, scowling. “You treat all your drivers like toddlers?”

“I need you at your best, Racer. Winning is how we get this guy,” he snapped.

“You want me to win, I’m gonna do it my way.

” He opened his mouth, but I held up a hand and added, “The wall of awards and millions in victory cash sitting in my bank are gonna disagree with whatever shit you’re about to spew.

You came to me, Kane. You can’t ask for my help and then put fucking shackles on me.

Now, stop helicoptering and let me get shit done. ”

Kane tossed his head back and laughed heartily.

“Backing off.” He held his hands up like he was surrendering. “But if you get hurt, don’t expect me to stand between you and Fox.”

The next night, the first underground qualifier roared to life.

The course was narrow, gritty, and fast. Just the way I liked it.

Oil-streaked pavement, barrels used as fake barriers, crowds pressing in behind chain-link fences and half-assed barricades.

Smoke, screams, engine revs—it was beautiful fucking chaos.

I lined up against five other cars, each one idling low. My ride for the night was a midnight-black ’72 Chevelle SS that Kane had tuned himself. The bitch purred like a dream and roared like a monster. She had torque, bite, and zero forgiveness. She was fucking perfect.

The race itself was over in less than eight minutes, but I made every second count.

From the moment the signal dropped, I hit the gas and slid through the first turn sideways just to make an impression.

I played a little dirty—cut off a tailing Nissan at the apex, kicked up grit from the shoulder, and fishtailed right before the final straight just to show I could.

Then I floored it, crossing the line a full four seconds ahead of the pack.

The crowd went fucking nuts. Cameras were on me. Whispers flew. And my name started echoing through the pits again.

It was exactly what we wanted.

Keep ’em talking. Let the bastard behind the sabotage watch me and think I was just another cocky asshole with a death wish. That was the bait.

I climbed out of the car, rolled my shoulders, and tugged my gloves off as I headed back toward the garage pit—my adrenaline still singing, the heat of the engine clinging to my skin.

Then I saw her.

And I swear the fucking world tilted.

She stood near one of the workbenches, half turned toward a guy rattling off specs. But I didn’t hear a single word. My eyes were glued to her.

She wore a pair of navy-blue mechanic coveralls rolled up to the elbows, the zipper down just far enough to hint at the curves hiding beneath.

Her blond hair was yanked into a haphazard bun on the back of her head, long strands falling loose, like they were teasing me.

Making my hands itch to yank out that rubber band and see just how much of her hair I could wrap around my fist. Grease was smudged on the curve of her cheekbone, and her mouth was plush and soft-looking, with the kind of lips a man dreamed of dragging his teeth across.

Her sun-kissed skin was golden from hours at the track, and those legs—fuck me—were long enough to make me want to sin. Even under the loose fabric, I could tell she had a body meant to be touched. Worshipped.

My cock was already hard enough to punch through my jeans, and I turned for a second to adjust myself, but I was so swollen, it didn’t help much.

I didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her story. But I?—

Mine.

Holy shit. The thought had come out of nowhere. Raw. Fierce. Possessive.

Mine.

My feet seemed glued to the ground, and I just stood there watching her, cataloging every detail like she was the last beautiful thing I’d ever see.

I wanted her on her knees. On her back. On top of me. Wrapped around my fuckin’ waist while I wrecked her body and carved my name into her soul.

Then she turned and caught me staring. Her blue eyes—fuck, they were unreal—locked onto mine. They widened for a half second before they narrowed and went cold.

She was not impressed. I bit back a grin.

Instead of blushing or looking away, she crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, leveling me with a look that said I wasn’t shit.

I fucking loved it.

My cocky grin curved wide as I swaggered toward her. “Didn’t know angels moonlighted as grease monkeys.”

She gave me a slow once-over, unmoved. “Didn’t know assholes came with fan clubs.”

Barking a laugh, I stopped a few feet from her. “That how you talk to all the drivers? Or just the pretty ones?”

She arched a brow, tapping a wrench against her palm. “Only the ones dumb enough to nearly fishtail into the pit wall to show off.”

“Wasn’t showing off,” I said, smirking. “Was proving a point.”

“What point? That you have a death wish and no traction control?”

I stifled a laugh and leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. “You always this mouthy, or am I just special?”

Her cheeks flushed. A hint of pink across that sun-kissed skin. My grin deepened.

She lifted her chin, refusing to back down. “If you’re going to drive like a maniac, at least try not to wreck anything important.”

“Define important,” I murmured, letting my gaze drop to her mouth.

She caught it, and her breath hitched. Not much. Just enough for a trained eye like mine to spot. She was affected. She just didn’t want to be.

Cute.

Sexy.

Fucking dangerous.

Before I could push for more, I heard Kane’s voice behind me. “Racer, you settling in okay?”

I turned to see him striding up, casual and unreadable. The girl beside me shifted instantly, her face softening as she lit up with a smile.

“Kane.” She threw her arms around his neck, and he hugged her back tightly.

Something primal and ugly surged inside me.

Mine.

I didn’t know what their connection was, but if Kane didn’t get his hands off her, I was going to break every bone in his body.

Then Kane pulled back and kissed the top of her head.

It took everything in me not to start by knocking out his teeth.

“You been keepin’ the guys in line?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“Trying,” she said with a smirk. “Some of them are idiots.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he replied, then turned to me. “You met Emily yet?”

Emily. It was a beautiful name. And it fit her.

“No,” I said, winking at her.

“One of my best mechanics.”

Mechanic.

The conversation we’d had back at the Iron Rogues clubhouse came screaming back to me, and my stomach dropped. She was the mechanic he mentioned. The one who was his Road Captain’s sister. A Redline King. Which meant that there could potentially be a big fucking obstacle between us.

“Em, meet Racer.”

Emily turned to me again, her eyes narrowing. “This your new golden boy?”

Kane nodded. “One of the best.”

She made a noncommittal noise. “We’ll see.”

Kane grinned and turned back to me. “She’s better at fixing engines than most of my guys. Started wrenching when she was twelve.”

I raised a brow. “That right?”

Emily’s gaze didn’t waver. “You break your ride, I’ll fix it. You break your neck, that’s on you.”

I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips. “What if I break your patience?”

“Then I’ll break your face,” she shot back.

I’d never wanted anyone more.

Fuck . I was in so much trouble.