CHANCE
Mason Morelli is the fucking devil.
“I thought we talked about it.” His eyes rove over Zara’s body in her leather race clothes. “Every day you don’t pay me back, interests are added to what you all owe me.”
I want to gauge his eyes out for just looking at my girl after how he attacked her last week. The bruises on her neck have barely begun to fade enough that she can cover them with makeup and isn’t forced to wear a scarf.
“How much interest do you exactly charge us?” Zara asks.
The answer doesn’t surprise me. “As much as I deem necessary. I’ll let you know when you’re off the hook. Unless you want to consider coming to a couple of those parties on my uncle’s yacht like I offered. In that case, I can let you drop out of the races. Your choice, sweetheart.”
A visible shudder works its way through Zara.
She told me what Morelli offered her in lieu of racing. Illegal races are just the tip of the iceberg of Morelli’s criminal empire. Those parties happen on international waters. The young women who are sold to Enzo Morelli’s rich clients are oftenforced into compliance to pay off debts or plied with drugs and kept ensnared once they’re addicted.
“I don’t think so.” Is Zara’s answer.
Mason shrugs. “Then you’ll race until I’m satisfied that you’ve paid for the bets you all lost.”
“Actually,” Ares interjects before Mason can turn around and leave. “I need you to let Chance quit right now.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?” Morelli looks genuinely surprised.
Ares tells him I choked. “His bike wasn’t having any issues. Chance has PTSD from the last official race we were in. It isn’t safe to let him continue racing.”
What the fuck?
“Wait,” I say to my brother. “This is not your call to make.”
“I have to agree with your brother,” Morelli says, to my surprise. “I had a deal with him and Lev. Chance is a crowd favorite, and I would be crazy if I let him quit. Stay out of it, cop.”
Ares doesn’t give up. “If he’s a crowd favorite, then you need to give him some time to work through his issues. If he had gotten seriously hurt or worse today, your entire little racing enterprise could have come to an end.”
Morelli barks out a laugh. “Why is that?”
“Come on, Morelli,” Ares argues. “Be fucking real. How would you justify serious injuries or a dead body? Sure, you could say it happened in a car, but the sheriff would have a lot of questions about what happened.”
“Officer Hunter,” his tone is derisive. “I see that almost a year as a cop hasn’t opened your eyes to how certain things work. My uncle has great doctors on his payroll who are more than happy not to call the cops. Whether it’s a gunshot wound or a race gone wrong, they’re paid well enough to offer first-class medical care and not to ask any questions. If the injuries are serious enough to require extensive surgery at a real hospital… we have otherhired help who can dispose of a body. Either way, I like my odds of keeping your brother racing and making me money.”
Jesus.
I had no doubt about the way the Morellis handle their business. But hearing how to Mason, we’re nothing more than cash cows, cannon fodder if anything went wrong, doesn’t make me feel any better about the predicament we’re in.
“I don’t care what kind of resources your uncle has at his disposal.” Ares insists. “This was Chance’s last race.”
“I don’t think so.” Mason is adamant. “Your brother is the town’s new golden boy. A future hockey star and the mayor’s son. He’s the reason why I said yes when Fox asked me to sponsor these races. Most of the people who pay to watch the races from the college are here to see him and Lev. There is no one else who can draw the same amount of attention.”
Hearing that is more of an ego boost than it should be. I think Ares is right, that I shouldn’t keep racing. But it looks like I have no chance in the matter.
My brother’s next words surprise me. “What if I raced in his place?”
We all react at the same time.
“Are you insane?” I say.
Lev is on my same page. “Have you lost your mind? You’re a fucking cop. If you get caught…”
“Ares, no.” Zara gasps.
