Page 8 of The Cauldronball Run (Outlaw Country #2)

"Not officially. But suddenly every job paid minimum wage.

Every shift was with the worst partners.

Every supervisor treated me like I was one incident away from a rampage.

" He met her eyes. "The decent-paying jobs dried up.

I had to take a third job just to make loan payments, then a fourth to cover rent.

Been three years of working sixty-hour weeks and still falling behind. "

Farrah nodded along with each of his sentences. "That's when you started thinking about the race."

"That's when I started thinking about disappearing completely. Just walking away from all of it. But then I heard about the Cauldronball Run, and I thought maybe there's another way."

This wasn't just about money. It was about dignity, about proving paranormals were worth something more than minimum wage and sideways looks.

"And if we lose?"

"Then I'm back where I started, except now I'm also a federal criminal." J.J. managed a self-deprecating smile. "But at least I tried something other than slow financial suicide."

Farrah thought about her own slow financial suicide—the overdraft notices, the collection calls, the careful calculations about which bills she could delay another month. The soul-crushing routine of hiding her abilities to keep jobs because being a witch was too “other” for mundanes.

"I want half," she said.

"Half?" J.J.'s voice went up an octave, and the sound was so genuinely shocked that she almost smiled.

"Half the prize money or I walk. If we're doing this, we're partners. Equal partners."

J.J. stared at her for a long moment, then sighed heavily. "Deal."

Holy shit. I'm actually doing this.

"But I have conditions." She held up her hand to stop his grateful response. "First, no more lies. About anything. I don't care how embarrassing or complicated or inconvenient the truth is. I want to know what I'm getting into."

"Agreed."

"Second, if anyone gets hurt during this race—actually hurt—we stop and help them. We're medical professionals first."

"Deal."

"Third, I want details about every other team we're racing against. If we're breaking the law, I want to know exactly who we're breaking it with and what we're up against."

"And fourth?" J.J. asked, because there was clearly a fourth condition building.

"Fourth, I want to know about this careful way you move. Like you're constantly afraid you'll break something." She gestured to how he held himself, even now. "Because either you're naturally that considerate, or there's a story there I need to know."

J.J. was quiet for a moment, then he looked down at his hands. "Everything breaks when I touch it. Door handles, equipment, people if I'm not careful. I fractured a patient's ribs once during CPR because I pressed too hard. I've broken more medical equipment than most services buy in a year."

"That's why you rebuilt this ambulance."

"That's why I rebuilt everything. The only space in my life where I actually fit." He met her eyes. "Sometimes I think the universe made me too big for the world it put me in."

Here was this massive, powerful man who spent his life terrified of his own strength, hiding his abilities, making himself smaller to fit into spaces that were never designed for him. Just like she spent her life hiding her magic to fit into a world that saw it as freakish.

"What's really in the back besides the mannequin?" she asked.

"Energy drinks, racing fuel, and a few actual medical supplies. The mannequin is just for show if we get pulled over by police."

"And the cover story?"

"Same as I told you. A banshee patient with vocal cord sensitivity requiring ground transport only. Privacy and specialized care. We'll warn any cops not to get close in case the banshee starts to howl in pain."

It was actually a pretty good cover story.

"This is insane," she said.

"Completely insane," J.J. agreed, and she could see relief starting to replace the desperation in his expression.

"I could go to jail."

"We both could."

"I don't even know you."

"My name is J.J. Grimjaw. I'm an EMT with three different services, I rebuilt this ambulance myself, and I owe a shit ton in student loans.

" His voice got quieter, more vulnerable.

"I've never been arrested. I've never hurt anyone.

And right now, you're the only thing standing between me and driving for five days non-stop without sleeping. "

Farrah studied his face, letting her witch senses reach out to read his emotional state. Fear, desperation, hope, crushing debt anxiety, but no deception. No malice. Just a man who'd made a desperate plan and needed help to pull it off.

He's telling the truth. About all of it.

"I can do more than just heal," she said. "Nothing flashy, but useful in emergencies."

A car roared past them on the street—one of the other racing teams, already heading for the tunnel. The sound made her decision for her.

"Show me how to work the radio," she said. "If we're doing this, we're doing it right."

J.J.'s face lit up like she'd just handed him salvation on a silver platter. The smile transformed his entire face, making him look sexier than she'd seen him yet. "You're staying?"

"I'm staying.

J.J. pulled away from the curb and headed toward the Holland Tunnel, pushing the ambulance up to the speed limit and then smoothly beyond it.

As they accelerated through the tunnel and out of Manhattan, Farrah realized this was the first time in months she felt like she was moving forward instead of just treading water.

Even if she was moving forward at illegal speeds in a fake ambulance with a seven-foot orc who made her pulse race every time he looked at her with those dark, gentle eyes.

"So," she said, settling back in her seat as they emerged from the tunnel into New Jersey, "tell me about these dragons on motorcycles. And please tell me they’re better drivers than the trolls back there."