Page 7 of Racer (Iron Rogues MC #15)

RACER

T he next evening, the Florida heat was a living thing—clinging to my skin while it wrapped me in a layer of grit, smoke, and engine oil.

The track tonight was in the middle of nowhere, tucked behind a run-down warehouse and lined with barrel fires that flickered like the crowd’s crackling energy.

Asphalt crunched beneath my boots as I paced the length of the pit, waiting for my turn on the line.

This was my second race. Another qualifier. But this time, I wasn’t just here to win—I was here to watch.

While Edge handled entry logistics, I used the prep hour to scope the scene.

Some of the teams we were suspicious of were parked nearby.

Haulers pulled open, crews bustling around engines, wiping sweat from their brows.

Though they would appear casual to most, I could feel the tension surrounding them like a thick cloud.

Some had real strain on their faces, while others looked too calm, which put me on edge. People were usually either nervous because they had no fucking clue what was happening, or because they did.

I made my way through the pits slowly, stopping here and there to chat with a few of the team owners.

Names Kane had flagged as ones we could maybe trust—guys who’d already lost drivers to suspicious wrecks.

One of them, a grizzled man named Andy with a faded T-shirt that sported his team’s logo and a voice like gravel, shook his head when I asked what he thought of the crashes.

“Doesn’t make sense,” he muttered, flicking the ash off his cigarette. “My boy, Fender, he’s not the kind of driver to fuck up a corner like that. I watched that race three times. No fucking way did he lose control. Something else happened.”

I nodded slowly. “You tell anyone else?”

He eyed me, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Not worth it. No proof to take to Kane. And if someone is fuckin’ with this circuit, I don’t want a target on my back.”

“Too late,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Eyes are already on all of us. Better to face the fucker head-on than wait to get picked off.”

He looked at me like maybe I was suicidal but didn’t argue. My gut impression was that we could trust Andy, but I’d confer with Kane about it after I had a full list.

By the time my turn rolled around, my body was restless, and I was ready to feel the engine under me again.

The Chevelle was even crisper tonight than it had been at the last race.

She’d been cleaned up, adjusted, and fine-tuned by one of Kane’s top crew chiefs, and I could feel the responsiveness in every inch of her frame.

She was fast, angry, and begging to be let loose. We made a perfect fucking team.

The starter gave the signal.

I slammed the accelerator and took off like I’d been shot out of hell.

This course was narrower than the last one, with more sharp corners and tighter pack racing, but I made a show of it.

Let the others think they had a chance before I cut between them like a blade, my engine screaming, and tires kicking up clouds of rubber smoke as I drifted into the corners with just enough recklessness to make the crowd lose their shit.

On the final lap, I downshifted and spun into the last turn sideways, just for the fuck of it, before hammering the gas and crossing the finish line two full seconds ahead of the next driver.

When I rolled back into the pit and climbed out with a crooked grin on my face, the roar of the crowd still echoed in my ears. But louder than that was the silence that followed me when I walked past some of the losers.

Two of them in particular looked like they’d seen a ghost. Pale, tight-jawed—fucking terrified. They whispered to their crew in low, frantic tones that set off alarm bells.

Edge appeared at my side out of nowhere.

“Those two were the favorites.” He didn’t even try to hide the satisfaction in his voice. “You just cost a shitload of people a lot of fucking money.”

“Good,” I said, keeping my senses alert to the people in my surroundings. “Let ’em know they’ve got something to lose.”

Edge’s eyes flicked to the side, narrowing. “What the fuck?”

I followed his gaze, and my gut twisted.

I’d noticed when Emily stepped out of the pit to grab something from the cart near the edge of the lot, away from the rest of the crew.

But Edge had diverted my attention, and now she was boxed in by two big motherfuckers in dark hoodies.

Wide shoulders, cold eyes, and radiating intimidation.

They were the kind of guys who walked with the casual confidence of men used to getting their way.

One leaned in close, speaking low and sharp to Emily.

She was stiff as steel, her chin lifted, refusing to show fear, but I saw the way her hand twitched at her side. A subtle tell that she was scared. That’s my girl .

I was already moving, but when one of them grabbed her arm, I growled, “Fuck this,” and sped up. Edge followed right behind me.

Once we reached her, I stepped between Emily and the taller of the two pricks—although I had at least two inches on him—and met his gaze dead-on.

I didn’t even raise my voice. “You lost?” I asked, low and controlled. Deadly.

The guy sneered. “Just giving some advice to the girl here. She’s been sticking her nose where it don’t belong.”

Keeping my expression unreadable, I tilted my head, letting the silence drag just long enough to tighten the noose, then murmured, “You have three seconds to walk away before I start snapping bones alphabetically, starting with your ankles and ending with your fucking spine.”

He hesitated, but something in my tone must’ve gotten through.

Or maybe it was the fact that Edge stepped up beside me, hand resting near the blade sheathed at his belt, his expression almost bored. “When he’s done, I’m gonna carve a smile across your throat and make you watch your own pulse bleed out in the dirt.”

Whatever the reason, both thugs backed off and slunk away.

“Fucking cowards,” I grunted. Bullies never stayed brave when someone stood taller.

Emily tried to thank me, but I waved her gratitude off—until I caught the tremor in her hands.

“Hey.” I stepped in, reaching for her. “You okay?”

She jerked back slightly, cheeks pink, and her gaze darting over my shoulder for a second. “I’m fine. Don’t—” Her voice cracked, and she whispered, “Don’t let them see me like this. I don’t want them thinking I’m weak.”

Edge scoffed. “They're not stupid enough to believe that, Em.”

Her expression said she didn’t believe him. She inhaled slowly, but her hands were still trembling.

I slid my palm against hers and interlaced our fingers, already moving and grunted, “Come on.”

She let me lead her away, keeping her head down, until we were around the corner behind a stack of shipping crates. No one could see us there—not crew, cameras, or asshole thugs looking for a reaction.

I pulled her against me, and she came without resistance. Nor did she fight me when I wrapped both arms around her and held her tight.

Her hands bunched in my shirt, and she buried her face in my chest, breathing shaky and quiet. I didn’t say anything. Just held Emily and let her fall apart. She didn’t make a sound, but I could feel the tears soaking my shirt.

A few minutes later, she finally exhaled and stepped back, wiping at her eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered. Then she blew out a harsh breath and fisted her hands at her sides. “I just…ugh. I hate that I freaking cried. I hate that they scared me.”

“They should’ve,” I said, brushing her hair back from her cheek. “Those fuckers were threatening you. You don’t have to be like stone every second of the day. Feeling something doesn’t make you less.”

She tried to scoff, but it wobbled. “You sound like my brother.”

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I sound better than your brother, angel. And a fuck of a lot more dangerous.”

Her eyes widened just slightly, and I saw the flush spread down her throat. It was sexy as hell, and I wanted to follow the trail of color with my tongue. Instead, I muttered, “You don’t have to blend in with the guys, baby. Fuck their opinions. You’re not one of them.”

Before I could stop myself, my fingers brushed her cheek and trailed to her collarbone, causing her to shiver.

Her skin was as soft as silk, and her bright blue eyes had deepened to sapphire.

Then my lips curled down at the thought of her standing out among the grease monkeys, and I blurted, “Never mind.”

She blinked up at me. “Why?”

I hesitated, thinking about all the ways I could answer that. Ultimately, I settled on the truth. “Because I don’t want other men looking at you like that. I don’t want them wanting you. Fantasizing about my angel. Touching what’s not theirs—even if it’s only in their dreams.”

Her lips parted, and her breath caught. “What…what do you mean?”

Lowering my head, I slid my hand to her waist.

“I don’t share,” I said, my voice a raspy whisper.

She didn’t say a word. Just stared up at me, eyes wide, lips soft and parted, as though she was frozen on the edge of something dangerous and didn’t know whether to jump or run.

Running wasn’t a fucking option. Clarity slammed into me. I was never gonna let her go.

My eyes dropped to her lips, and I took hold of her chin, lifting her face so I could kiss her. Devour her. Fucking ruin her for anyone else and brand her mouth with mine. I was gonna give her a kiss she’d never forget.

“Racer.” Edge’s voice snapped around the corner, sharp and mocking. “Kane’s headed this way. If you wanna keep your balls, maybe don’t be caught making out with the girl he sees as a baby sister.”

I rolled my eyes, but Emily tensed and immediately tried to pull away.

“Nope.” I caught her wrist before she could flee and yanked her back against my chest.

She let out a tiny squeak, her eyes darting toward the open lane. “Kane’ll see!”

I raised an eyebrow and reached around to hook my fingers into the back belt loop of her coveralls, holding her flush to me with a smirk.

“So?”

Before she could speak, Kane came around the corner, and I reluctantly let her step to the side, keeping a hold of her belt loop so she couldn’t get away.

He stopped and looked us over with concern. “You two good?”

“Peachy,” I said, voice smooth and relaxed.

He frowned and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Saw those two assholes leaving the pit a few minutes ago. You run into them?”

I bobbed my head once. “Been handled.”

Edge didn’t say a word, bless his twisted little heart.

Kane lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “Took me a minute, but I recognized them.”

My brow lifted.

“They work for Dez Franklin.”

“The small-time bookie that killed his way to the top and runs a crew now?” Edge asked with a deep scowl. “You think he’s behind the betting syndicate?”

Kane nodded, but his attention had shifted to Emily. “You okay?”

“All good. But I should go. I have stuff to do back at the garage.” She tried to take a step forward, but my fingers tightened around the loop, foiling her escape attempt. I just smiled when she tossed me a cute, disgruntled frown.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Kane offered, already pulling out his keys.

I cut in, not giving her a chance to answer. “She’s riding with me.”

Kane paused. Then blinked before slowly looking at me, as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard that right.

“You’re letting her on your bike?” he asked, clearly surprised.

“She’s like your family,” I replied easily, though in my head, I was muttering about how she was not his fucking family…she was mine.

Kane hesitated, then nodded, accepting the logic. “Appreciate it. Gives me time to talk to some of the other owners.”

He walked off, tossing a wave over his shoulder.

Edge waited until he was gone before whistling low. “You are so fucked, brother.”

“Fuck off,” I muttered, but my hand didn’t move from Emily’s hip.

Edge’s grin widened. “I mean, fuck, next thing we know she’ll be driving your bike and wearin’ your balls on a chain.”

“You done?” I glared at him.

He kept laughing.

Ignoring him, I took Emily’s hand and tugged her toward the lot. My hog was waiting, the seat shining under the low floodlights.

She was silent, her gaze locked on my bike.

I smiled. “Pass your muster?”

She nodded slowly as she continued to inspect the Harley, a smile playing at her lips. “I’m a little jealous.”

I laughed. “You should see my ’79 Triumph Bonneville back in Old Bridge. Restored her myself.”

Emily lit up and smiled. “I love vintage motorcycles. There’s just something especially sexy about them.”

Slipping my arm around her waist, I pulled her up against my body. “Yeah, but they can’t compare to you.”

“Me?” She looked up at me with a shocked expression that made me wonder just how often she’d been told how beautiful and womanly she was.

I kind of wanted to beat the shit out of her brother, and even Kane and Edge, for treating her “like one of the guys.” Even if she’d acted as if that was what she wanted.

I let her go—grudgingly—and grabbed the extra helmet, holding it out. “You’re sexy as fuck, angel. Now, get on. I’ll take you back to the garage.”

Her cheeks flushed adorably. And even though she didn’t say a word, her eyes held mine just a moment longer than necessary.

And that was enough to confirm that I wasn’t the only one feeling this chemistry.

Whatever this was, it was complicated and about to get messy.

And I didn’t give a single fuck.