Chapter 1
Trouble
ARES
“How could you?” My voice isn’t loud enough to be heard above the commotion coming from the illegal racetrack, but I know she heard me. “You’ve been lying to me this entire time.”
“Ares, I swear I wanted to tell you.” Her voice breaks. Her eyes well with tears. “I just didn’t know how.”
Fury isn’t the only emotion that takes my breath away right now. But I let it prevail over all the other feelings that are warring in my chest. “It would have been pretty easy.” I bite out. “You open your pretty little mouth and make sure what is coming out isn’t a pile of lies.”
“You’re right.” She murmurs. “I was too scared.”
One single tear slides down her face, and my first instinct is to wipe it away with the pad of my thumb, or even better, kiss it away.
This entire time, I’ve been checking her out for any signs of trauma or injuries that would require medical attention.
All I can see is that her pupils are blown huge, the black covering the green of her irises almost completely. It seems thather helmet and the padding of her racing suit protected her from getting injured despite being thrown off her Ducati.
I don’t even know what to say about that. “Scared of what, Zara? You were on the racetrack in Bridgeport the day Atlas died. If you cared about me, that should have been the first thing you said when you moved into my father’s house.”
“I almost did, Ares. You have to believe me. But when I heard about the motorcycle ban in town and that you were a cop, I chickened out.”
I can understand that, but that doesn’t make me less angry with her.
“You had nothing to fear. Racing in Bridgeport two years ago wasn’t illegal. This here though, tonight? Give me a reason why I shouldn’t arrest you. All of you.” I say, looking at Chance and Lev.
She lowers her gaze. “I can’t. You need to do what you think is right.”
I think about it seriously for a second. If I arrested Zara, my brother and my best friend, I should also arrest all the people involved in racing here tonight.
The truth is that I came here following a hunch. I have no handcuffs with me and no way to take dozens of people into custody. And that’s without counting all the people who were here to watch the race or to place bets on it.
Even if I called for backup from the station, most people would run before my colleagues got here. Especially Fox and Morelli.
What I want is answers about what happened to my brother. I can deal with the rest later.
“What were you doing in Bridgeport? Why the fake name and the secrecy? Why the fuck did you run after the crash?”
She looks straight at me when she answers. “I’ve always wanted to race. Since I can remember. But my dad has nevertaken me seriously, and Mom hates motorcycles just as much as Scott. She never liked it when my dad took me out on the racetrack with him, and after they divorced, she made it clear that bikes needed to be a thing of the past for me like they were for her. But racing is in my blood, Ares. I think about it all the time. Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes me feel closer to my dad, but it’s more than that. It makes me feel alive.”
The crazy thing is that I understand where she’s coming from.
That’s exactly why Atlas and I started racing and why we founded Star Arrows.
“The fake name was just not to get caught by my mom. Two years ago I was a minor, and she would have never let me race. In fact, when someone she knew blew my cover by showing her the Blue Lightning race at the beach, she sent me to boarding school. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom so mad. And the name was just a mashup of my parents’ names. Smith is Mom’s maiden name, and JJ stands for John Junior. That’s what my parents called me when I was little and I wanted to be just like my dad.”
At a different moment, I would find that cute. But I’m still too shocked and angry for that.
“So you qualified for the race in Bridgeport, and then… what happened?”
Zara’s eyes shine with sincerity. “I don’t know. My plan was to win the race and then go back home to Shell Cove with you guys, since Cal and I were over. I hoped to be back without my mom finding out that I had been lying to her about being at Wren’s house all weekend.”
But things were derailed by that other motorcycle. “Who’s the guy who hit Atlas?” I ask her.
“I have no idea, Ares. You have to believe me. That’s why in the end I didn’t say anything to you. That bike came outof nowhere, and I dodged it just in time. I’ve been feeling responsible for what happened to Atlas ever since, because it should have been me.”
Those words hit me harder than if she had slapped me across the face. “Don’t you ever dare say that again.” My tone is harsh, cutting. “It should have been no one.”
