My limbs were shaking more than normal. The tremble in my fingers was only quieted when I gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.
I’d been scared out there. I couldn’t really allow that thought into my head when I’d been on the track. I couldn’t allow myself to realize some of the heart-pumping, skin-quaking emotion I knew as I raced today was because I was being ganged up on.
I was lucky today. Lucky I hadn’t ended up in a multiple-car pile-up.
Lucky I hadn’t been killed.
But…
I was still alive, and I was smiling.
Second place!
It hadn’t mattered what Cannon or any of the other drivers tried out there. They didn’t pull it off. But I did.
We did.
Jace and I.
The second my car screeched to a halt, my hands worked ferociously to undo my harness so I could get out.
It seemed to take forever. My limbs felt like Jell-O, and mental exhaustion pulled me down.
Strong, sure hands pushed mine away, deftly removing the restraints. I looked up. Jace was there, the headset around his neck now, his hair standing up like he’d been running his hands through it and his olive skin seeming fairer than usual despite the sun.
He looked like solace.
He smelled like home, and he felt like relief.
I ripped off my headgear, gloves, and sunglasses. Jace had the straps undone, and then I was out of the car. The fresh outdoor air brushed against my cheeks. I launched myself at Jace. He caught me, his arms like vises around my back.
“You tore it up out there!” he exclaimed.
I laughed. “Second place!”
“That was some of the most levelheaded driving I’ve ever seen, baby. God, I’m proud of you.”
He was proud, and it felt almost as good as that win I fought for.
Not many people told me they were proud. Mostly, I just told myself. I thought it was good enough until I heard it from Jace’s mouth.
Now, good enough wouldn’t be near enough ever again.
“Holy shit!” Drew said from close behind. “Joey, that was awesome.”
Jace put me down, and I hugged Drew and then Trent. Hopper was standing there, looking a little worse for the wear. His too-long hair was wild, the hat he’d had on long gone, and the corners of his eyes seemed pinched. But he made up for it with a relieved smile.
“That was impressive,” he said and yanked me into a hug.
When I pulled back, I said quietly, “Did you see?”
His full, dark brows drew down. “Oh, I saw. It will be dealt with.”
I didn’t say anything else because people swarmed us. I stepped back a little, overwhelmed and, honestly, still shaken.
My back came up against a familiar chest, and I melted against him for long seconds before straightening away.
His hand enfolded mine, and I took strength from his touch as the press and everyone crowded in. I answered a few questions, smiled for the cameras, and then Hopper told them all to move back.
“Give the woman time to celebrate! She’ll answer questions after the trophies are presented,” he called and waved everyone back.
Arrow stepped up beside us and grinned, his blond hair falling over his forehead.
“You owned it out there.” He smiled, a little shy.
I bounded forward and hugged him tight. He hesitated a second, but then his arms came around me, and I smiled against his shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said, only loud enough for him to hear.
When we pulled apart, I noted Jace watching us, a warm look in his eyes. He stepped up to me, anchoring his arm around my waist.
Beers started being passed around, and a celebratory feeling went through the air. Even though I was excited about the win, my nerves were still strung tight. I hoped the beer in my hand would help me relax, but my throat still felt too constricted to drink it.
“Josie, you doing okay?” Jace leaned in to whisper in my ear.
I glanced up, nodding. “Yeah, it was just intense.”
His eyes darkened, lips thinned. “Yeah, too intense.”
I felt the guys around me wanting to ask about it, but it was almost like a subject no one wanted to touch. I understood that way more than anyone else could, and I definitely was in no hurry to explain. Hell, I didn’t even think I could.
It was getting out of hand… News of my crossover was making it worse.
Nearby, there was some commotion, and I heard some yelling from the press. I craned my neck to see what was going on. Drew, Trent, Arrow, and Jace all did the same.
An odd feeling of foreboding washed over me. It left me overheated, sticky, and churned up inside. My hand gripped the bottle of beer like it was a lifeline… or maybe a weapon.
The crowd parted as three men, all in suits and ties, one with a clipboard and a frown, headed our way through the pit. I swallowed down the vomit rising up in my throat.
This isn’t good.
I ripped my eyes away from the men to find Hopper and signal with a mayday look. In seconds, he was there, swiftly at my side. Before he could even ask me what was wrong, he noticed the men. His body stiffened.
Drew wasn’t far away, and we locked eyes. He frowned, smacking Trent in the side, who then also noticed. It seemed everyone noticed them in that second. All the noise and celebration died down to be replaced with the kind of eerie silence I’d only heard in movies, up until now.
Jace sensed whatever was about to happen, too, reaching out and trying to pull me into the shelter of his body. I wanted to be there, I craved the shelter, but I couldn’t accept it. I needed to face this on my own.
I kinda want him, though.
“Ms. Gamble,” the man with the clipboard said, reaching us.
“That’s me,” I answered.
“The inspection of your car just a few moments ago has provided us with some troubling conclusions.”
“Is there something wrong with my car?” I asked, alarmed, looking around for it, even though I knew it wasn’t out here. My stomach twisted, and my palms became clammy.
“As a professional driver, we know you’ve been made aware of the strict policy of making no changes on your car after the inspection the day of the race.”
“Of course,” I said, confused.
“We inspect the cars again right before the race, then right after,” he said.
I made a sound. “I know that. What are you saying?”
“Your car has been worked on since the inspection this morning. Unpermitted modifications have been made.”
“What?” I said, my own voice like an echo inside my head. I didn’t understand. I didn’t make any changes to my car. I wouldn’t. Nor could I! I’d been driving it for crying out loud.
The man nodded, referring to his notes like he didn’t know exactly what he’d come here to say. Around us, the press was watching, red lights on cameras blinking and everyone waiting with bated breath to see what this official would say.
In other words, the air was scented with scandal, and the media loved a good scandal.
“Your lift plate has been adjusted to allow more oxygen in, which, as you know, results in the ability to go faster.”
“That’s insane!” Jace bit out.
A wonky, unbalanced feeling came over me. The press started going crazy, yelling out questions, cameras going off. All the noise around us pressed in, becoming almost unbearable.
I glanced at Hopper, unable to form any words. He frowned. “That’s impossible,” he said.
“It’s not,” the man said. “I have the inspection report right here.”
“Let me see,” Hopper insisted and held out his hand.
“As Ms. Gamble’s manager, I’m afraid you are also suspect in this, and we are not required to show you any of our reports.”
“That’s ridiculous!” he fumed.
“We have no choice but to disqualify you from today’s race. The professional division of racing does not take lightly to cheating.”
And just like that, the bubble I was floating in burst. They were taking away my win. Making out like what I did out there today—the way I survived and pulled through—was nothing.
“Are you kidding!” I gasped. “I have never cheated! I didn’t modify my car. If that report”—I jabbed my finger at his clipboard— “shows tampering, then I want to speak with this facilities manager. My car was supposed to be safe here. It was to be under strict lock and key. If someone modified it, then I want to know who it was!”
You already know…
The thought stopped me cold. I gasped and stepped back into Jace. My eyes tore around until I found who I was looking for.
The guy on my pit crew, the one who’d looked at me so strangely during my final pit stop.
It was you…
His eyes widened. Then he looked away. But not before I caught the stench of guilt wafting off him.
“It was my pit crew!” I panted. “They must have messed with my car when I wasn’t looking!”
The official gave me a wilting look. “Are you saying the pit crew you hired—your own staff—adjusted your car without your knowledge?” I started to say something, but he cut me off. “Because this division would find it very hard to believe a driver’s own pit crew would sabotage their own race.”
It was hard to believe, but that had to be it. I wobbled on my feet. Betrayal at every turn. Deceit surrounded me.
All this time. All these years I fought for respect. It all felt like it had been for nothing right now.
Did no one respect me? Did no one think I deserved to be here today?
“I didn’t do this.” I sounded hollow to my own ears. My stomach lurched, bile rose up in my throat, and my chest became so tight it hurt to breathe.
“You’re claiming you didn’t know about the changes made to your car?” The official scoffed.
“I’m not claiming anything!” I snapped. “I’m saying it to be true.”
“Look, Ms. Gamble, we know who your father is—”
I lurched forward, pushing my face so close he actually stepped back. “Don’t you dare bring him into this! This isn’t about him. I am my own person, separate from my father.”
He acted like he didn’t even hear me. “Maybe you thought we would overlook your… changes because of him, because you placed second. Or maybe you just thought he would write a check and make it all go away.”
I made an outraged sound and moved forward again.
A strong arm wrapped around my waist and towed me back. My chest heaved as I tried to breathe. I shook so badly I was afraid if it weren’t for Jace holding me, I’d fall down.
I glanced around. My ruin was going public. It was probably being broadcast on the news right now. I’d been dogged out there on the track today. Everyone worked as a unit against me. And now this…
They were chipping away at everything I had. My career, my pride, my reputation.
Anger so hot whipped through me it burned. “You actually think I would tamper with my own car, that I need to cheat to win a race?” I yelled.
The official without the clipboard seemed to have an answer ready. “Maybe the renewed media interest in your crossover and subsequently your career has put pressure on you to win so your crossover will be more publicized.”
I laughed. It was a strangled and unfortunately helpless sound. I was going to break down right here. Right now.
Everyone would see just how weak I really was.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” a very familiar voice ground out beside me ear. “You peckers aren’t actually standing there implying you think she did this. She said she didn’t.” Jace unwrapped his arm from around my waist and stepped forward, challenging the men. Trent stepped up beside me, and Drew took up position on my other side. Thank God for them…
What if they leave you when they find out how weak you are?
“Why would anyone else want to modify her car?” the man retorted.
“To get me disqualified!” I burst out.
“Surely there is something that can be done.” Drew spoke up.
Hopper was shaking his head, a scowl on his face. He knew as well as I did what that answer was going to be.
“It doesn’t work that way. She was caught with a modified car. She knows the regulations and the consequences.” He looked at me. “You’re out. There is no win here for you today. Pack up and go. The division will be in touch with your management as to what this will mean for your future races.”
It was my final blow in the epic battle that was today.
Jace pulled me against his side, and I leaned against him for a moment while my head swirled with doom.
My career was over. I drove like mad today. I literally beat the odds—the men trying to tear me down—out there today. I showed everyone I deserved to be on the track.
I won.
I won only to be disqualified after and was accused of cheating.
Even if they let me race again, I would be branded a cheat. I would lose sponsors and credibility. The press was going to eat me alive for this. My father was going to go ballistic.
The man with the clipboard ripped off a piece of paper from the stack and held it out to me. On the top it read: NOTICE OF DISQUALIFICATION.
I stared at it with contempt and shock. Hopper reached out and took it when it became clear I wasn’t going to.
I couldn’t accept this. I wouldn’t.
The men with their suits and judgmental expressions strode away. I gazed after them, anger beginning to build.
Hopper stepped in my line of vision. His features were nothing but a blur in front of my eyes. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I won’t let this touch your career.”
“It already has,” I told him. “No matter what, I’m out today. All that out there”—I flung my hand toward the track— “was for nothing.”
He nodded, grim. “You’re out today.”
“Not for nothing!” Jace argued. “There has to be something we can do.”
“There is, but not today. They won’t change their mind on the win. They won’t even bring out the car. They’ll confiscate it,” Hopper told him.
“Who would do this, Joey?” Drew asked, his voice hard.
I shook my head. I couldn’t… My head was spinning.
“Why?” Drew pressed when I didn’t reply, his hands balled into fists.
I glanced at Hopper. “They’re that pissed?” I rasped.
He paled. He actually staggered back a step. “They wouldn’t…”
But they would.
“What?” Jace demanded, his voice wholly suspicious.
I swallowed. “My teammates,” I spat. “The other pros I drive with. They’re pissed I’m crossing over. They hated me before… but now it’s worse.”
“I need to make some calls,” Hopper said. The paper in his hand crinkled in his fist. “I won’t except this. I’ll take it to the top of the division if I have to.” He pulled out his cell and strode away with angry, quick strides.
The entire crew was standing around looking at me. Some were whispering. My eyes found the man I suspected of making the change to the lift plate. I made sure my stare drilled into his.
He turned and walked away.
“Wait a minute!” I yelled and raced after him. The entire crowd seemed to follow me.
I grabbed him by the arm, and he looked over his shoulder.
“Why?” I asked him, low.
He jerked away from me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t!” I growled.
“What’s going on?” Jace demanded.
“Don’t blame me because you got caught cheating,” the mechanic said.
I jerked like he slapped me.
His words were like salt in the wound. He just denied what I know he did, and he not only did it in front of the press, but he implied he knew it was me who ordered it.
I watched him disappear into the crowd, leaving me here… with the pieces of my career at my feet.
Paparazzi descended like buzzards on roadkill. They smelled defeat, and they wanted it on camera, captured on film so the entire world could see my ruin, and I would have record of it for the rest of my life.
“Joey G., do you have a comment on being disqualified from today’s race?”
“Joey G., why would you cheat?”
“Joey G., do you think your actions will affect Gamble Enterprises?”
They fired at me like bullets out of a machine gun, so many questions with so much force. Each of them hit me; each of them pierced my skin.
The walls were closing in on me. I needed to breathe.
Don’t let them see you bleed.
“No comment!” I yelled, stepping away from Jace and straightening. The questions kept coming. The mics were in my face. People stared at me as if I were a criminal.
“Do you think today was your last race?” someone yelled out.
I snapped. Like broke in half.
“No more!” I screamed and threw my arms up in the air. “Pack the fuck up!” I roared.
Everyone stopped and stared. They acted like they were in shock at my outburst. It pissed me off. I was in shock. Not them.
It lasted maybe three seconds. Then everyone burst back into a flurry of movement.
“Joey,” Drew said, stepping to my side.
I pulled away from him. From everyone. I felt Jace’s stare, but I refused to look. I was so angry. So shocked. If I looked at him even once, I’d probably cry.
Crying was the worst thing I could do.
No.
The worst thing I could do was see the look in Jace’s eyes. The condemnation.
“I’m gonna go grab my bag,” I said to no one in particular and went swiftly toward the giant locker rooms for the drivers and staff.
They were co-ed down here on the track, ‘cause you know, up until I started driving, there wasn’t any reason for a female bathroom on a male-driven raceway. It would be discrimination to keep me out, so instead of making changes to the buildings, most places added another sign to the door, one of a figure in a dress right beside the male one.
I didn’t care. What difference did it make? There were stalls, and it wasn’t like I’d never seen a urinal before. Or a penis. I barely ventured past the lockers anyway. Hell, I probably wouldn’t even go in there at all if I didn’t want a place to lock up my bag and some extra clothes.
I hadn’t even used to do that, until of course the tampering started. Until a lock had become necessary.
I should have known this was coming. I should have prepared for it. Although, how did someone prepare for something like this exactly?
I felt like the “preparations” I’d made up until this point had been to harden myself, my heart, and feed the chip on my shoulder until I could use it as a shield.
The thing about shields?
There was always one weakness. Always something that could penetrate to hit its mark.
I’d been busy with my life, with friends who came to town to see me, additional press and travel. With Jace and the way he made me feel.
I dropped my guard. My shield.
I knew better.
This was my punishment.
I went to the sinks, turned on the cold water, and splashed my face. The icy droplets helped rid some of the fog weighing down my thoughts. Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t an option. I needed to think, to act.
After I used a crappy paper towel from the dispenser to pat my face dry I pulled the clip out of my hair and let the dark curls spring forward.
I studied myself in the mirror above the sink. I looked deep into the green eyes staring back at me.
Was this really worth it?
It always seemed no matter how hard I tried, it just was never enough.
Despite my best efforts, a tear escaped. With absolute loneliness, I watched it trail down my reddened cheek. Another fell. And another.
I loved driving, the thrill of speed, and spending my days behind a wheel, not at a desk. Was everything that came with it finally starting to break me down?
A sob broke free of my throat, and the dam burst open. Grabbing another paper towel, I buried my face in the scratchy paper and cried.
My body shook like a thunderstorm. I cried out of humiliation, loss, and even defeat.
All these years of being strong, of never letting it break me down… It ended in a win today… Then that win was swiftly stolen away.
I allowed myself to cry longer than I wanted. Actually, my body took over and seemed to pour out so much despair I was frightened. Which, of course, made me cry more.
Eventually, I sniffled, lifted my chin, and stared down at the torn, saturated towel in my palms. Slowly, I looked up. For once, my reflection showed what I was really like on the inside.
Broken. Kicked. Torn down.
The skin around my eyes was swollen and red. The fair skin on my cheeks was splotchy and hot. Dry, cracked skin coated my lips, and the end of my nose was raw from the stupid paper towel.
There was a smudge of dirt on my cheek, likely from the race… and it flooded me with memories of the first night I spent with Jace. Of the way we went at each other and the way he looked in that dirty T-shirt.
I started to cry again.
What if I lost him along with everything else that had already been taken?
I tossed the ruined cloth in my hand away and retrieved a fresh one. After mopping up my tears a second time and wiping my nose, I threw it away and washed my hands.
Enough was enough. Standing in a bathroom and crying wasn’t going to change anything. Walking out of here with a face giving away how I really felt was going to be embarrassing enough. If I still wanted to cry later, I could do it in the privacy of my hotel room.
Pity party for one was now cancelled.
At my locker, I entered the code and opened the door. My brown leather hobo bag waited for me in exactly the same position as when I placed it there.
I wasn’t quite ready to go back out there with everyone, to face the questions, the conversations… the looks. I stalled for time by unzipping the jumpsuit I was wearing and stepping out. It smelled like sweat and gasoline. The back was damp from how badly the sweat pooled between my shoulder blades. Beneath it, I was dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and a simple gray loose V-neck T-shirt made of combed cotton.
The brush of cool air against my previously confined skin was like a kiss from Jace. Teasing but refreshing. Soft but exciting.
I had to take off the boots tied on my feet to pull off the suit, so I sat down to quickly do so, but when I went to put them back on, I couldn’t. I was so tired… Instead, I reached into my hobo and found a pair of flip-flops. I was stuffing everything in my bag when the door to the locker room opened and slammed shut.
I glanced up, thinking it was Jace, not objecting at all to his presence. I kinda wanted it right now. I just wanted to feel his support. I needed it.
I knew almost instantly, though, it wasn’t Jace. My back stiffened as someone stepped around the row of lockers into sight.
All the little nagging thoughts, the suspicions my subconscious held close, rushed to the surface. Along with it came humiliation, defeat… anger.
“If I were you, I’d turn around and get the fuck out,” I said, grabbing my bag and slamming the locker door closed with a bang. It made a nice exclamation to my words.
“Joey, Joey, Joey,” he intoned, stepping forward. “You look like you’ve been crying.” He made a sad face, and in that moment I knew true hate.
Dean Cannon was an arrogant bastard who thought the world revolved around him. He wasn’t a large guy, standing about five seven, with a slim build and a head full of brown hair. He definitely wasn’t my cup of tea—or my cup of anything really—but I knew a lot of fans thought he was a heartthrob.
He liked to remind the entire team of that whenever possible.
He had his own line of T-shirts, some with his name on the back. He also had a couple endorsement deals, one of which pretty much made him a household name. Well, for anyone who watched TV and paid attention to commercials.
My father sponsored him, along with a few other big companies, but it was the deal he had with my father that made him part of my “team.”
Technically, drivers weren’t on teams. But my father sponsored quite a few drivers in the pro division. Our headquarters was at Gamble Speedway. Everyone had apartments there. The garages and mechanics were there. Hopper and a few other managers were there.
We drove together a lot. We occupied a lot of the same training facilities, and we used the same team of people to get us ready for races.
Everyone got along with each other, but no one really got along with me.
I was the outsider. The driver who remained apart even in a crowded room. People recognized it. I downplayed it.
Because really, I didn’t care.
Not much, anyway. Okay, fine, sometimes it hurt like hell. Sometimes, I felt like a kid in kindergarten who stood in the back of the class while a popular kid handed out party invitations, waiting for mine, but it never came. Everyone got invited to the party, everyone but me.
Why not me?
When we were at work, I was all business. I ignored the jokes, the looks, and the occasional snide remark. I didn’t go out for pizza and beer or watch old racing tapes after hours in the headquarters media space.
I was nice to everyone on staff, but I earned the reputation of being aloof. I knew some people assumed I thought I was better than the other drivers. Some thought I was spoiled by Daddy. I never denied it, but I never confirmed it either.
It didn’t matter, though, because I learned sometimes silence had a price. Some people always wanted to believe the worst or revel in the drama, and since I never said anything, they continued to do so.
It bothered me, but in the grand scheme of things, what did it really matter? My job was to drive, to be a professional, and to win races.
Today you didn’t win. Today it was all taken from you.
Looking back, and looking at Dean right now, maybe I should have been a little less professional. I’d allowed him and the others to get away with too much.
Hiding behind the stereotype.
“The press is already having a field day with this.” Dean guffawed, placing his hands in the pockets of his dirty, sweaty racing coveralls with a smug look on his face.
“That was your intent, wasn’t it?” I said knowingly. “To discredit me with the press and take away my win today so I looked worse than you after you tried to take me out and caused a metal pileup on the track.”
An angry glint covered the truth in his eyes. “Are you implying I’m the one who fucked with your car?”
“Oh, I’m not implying it.”
His hands yanked out of his pockets, his arms pumping when he strode forward. I stayed planted where I was even though my skin crawled with his nearness.
This is the first time I’ve been alone with him since that night.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut,” he warned.
I tipped my head to the side and studied him. “You mean like before?”
His eyes flared. “You haven’t forgotten about that yet?”
I smirked. “You wish I would, don’t you?”
His blue eyes narrowed. It was such a beautiful waste of color on him. His dark soul ruined it.
I stepped forward, challenging him. I refused to show any kind of fear or intimidation toward him. It’s what he wanted, and even if my hands did tremble a bit with our confrontation, I was too conditioned to let it show.
I’d become very good and hiding the worst of my weaknesses.
“Is that why you fucked with my car? How’d you do it, Cannon? Did you sneak in yourself after you ate my dust today, then wrecked during your temper tantrum on the track? It wouldn’t be the first time you messed with my car.”
His face soured. “I didn’t modify anything.”
“So who did?” I asked. “You pay someone on my pit crew?”
His eyes flashed. “You’re a little bitch, you know that?”
So that was it. That look I’d seen on that guy’s face. Cannon paid him to modify my car; he paid him to make me look like a cheat.
The worst part? I was sitting in the goddamn car while it happened.
“No, Cannon. You’re the bitch. You’re such a bitch you tampered with my car because I beat you today. Not only did a girl blow past you out on that track, but I was stealing all the pro spotlight, wasn’t I? I was getting all kinds of new attention because of the crossover.”
The muscles in his neck corded like he was having trouble containing himself. I guess the truth hurt. “Publicity? No one gives a fuck about you or your career. The only reason you’re here is because of your daddy.”
“So you keep saying,” I retorted, bored. I’d heard him say that so many times I practically heard it in my sleep.
“You couldn’t even get a magazine cover on your own. They had to put a guy next to you because no one would have picked it up if it was only about a woman driver.”
That stung, probably because part of me believed him.
“If you think I’m going to keep my mouth shut about today you’re on crack. There’s no way in hell I’ll watch my entire career go up in smoke.”
“After today, you won’t have a career,” he growled.
“After today, you won’t either.” I vowed.
His eyes widened just a fraction. It made me feel like shit. Did he really think so low of me? Did he really think he could push me this far and I wouldn’t push back?
Of course he did. You’ve allowed it before.
“You shouldn’t have come in here, Cannon. But you just had to gloat, didn’t you? I might have suspected it was you before, but now I know for sure.”
“You don’t have the proof.” He smiled.
“I’ve got my word. And I have a direct line to the man who signs your biggest check.”
All the color drained from his face, and he rushed me. I flew back, my body slamming against the locker doors as I tried to avoid his hands.
Memories rushed me… feelings, thoughts… fear. I made a strangled sound, trying to get away. He shoved me back again. My head bounced off the metal and I shoved out at him, determined to fight.
You know what sucked about being a woman? Being physically weaker than a man.
He body-checked me. Pressed himself up against me and rubbed like he was a cat on a scratching pole. “I know you missed this,” he crooned, reaching for my breast.
I spit in his face.
The mean, spiteful look I’d grown used to appeared in his expression. His hand shot out, grabbed me by the throat, and pinned me up against the wall. I grabbed at the hand with both of mine, trying to claw him off.
He only squeezed tighter, lifting me so my feet were off the floor and dangled over the ground. I dug my nails into his arm, and he cursed, but it wasn’t enough to make him let go.
I gasped, desperate for air.
“Listen here, you little bitch,” he snarled. “You keep your damn mouth shut, go over to that farce of a division for the poor, forgotten indies, and let the real men handle the pros. You don’t belong here. You never did, and you never will.”
I brought my knee up and rammed it into his balls.
His eyes about popped out, his hand let go of my throat, and I dropped out of the air, down the locker, and hit the floor with a hard slap.
I grabbed my throat, wheezing and gasping for breath. Even though his hand was gone, I still felt like he was squeezing it. I still felt like I couldn’t breathe.
Panic tinged the edge of my vision, and I rolled and sat up. I barely made it; gasping for oxygen was all I could manage. Cannon’s body folded in on itself. What I could see of his face was beet red.
I knew I needed to get up, so I started to stand, throwing my hands out to brace myself. With a sound of rage, Cannon launched himself at me, tackling me to the floor, and pinned me down.
“Get off me!” I roared, but it sounded like a squeak. He hit me. Pain bloomed across my cheek.
Tears burned my eyes. I was so incredibly frustrated and hurt.
“You just keep trying to show me who’s boss, don’t you?” He pushed his face down into mine, spittle from his lips spraying me, and I cringed back. “Maybe I should show you who’s really the boss, once and for all.”
Fear, genuine and piercing, clawed me. On impulse, I ripped one arm from beneath him and drove my thumb into his eye.
He yelled, and I shoved him off, scrambled to my feet. Dean jumped up as I lunged away, grabbed my arm, and yanked. When I spun, I brought along my fist and caught him right in the face.
“Argh!” he yelled, his head snapping back. Blood spurted from his nose. Pain exploded in my hand, but I clung to the feeling. It made me feel alive.
He recovered way faster than I would have liked and struck out.
His fist caught me in the lip. I felt the skin split and the warm trickle of blood. My head buzzed with adrenaline and anger. My hands shook, and inside my chest, my heart pounded. I dabbed at my lip. My fingers came away red.
He laughed like the sight of me bleeding made him happy. Like it proved something.
“Keep your bitch mouth shut or it’s going to get way worse for you.” Cannon threatened.
I wiped the blood on my leg and faced him. “How exactly is it going to get way worse for me?” I snapped.
He started to scoff, like I was being stupid, so I swung out, hitting him again. Right in the nose a second time. He howled, this time falling back into the lockers, and brought a hand up to cover his nose.
My chest heaved. I felt years of pent-up frustration and refocused anger shift and zero in on him and everything he’d ever done to me.
“What are you gonna do? Stick some more maxi pads to my car? To my locker? To the bathroom stalls? You gonna hang tampons from my rearview mirror and put them in my drinks when I’m not looking?” I advanced on him, heaving. Tears rained from my eyes, but I didn’t care anymore. I was wild with anger and misery. I felt ruined, like I’d hit rock bottom.
How did it come to this? How did I end up disqualified from a race, humiliated, and in a literal fist fight with a man?
My eyes drilled right into his, and I took another menacing step forward, he actually shrank back against the lockers even more, still holding his bleeding face.
“You gonna take my car again? Park it across town in the ghetto in an alleyway? Took me an entire day of searching to find it. You know how much that shit cost me? I had to buy all new rims and a stereo system.”
“Shut up,” he rasped, finally pulling his hand away. Blood coated his palm, his eyes were already shadowed, and his nose was swelling.
I hoped to God it was broken.
“Why?” I cried. “You don’t like to hear all the shit I’ve put up with from you without so much as a whisper of complaint?” I yelled. “Well, too damn bad! You’ve pushed me too fucking far!”
I couldn’t stop now. It tumbled out of me with such force I wondered how the hell I’d kept it in all this time.
“What about the night y’all invited me to a team party? I thought, Shit! These guys have finally decided I might be worth driving with. I thought maybe I’d actually see some of the comradery the rest of you showed each other. But I didn’t get that, did I, Cannon? I walked in to you holding an inflatable doll with my racing suit on it. Jacobs was fucking it right there in front of you. Did you get off on seeing him get off? Did you take a turn next? You’re a sick fuck.”
He gasped. “Not another fucking word.”
“Oh, and then there was the time you came in the locker room without me knowing and took photos of me in my bra and panties while I changed. You taped them up in the garage. But that wasn’t as fun, was it? Because Hopper found them. You still cleaning toilets for that?”
He took a step forward, clearly promising to hit me again. My lip stung where he’d already done so, but I refused to back down.
“But that’s not even the worst of it, is it?” I whispered, still pushing him, even seeing he was ready to snap. “Then there was that night…”
He roared and lunged forward. The bloodied hand he’d had against his nose struck me, slapped across my face, and with it, I felt the warm smear of blood. I stumbled, saw my bag nearby, and picked it up, swinging it at him. It hit him in the face, and I took off running.
I wasn’t a runner, but I was outweighed, and I’d clearly pushed him too far.
Again, he caught my arm and jerked me back around. My entire body went on defense, ready to fight.
“Let. Go.” The deep, menacing snarl echoed through the room.
I looked over my shoulder to where Jace was standing, just inside the row of lockers. All his focus was on Dean, and the look on his face scared me.
This was not Jace… No, this was Lorhaven.
Even more, a Lorhaven not even I had seen before, and I’d seen him pretty pissed off. His feet were planted apart, his hands balled at his sides. The darkness of his eyes looked almost void, like he had nothing inside him that could even try to hold him back from the pure destruction the snarl on his lips promised.
Cannon released me instantly. I stumbled back, out of arm’s distance.
“Jace,” I panted, “let’s go.”
He glanced at me, did a double take. “What happened to your face?” His voice was deadly calm.
I swiped at the blood. “I’m fine.”
“He. Hit. You.”
I nodded.
“She hit me first. Fucking deserved it!” Cannon yelled, like that would save him.
“How many times? You’re bruised. Bloody…” His eyes swept down. “Your neck is red. Swollen.” He stepped closer to me, peering down. “Purple blotches…” His body went rigid. “Are those fucking fingerprints!” He roared the last word and even I shrank back.
Jace darted down the row of lockers and, in one swift movement, grabbed Dean by the scruff of his neck and rammed his face into the metal lockers.
Cannon made a muffled umph sound before crumpling to the ground at Jace’s feet.
Jace spun, his fists balled. “Everything you just said was true?” he rasped tightly.
I felt like someone punched me in the stomach. “How much did you hear?” I whispered.
“I heard everything, Josie. Everything.” His chest heaved so heavily and so fast I actually worried.
Tears fell once more, and I wiped at them, trying to hide the fact I was dying inside. My God, I felt backed into a corner for so long… and it was hell trying to fight my way out.
“But there’s more, isn’t there? I heard you say it, but he stopped you. Tell me the rest, Josie. Tell me now.”