WYATT
It’s been a fucked-up month of guys on shit bikes, trying to best me on some of the craziest goat trails I’ve ever seen.
With rocks that are strewn between scrub plants, dead trees, the odd patch of evil angled gravel stones, and palm fronds that cut your skin as you pass, it’s a living hell. And that’s in the good sections of the area we’re riding.
Kids more than half my age dot the landscape, popping up out of nowhere in ragged clothing that hangs off their malnourished bodies. I’m glad this whole ride is sponsored by The History Channel and Crown Industries. Otherwise, I’d be opening my wallet every second to feed these sad looking fuckers.
How the hell do they survive?
We’re in this remote region of Lahore, India, where most of these people haven’t seen a cell phone, never mind a bike like mine. It’s custom made specifically for me and this terrain. Normally, the company only builds street machines, but my friend, who owns the place, created a dirt devil of epic proportions. There’s hand guards, knee covers—it helps sometimes, until I broke one off—and a protected gearbox area. The cover was ingenious until I caught it on a boulder on the last turn yesterday, cracking the chain case. Now I’m here, stuck with the rest of the film crew and my buddy, Trellis, as we wait for a replacement to be shipped in.
“Casper, want something to eat, man?” Holding up a bowl of something steaming, he motions for me to join him.
“I don’t trust that shit. I have no idea what the locals injected, imbued, embalmed, or crafted into it.” I raise my protein shake to Tre. “I’m set. Thanks, though. You enjoy the gut rot.”
Laughing, he gulps a massive mouthful of it, and I watch to see what I think will happen next. He spits it clear across the fire in front of us. I watch as the flames dance, and he looks like he’s just downed liquid fire. Scrambling around in the dirt for his water jug, he guzzles it back while the locals laugh at his stupidity. I hear them telling our interpreter that it’s meant to be sipped slowly, or sopped up in heavy breads. Of course, he never asked.
Drinking back my trusted food source, I watch my friend act like he’s near death as he coughs and sputters. “That shit potent?” I ask.
Tre’s face is beet red as he tries to catch his breath. “Potent is a—ah, fuck!” he yells, grabbing up another of the bottles to douse the flames in his throat.
We’d been stuck here for a few weeks now, getting this setup, understanding the terrain, and learning how to cope at these heights. The air is a bit thinner, which affects not only us, but the bikes as well. They don’t fucking appreciate it.
Breaking that part gave the TV station something to record, but it left us stuck. My dad would be kicking my ass if he knew. “Always have spare parts for everything, Wyatt.” Yep. I didn’t listen. I didn’t check the stock, and I left in a hurry, so this is all on me.
When we arrived back in the US after the TT, I only cared about getting away from my family, fast. No, not family—my mother. I was very happy after my night of sexual release with Circe, then Mother had to go there. She had to remind me of how I was supposed to be the ‘good boy.’ I’d be her lawyer, artist, musician, not another daredevil. Why did I have to touch Jamieson’s bike? Why couldn’t I just leave it alone and stay away from this dangerous lifestyle? I’m to blame. How? I don’t know, but I take it on the chin all the time from her.
So, we got into it, again, and we both got drugged, again. At some point, doctors will stop writing scripts for Dad and just let us go at it. I didn’t really care, though. I couldn’t handle another second in her presence, so once the wheels touched down, and once I was coherent enough, I was packing, ready to come here.
Trellis texted me while I was in a drug-induced sleep, saying something about being in Australia for a regatta that went to shit, and as soon as I woke, I’d told him how I was off to Asia the next morning, and that if he could break away for a bit, I sure could use some laughs.
So now were here, waiting for a gear, stuck on a mountain.
Yesterday’s break halted our chances of winning this adventure anyway. I really don’t care at this point. I’m just worried about getting out of this mountain range without tangling with anything that can kill me. Sure, I love exciting, but this is crazy. One of the guides, Menur, was collecting wood for the fire and accidentally ran into a Krait. It’s a scary snake, because its venom can kill fast. Now I’m so freaked out, I check my boots, pants, and even my fucking socks before dressing. I won’t even go into the bush to piss; I stick close to camp.
“Fuck, that shit was evil.” Tossing the rest on the fire, Tre sets his bowl on a nearby rock. “Give me one of those drinks, fucker.”
“Go get your own, asshole. I only have a few more before I have to eat that shit you just tried.”
“Stop being a drama queen, Crown. Give me one of those, or I’ll look for one of those fucking snakes and toss it in your tent tonight.”
Trellis is one of those guys that loves to exploit your weaknesses and bust your balls. He has a blast with life, enjoys fucking anything that moves, takes the Mickey out of his friends. And, like me, he has enough money to buy a small country. But he’s a good guy, and that’s why he’s out here with me in the first place. When I mentioned I’d be out here, and that I’d had another run-in with Marca Crown, he stepped right up and slid into the role of joker, comrade, and prankster to keep me light; to keep the dark at bay.
“How’s Doll?” I take in the silence of a place like this. It’s left us with a ton of time to chat about stupid shit, like chicks and family. And, of course, because he has a bit of a thing for Doll, we seem to talk about her a lot.
“She was good when I left.” When I hopped out of that plane, I left her standing there, dumbstruck. She’d asked to come with me, to tag along and ride. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to say no. Mother squashed that fast.
“No way is China hanging in the wilds of Asia while you race,” Mother had said. She forgets that China can hold her own on a bike, build one up from scrap, and would handle the wilderness just fine, but no. She wants Doll to be the face of Crown, the fancy face of promotions and the money side of things. Thank fuck it’s not ours. Other than to race with, we don’t want the business.
Trellis co-runs his family affairs. It’s not his favorite part either, but after some unfortunate mishaps, it fell to him and his brothers. I’m always amazed at how he takes it in stride, handling it as well as he does with everything he’s dealt with. He’s had a bum rap.
My phone chimes, and I’m surprised to find a text from Doll. Our reception out here has been spotty. Looking at the screen, I see it’s a picture. Resting on the screen is her bike, a ribbon hanging across the tank, and a large check in her name. She did just fine at Laguna track it seems. I didn’t doubt her for a second.
Turning the screen, I show Tre and he smiles. “Fucking girl is a machine. I think she’ll best your ass soon.”
“Not a fuckin’ doubt. I have to watch her all the time. She’s fast and fearless.” Scrolling through the rest of the pics, I find the ones I’ll need tonight after it’s lights out. I’ve been talking to Circe for a month straight. I don’t normally talk to girls after we fuck, but for some reason, she’s hit a chord with me. We’ve talked, we’ve texted, we’ve sent each other naked pictures, and the one I’m scrolling for is my favorite. She’s lying on the bed, legs spread wide, with her finger pointing to her pussy with the caption ‘Wish you were here.’
Cheeky woman.
“What are you grinning about, you bastard?” Reaching across, Trellis peels the phone from my hands faster than I can react. “Oh, well. I’ll give you a pass. That’s a reason to ignore my tantalizing conversation.”
Turning the phone side to side, he takes in all the nuances of her soft skin, her perfectly manicured lips, her glistening pussy. Fuck, do I wish I was there. The women here don’t hold any interest for me, and even though I’ve been known to fuck around with guys, Trellis and I don’t have that kind of relationship.
“Who’s the fuck?” he asks crassly, and for some reason, it riles me up.
“She’s not a fuck,” I snap back, perturbed by his comment.
Tossing his hands in the air, he passes the phone back. I’m pissed that he’s seen her that way because it’s all mine. She’s mine.
“Got it, okay? So, who’s this girl that you’d bite my head off over?” I take a deep breath as I pocket my phone. “Her name is Circe. I met her at the TT.”
Looking dumbstruck, he smiles that cheesy smile that normally means alcohol and arrest warrants. “Is this the Circe I heard about?”
“Where did you hear about her?”
“The news, you dumbass.” At six foot seven, Trellis is one massive guy. All the men in his family are behemoths. I’m amazed that our friends at KRGT could even find suspension that would hold up his weight. I’m six foot-ish, and I easily weigh about two ten, but he has to be pushing two seventy-five.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s the one that interviewed you, right? Like I could miss that shit. Casper Crown was teasing a girl on air. Your panties were in a twist.”
Laughing it off, I toss one of the edgy pebbles at his head, which he catches easily before throwing it back. “Fuck you, man.”
“Look. Wyatt, that chick had your number from the start. I know you’ve been texting someone, and now I know who.”
Jesus! Have I been that noticeable? I thought I was being very aloof about the whole thing, giving just enough to get what I needed—sexual release. Being here, I needed more than my own hand in this desolate area, but for some reason, the idea of trying to find someone else deterred me. Nothing compares to her spit and fire.
“So…”
“So?”
“What is it that has you—”
“Dude, we are not going there.” Fuck no. Not bloody likely I’ll be talking to him about that.
“Fine.” He rises from his seat. “You want one of those fermented goat beers?”
“Sure.” Once he walks off, I pull my phone back out to look at her pictures. I flip through them slowly, eyeing all the tiny flaws. The soft shadows that dance across her face, and that fucking body of hers. I stop looking and turn when I hear Trellis in a heated discussion.
“No. I’m not telling him, and neither are you!” he yells at one of the cameramen.
Leaving my seat, I walk over. “What’s the problem, Tre?”
His look says something major is up. Staring at the asshole, he doesn’t even look at me when he says, “Nothing.”
“I call bullshit. You’ve never lied to me before, so don’t start now, man.”
“He needs—” Trevor, our camera guy starts.
“He needs nothing, you fucking asshole!” Grabbing Trevor by the scruff of his shirt, Tre’s stance is rigid, like he’s about to take the first shot. If I don’t interrupt, the two of them will be brawling in no time.
Yanking on Trevor’s clothing, I hear the material rip as he’s dragged forward. “Tre! What the fuck!”
Punching Trevor once, the guy hits the dirt. “To you, I’m Trellis Anchor. Not Tre, not Trellis. I’m fucking Mr. Trellis Anchor. And if I say you’re not saying shit, you shut the fuck up.” Jesus, he’s beyond pissed when he pulls the “I’m Mr.” bullshit.
“Tre!” I yell. “What the fuck is going on?”
Spinning on me with fire in his eyes, Trellis takes a step back. That fire starts to die out, but it’s replaced with fear, and a hint of something else I can’t place. “You don’t need to know, Wyatt. This piss ant cocksucker thinks he’s going to do something, and I’ve said he won’t. End of story. Fuck off. Go sleep it off with a goat and a bottle of lube.”
Picking him up off the ground, Trevor squirms in Tre’s grip as he tries to get away. “I’m fucking telling Casper. He needs to know!”
Gotta give him credit. The boy has balls to go against Trellis when he’s pissed. Not to mention, he’s at least a foot taller and a good buck heavier. I’ve seen Trellis fight with his two brothers, and I wouldn’t attempt to take him on when he’s this mad. Not without taking a considerable amount of damage for my troubles.
“Trellis, tell me what the fuck he’s talking about, or let the bastard loose to tell me himself.” I push my way between them, hoping to deflate Tre’s anger. Go figure, I’m trying to deflate someone else’s anger issues.
Turning to me, with a sad look in his eyes, Trellis says, “You don’t want to know, man. I’m telling you to leave this one.”
“I can’t, and you know that. Let him tell me, Tre.” Loosening his grip, he backs off of Trevor, then levels a heavy look at me.
“I’ll be over here. Don’t even think about doing something stupid without me.” He’s dead serious. I know that’s never good. The joker is not the serious type.
Straightening out his shirt, Trevor purses his lips, composing himself. “Casper, we’ve received some bad news. It’s all over the place, and at some point, you’ll see it. I figure it’s better to hear it from us than from a stranger.”
Now I’m getting pissed. He’s fluffing me up before he hands me bad news. “Fucking spit it out, man. What the fuck are you talking about?”
“There was a crash at Indy.”
“Yeah, so? What’s fucking new about that?” So there was an accident. So what?
“Your dad hit a patch…” He pauses. “Jax Crown died at two-thirty this afternoon.”
He waits for me to react; they all do. I stare at Trevor, hoping to catch him in a lie, but then I look to Trellis and I know.
This isn’t a joke.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
He shakes his head. “I wish I was.”
“I don’t believe you!” I yell out. “I don’t believe any of you!”
I can feel my heart fall out of my chest.
I’m broken. There’s no repairing this.