"Uh-huh." Brian crossed his arms. "And you just happened to nearly get yourself killed staring at her instead of watching where you were going."
Colby leaned against the trailer. "Not that we're complaining. Anyone who can make you forget about racing for five whole minutes must be something special."
"I didn't forget about racing."
Both men burst out laughing.
"Hank," Brian said, wiping his eyes, "you literally walked into traffic. For a woman. You, the guy who won't even take a coffee break during prep."
"It wasn't like that."
"See?" Colby gestured at him. "He's already defensive. This is serious."
Before Hank could respond, the sound of engines roaring to life echoed across the facility. Not the steady, controlled rumble of teams doing maintenance checks, but something louder. Aggressive.
Showy.
The three of them turned toward the entrance just as a convoy of vehicles rolled in. Five gleaming black trucks, each one sporting oversized tires and custom paint jobs that screamed money. The lead truck had flames painted along its sides, and mounted on its roof was a speaker system blasting heavy metal loud enough to rattle windows.
"Oh hell," Brian muttered. "They're back."
Team Red Dragon had arrived.
The convoy made a slow, deliberate circle of the parking area, ensuring every team saw them. The music pounded, the engines revved unnecessarily, and the driver of the lead truck laid on the horn in a pattern that sounded almost like a battle cry.
Other teams stopped what they were doing to watch. Some shook their heads in disgust. Others made rude gestures. Nobody looked happy to see them.
"I was hoping they wouldn't come back this year," Colby said quietly.
Hank's jaw tightened as the trucks finally parked, taking up twice the space they needed. The music cut off, and the doors opened in synchronized choreography. Six men stepped out, all wearing matching red and black racing suits with a dragon logo embroidered across their backs. They moved with the swagger of men who expected everyone to watch them.
And unfortunately, everyone was.
The team's driver, Marcus Steele, was the last to emerge. He pulled off his sunglasses with practiced flair and surveyed the facility like a king inspecting his domain. His gaze swept across the other teams, lingering just long enough on each one to make it clear he didn't consider any of them competition.
When his eyes landed on Hank, his smile turned predatory.
"Well, well," Marcus called out, his voice carrying across the parking lot. "If it isn't Hank James. Still driving that ancient rust bucket, I see."
Brian's hand clamped down on Hank's shoulder before he could take a step forward.
"Not worth it," Brian murmured. "You know that's what he wants."
Hank forced himself to breathe slowly, to keep his hands relaxed at his sides instead of curled into fists. Brian was right. Marcus thrived on getting under people's skin. Reacting would only make things worse.
"Ignore him," Colby added. "We've got work to do."
But ignoring Team Red Dragon was easier said than done. They set up their pit area with military precision, unloading equipment that looked brand new and expensive. Everything was top-of-the-line, from their tools to their tires to the massive trailer that probably cost more than Hank's entire operation combined.
"How does a team like that even exist?" Colby asked, not bothering to hide his bitterness. "It's like they're playing a different sport."
"Money," Brian said flatly. "Lots and lots of money."
Hank had heard the stories. Team Red Dragon was backed by some tech billionaire who'd decided competitive racing would be a fun hobby. They'd only been on the circuit for two years, but they'd already made a reputation for themselves, and not a good one.
Last year, they'd swept through the regionals and made it all the way to the championship. They'd won by a narrow margin, but there had been whispers. Accusations of tampering with other teams' vehicles. Suspicious mechanical failures during critical races. Nothing proven, nothing concrete, but enough smoke to make everyone suspicious of fire.
The racing federation had investigated and found nothing. Or rather, they'd found nothing they could prove. Team Red Dragon had walked away with their trophy and their reputation intact, at least officially.
