“But I?—”
Morelli’s gaze hardens as he interrupts whatever objection was about to come out of her mouth. “But you agreed to my terms before the race, remember? If you won, I would have paid you four hundred grand; but if you lost, you would race for me for five weeks or until you can pay back the 400k. Let’s be clear on the fact that not crossing the finish line means losing. If you think you can talk yourself out of this by batting your eyes at me, you’re going to have a rude awakening. That’s why they don’t let girls’ race unless it’s in some bullshit women's league. You always think that having a cunt should buy you preferential treatment.”
Zara doesn’t let Morelli’s crass words intimidate her.
Maybe she doesn’t know who he is—after all, she’s new in town—or she has an even bigger pair of balls than I thought.
She’s proven plenty of times that she’s fearless; like the night we met when she stood on the back of my bike during the Blue Lightning race.
“Fine.” She bites out. “I don’t expect preferential treatment. But you have to admit that the reason why I didn’t get to cut the finish line was that someone who wasn’t even a part of the race rammed into me. Who says that you didn’t get one of your men to do that to make sure I didn’t win the bet?”
Morelli’s arm shoots out, grabbing Zara’s wrist.
I tense up, ready to intervene, and I see Lev and Ares square their shoulders too.
“Are you accusing me of cheating, little slut? I have no fucking idea where that dirt bike came from. And unless you want to repay your debt on your back on board my uncle’s yacht, I would take the very generous deal I’m cutting you. You wanted to race? This is your shot.”
Zara shoves him off. “I’ll race. But what if whoever hit me tonight tried again? This is the second time it has happened.”
“What are you talking about?” Morelli asks. “Last time you won the fucking race.”
“This isn’t the first time we all run into JJ Smith,” Fox snickers. “No pun intended. The last time, I almost got blamed for this bullshit.”
Fox explains the events that changed all of our lives two years ago.
“Interesting,” Morelli muses. “And you’re sure you haven’t gotten anything to do with this mysterious rider?”
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Fox actually sounds sincere when he denies any involvement with it.
“No, believe me, if I catch that motherfucker, he’s gonna be fucking sorry.” Fox spits out. “These guys’ old man was convinced that I was behind what happened to his son, and when he couldn’t make a conviction stick, he used his influence to blackball me from the official racing circuit. I lost all my fucking sponsors, and no team would touch me with a ten-foot pole. That’s why I’m here. The only way I can race is like this, Fast and Furious style.”
Ares confronts him. “Racing without authorization and safety measures is illegal everywhere, not to mention the betting. But of all places, you had to choose a town where even owning a motorcycle can mean jail time?”
“Of course.” Fox grins. “Last time I crossed paths with you and your family, my career was destroyed. Racing illegally sucks. It isn’t just dangerous, but the people who organize these races aren’t people you wanna argue with when they decide to cheat you out of your money, it happened to me more times than I can count. So, I decided to organize my own races, and Star Cove was the perfect place. All I had to do was get your hotheaded little brother and his friend involved, and I knew that I would bein a perfect position to earn enough to eventually start my own team.”
His arrogant tone rubs me the wrong way. “What makes you say that? Like Ares said, here you risk more than anywhere else just by bringing a motorcycle within city limits.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Fox smirks. “You’re my insurance policy. By having your ass racing every night, I’m untouchable. It’s not like the mayor is going to arrest his own son, right? And now that we have his shiny new stepdaughter involved too, if I go down, I’ll be in excellent company.”
I get a sense of déjà vu when Fox says that. It’s the same bullshit he tried to spin earlier at Noel’s shop.
He obviously doesn’t know my dad, or he wouldn’t say that. “I already told you that I wouldn’t test that theory if I were you.” I warn him. “If my father finds out about this, you’ll definitely go to jail. And that’ll still be better than what’ll happen to me. He’s going to kill me.”
I’m not joking. Dad is adamant that in life you should lead by example. So if we got caught, he’d make sure we’d get punished just as hard as everyone else, if not harder.
“Nah.” Fox chuckles. “That’s bullshit. And the proof is that your brother could have had us all locked up in a cell at the sheriff’s station by now. But he told you to go home. So unless he wants the mayor to receive an anonymous tip about how you spend your post-game nights, he’s going to extend me and my friends the same courtesy. I’m also fucking the deputy mayor’s daughter. So I’m kinda liking my odds right now. We’re going to continue to race, and now we even have an inside man from the sheriff’s department who can help us remain undetected. We’re golden.”
Fuck.
This guy is like a virus that infects everything he touches.
“Ok.” I nod. “Lev and I will keep racing, but it’s us or Zara.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Morelli bites out. “You’re all racing.”
I’ve been thinking about this since Ares took JJ Smith’s helmet off. “We had a deal, right? You wanted JJ Smith or us. Let Zara off the hook, and Lev and I will keep racing to pay her debt. You get two racers for the price of one.”
Morelli laughs. A full, head thrown back, belly laugh. “You know, kid,” he says between fits of laughter. “If you don’t get a contract with an NHL team, or you get bored with racing, you have a future as a fucking comedian. You’re all racing.”
