Page 8 of Racer (Iron Rogues MC #15)

EMILY

T he Harley’s engine vibrated through me as I held on to Jude. Riding on the back of his hog wasn’t anything like I expected. Completely different from being on my brother’s motorcycle, which was the only thing I could compare this to.

Most bikers didn’t let just anyone ride with them, at least that was how it was in the Redline Kings. Putting a woman who wasn’t related to you on the back of your bike meant something to my brother’s club. I didn’t know if it meant the same to Jude, though.

By the time we pulled into the side bay at Kane’s garage, my nerves were tangled up with something sharp and aching that had nothing to do with fear. My pulse was unsteady, and I was keyed up from how aware I was of the man.

I swung off and stepped back quickly, trying to steady myself before I said something stupid.

“I need to check my brother’s Mustang,” I blurted. “The Shelby GT350R-C. I’ve been over it a dozen times, but…maybe you’ll see something I missed. If you have time to look?”

Jude gave a short nod and followed me inside.

The Mustang sat under a canvas tarp, untouched since I’d gone over it. I hesitated before peeling the material back, part of me still hoping we’d find something less nefarious to explain Mason’s crash.

“What’ve you already checked?” he asked, voice quiet but steady.

I rattled off the list automatically. “Brake lines, suspension, throttle linkage, fuel system. The works.”

When I finally looked up, Jude watched me with something that looked a lot like admiration. “Let’s take a deeper look. Pop the hood.”

We were quiet as we got to work, but the silence between us wasn’t awkward. We were focused. Intent.

The longer we worked, the harder it was to ignore him.

Which was weird for me because I’d never had trouble focusing when I was in a garage.

Give me a busted engine, and the rest of the world disappeared.

But tonight, with Jude beside me, every turn of his wrench tugged at my attention like a magnet.

I felt the heat coming off his body each time he leaned past me.

I was hyper-aware of the stretch of his muscles, the flames tattoo rippling on his forearm.

And the scent of him—a heady mixture of oil, sweat, and something dark and woodsy that lingered.

It was distracting. Maddening. And entirely new.

I’d just started checking the fuel rail and injector housing—nothing cracked, nothing loose—when Jude’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“Emily,” he said, low but firm.

I glanced over and found him crouched low on the passenger side. He was frowning at a cluster of exposed wires he’d pulled free from the fuse panel, the beam of his small flashlight making the colors gleam.

“This is wrong,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?”

He gestured for me to come closer. I moved toward him fast, wiping my hands on my thighs as I knelt beside him.

“See this junction?” He pointed with the butt of the flashlight. “This splice. Factory harness doesn’t route this way. Someone reran part of the feedback loop.”

I leaned in, heart thudding. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” His jaw ticked. “This isn’t just rerouted—it’s bridged.

Fail-safe input’s been bypassed so it’d register clean even if the engine started to fail.

None of the warnings would’ve triggered.

If Axle’s engine started to cook or misfire, the ECU wouldn’t throw a code.

The telemetry would’ve looked normal right up until it didn’t. ”

I stared at the spliced wires, blinking hard. “They rigged the feedback so the car lied to him.”

“Exactly,” he agreed in a grim tone. “Confuse it so the driver doesn’t get a warning until it’s too late.

“And look there.”

I wiped grime off the side panel and looked closer. There was a melted toggle behind the cage bar. “Holy crap. With the fuel shutoff bypassed—that’s why the engine kept pulling until it snapped.”

Jude’s green eyes had darkened to nearly black, rage clearly boiling inside him. “And if they messed with anything else…”

As he trailed off, I was even more determined to find every single thing wrong with my brother’s car. “Let’s keep looking.”

He nodded. “As long as it takes.”

After a couple more hours of both of us going over the Shelby with a fine-tooth comb, I remembered the injector housing I’d been checking out. I reached in and tugged the injector loom farther out, my eyes narrowing. “This isn’t right.”

Jude rounded the hood of the mangled Mustang to peer over my shoulder. “Holy shit. Whoever did this dialed back the injector cycle. Just enough to lean the mix under load.”

My mind raced. “Too much air, not enough fuel…”

“Engine runs hot,” he muttered. “Real hot. You’re cooking pistons before you even know something’s wrong. At top speed, that kind of strain?—”

“He’d lose power coming into the turn,” I finished, breath shallow. “No warning light. No dash alert. Just a stall or a knock right when he needed control.”

Jude sat back on his heels and stared at the wreckage like he could see Mason in the seat. “They built a fucking trap,” he said flatly. “Did just enough to make it look like Axle screwed up. No code, no fail-safe, no brake warning. Everything set to fry the car at the worst possible second.”

“And now the data’s gone,” I added, my mouth going dry. “No digital proof. They got exactly what they wanted.”

“Except for one thing.” Jude looked up at me, his expression unreadable but intense. “This wasn’t just about making your brother lose. They wanted to make sure he didn’t walk away.”

My stomach dropped, the truth settling in my chest, sharp and cold. We found what I’d suspected all along. But hearing it out loud made the ground shift beneath me.

“They wanted him dead,” I whispered.

The words hung in the air between us, too heavy to take back. Too real to ignore.

I braced my hands against the frame of the car, trying to steady myself. “I knew it wasn’t an accident. But everyone kept telling me to let it go. That Mason must’ve made a mistake. Except for Kane. And you.”

“You were right all along.”

Something in me cracked at the quiet, hard certainty in his tone. But my reaction didn’t make me any less resolved. Only more so.

Someone had tried to kill my brother, and we were going to find out who. Together.

The weight of it all should’ve felt crushing, but I somehow felt…hopeful. And exhausted.

I’d barely slept since Mason’s crash. We’d been working on his car for hours, plus the time we’d spent at the race earlier tonight.

My body ached, and sweat clung to the back of my neck.

I leaned against the edge of the Mustang, too wired to sit and too raw to pretend we hadn’t just uncovered proof that someone tried to murder my brother.

“Fuck, it’s hot as hell in here, even in the middle of the damn night.” Jude reached behind his neck and tugged his shirt over his head.

I looked away, but not for long. Even with what we’d just discovered, his pull was too strong.

The overhead light caught the sweat beading on his chest, the ridges of muscle across his stomach, and the checkered flags inked on his right pec.

He reached for a rag, wiping his hands, then glanced up. And caught me staring.

A smirk curved the corner of his mouth as he slowly stalked closer, his gaze fixed on mine as though he could see straight through me.

His voice was low and rough as he murmured, “You keep looking at me like that, angel, and I’m gonna bend you over this car and show you exactly what happens when you tempt a man who doesn’t play fair.”

My breath caught at the sensual threat.

I didn’t move. Didn’t look away. And I definitely didn’t deny that I was looking at Jude as though I wanted to eat him up.

I should’ve said something—anything—to defuse the heat rising between us, but my tongue was dry and my brain had short-circuited somewhere between the tattoo I hadn’t already seen and the way he called me angel.

My gaze dropped to his mouth, and it took me a moment to realize how big of a mistake that was.

Now, all I could do was think about what his lips would feel like pressed against mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth.

The heat of his bare skin. The weight of him.

The rasp of his voice in my ear as he made good on that threat.

“Last chance to back away, angel,” he murmured, his tone softer now. Almost teasing.

I was so tempted to give in and take the distraction he was offering me, but a little voice in my head reminded me about what we’d just discovered.

I couldn’t help but wonder if kissing him while my brother was fighting for his life would make me a horrible person.

Or if what happened to Mason was the reason I should go for it.

Because I’d been given a rough reminder that life was too short.

Swallowing hard, I pushed off the car and tried to force oxygen back into my lungs.

The air between us crackled, too charged for comfort. One wrong move, and we’d go up in flames.