Page 83 of Austin

He steps up. “You should be. How would you feel if you lost all of this? The fancy cars? The money? The power?” He motions outward with his hands, as if encompassing all things Sexton Media.

“They can have it.” I get even closer, right in his face. “You think I want to be here? I want this life? I don’t. You know what I do want? I want to keep my mom’s memory alive. My mother, Marina Sexton, built this business from nothing but a piece of paper and a dream. Now, my stepmom is trying to tear it apart. Is that what you want to see happen? You want to help her kill my mother’s memory?”

He pauses as we stare into each other’s eyes, neither one of us willing to back down. I’ve heard all about how their mom died. It was cancer, the brutal kind that comes and whips through your body in six months. They didn’t even have a chance to prepare for her loss before she was ripped away from them. He knows exactly what’s going through my head, and if he says one more word, then he deserves for me to keep his fucking car.

After a few seconds, I spit out, “That’s what I thought.”

I turn around in an attempt to end this conversation when he yells, “I need another race.”

Stopping, I turn to him. “I said no.”

“I’ll keep your secret. I’ll tell Missy to piss off. Race me one last time.”

I appraise his stature. He waited outside my garage door for two hours for his car and is saying he turned down a hundred grand in exchange for a race.

“Is this a trap?”

His hands shake at his sides like a junkie needing a fix. “I swear on my mother’s grave. I swear on my sister’s life. This is just you and me. One more run on the straightaway.”

“For pinks again?” If he honestly agrees to this, then he’s more of a racing addict than I held him out to be, and I really should turn him down.

He slowly shakes his head, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets. “You know I can’t do that again.” He pauses, raising his head as a thought comes to him. “We race for pride.”

“Pride?” I ask, shaking my head. “Well, duh. When I win—again—I’ll be brimming with pride.”

“I mean, pride in your abilities, not your car’s.”

My palms itch with the thrill of being challenged. “How do you plan on kicking my ass when I beat you so bad not once, but twice?”

“A race is only as good as the driver. If you’re really the badass you think you are, then you should be able to win in my car just as easily.”

My interest halts at his insinuation. I point toward the Mustang. “You want me to drive that piece of shit?”

“I might not be able to race you for pinks, but pride’s something no one can take away. No matter how much money you dump into a car, if you don’t have the skill, you won’t win.”

With a shake of my head, I run a hand across the back of my neck, now beading with sweat. If I race Beckett, it will mean more than just pride. It’ll cost me another fight with my girl.

“Jalynn will be pissed.”

“Does she wear the pants or you?” His eyes are wide like wildfire, a man on the edge of getting the fix he needs.

Fuck me.

I know he didn’t truly mean that; he’s desperate though.

I might have met Beckett only a handful of times, but I know one thing’s for sure. He took a beating by his father every day for ten years. The man might not need a hundred thousand dollars, but he’s thirsty for something more. Ravenous to be told he’s good enough. Hungry for a chance to be a winner.

For some reason, he’s obsessed with beating me as the ultimate payout. If I deny him this chance, he’ll go find someone else to get him the fix he needs, someone who might want to race for pinks or something worse, and he’ll take that bet without thinking twice.

Jalynn will be livid. She’ll scream at him. She’ll beg me not to race him. She can’t be the one to always save her brother. I have to be the person to save him this time.

And, for Jalynn, I will.

I look Beckett square in the eyes and pronounce our fate, “We race tonight.”

20

JALYNN