Zara has reassured me that she’s fine. That when it happened she wasn’t even back in my life and that I had no obligation to tell her.
I know that’s true, but I feel terrible that she didn’t hear it from me. Even if Heather has always been just a friend and that night was just a moment of mutual foolishness and a misguided way to cope with our grief.
If that mistake had cost me the woman I love, I don’t know what I would have done.
“Racers!” Morelli comes to stand at the finish line, a microphone in his hand. “Are you ready to battle for glory tonight?”
Glory? I suppress an eye roll. What we’re battling for is lining his pockets.
His question is answered by the roar of all the people assembled around the clearing; all the people who came to get a thrill from the speed or to bet their money on the fastest bike.
“The race will begin in five minutes, so this is the last call for any final bets.” Morelli announces. “JJ Smith is tonight’s favorite. Will she secure a victory, or will one of the other racers beat Smith’s Ducati? Girls, give us a little visual reminder of tonight’s stakes.”
Un-fucking-believable.
Two Zetas, Hillary and Carissa if memory serves, carry a blackboard with the rates for each racer written in chalk.
Zara is the favorite, and the return for betting on her crossing the finish line first reflects that fact.
To my surprise, Fox is the second racer deemed most likely to win, followed by me and Lev.
There are four more racers coming from out of town to replace our frat brothers who had been racing at the beginning.This is a definite sign that Morelli is scaling up the entire operation. I think I recognize one from the Super League races, so these new competitors have some racing experience.
Eying up the odds and the payouts on the blackboard, my attention is caught by the last entry.
It isn’t someone lined up on the starting line with us.
The last line says, “Masked rider.”
“What the fuck?” I blurt out. “Are you seriously collecting bets on that bike making an appearance?” I abandon my spot, eating the distance between me and Morelli in a few short strides.
Lev is immediately by my side, and I spot Ares making his way to the starting line, too.
“Of course I am.” Morelli’s ear to ear grin is begging to be wiped out by my fist. “What happened last week added a lot more excitement to the race. People started betting on that mysterious bike coming back, and I would be an idiot not to bank on it. If that bike shows up or not is just the main bet available. There are all sorts of other options.”
He shows me the tablet in his hands.
“Motherfucker, I—” I see red.
I’m gonna kill this piece of shit and then go after his entire family if they dare threaten retaliation.
“Chance, babe.” Zara’s hand lands on my shoulder, grounding me.
I’m shaking with the effort to contain my fury.
“Morelli,” Ares reaches us right at that moment. “Are you serious? That’s fucked up even for you.” He says after seeing what made me almost lose my shit.
The bastard’s smile widens. “Why? My uncle is pleased with how much money the bets are bringing in. This is just business. I couldn’t care less if that bike shows up or not, but you can betyour ass I’m gonna offer people the option to lose their money betting on it.”
“Betting on Zara getting injured or dying?”
“Calm your fucking tits, asshole.” He snickers, sliding his finger on the screen to show us more betting odds. “I offer bets on every racer getting injured or dying. Including the mystery bike. Of course, I hope our little champ here ends the race in one piece. She’s definitely a crowd favorite.” His eyes rove over Zara’s body, and I snap.
“Don’t even look at her, you piece of shit.” I grab the front of his shirt, causing the tablet he was holding to slip out of his hand, hitting the ground.
Strong hands grab me by the shoulders, pulling me back.
“Chance, knock it off.”
