“Still smell like burnt rubber and bad decisions,” he shot back, slapping my shoulder before we pulled apart.
“Only on my good days,” I replied with a smirk.
“Then today must be a fuckin’ banner day.” He waved me in. “C’mon. Kane’s waiting. We got you set up in the clubhouse, but we’ll head over there after we show you your office and private bay and get you acquainted with the place.”
Inside, the place was a mechanical wet dream—rows of lifted hoods, scattered tires, tool chests, and racks of parts. Half-dismantled race cars gleamed under fluorescent lights. There were grease stains on the floor, shelves of tools that I was itching to play with, and the distant thrum of an impact wrench buzzing somewhere in the back.
My boots echoed on the concrete as I followed Edge through the chaos. We passed a few mechanics who gave me curious glances, a couple nodding in recognition.
Edge led me down a side hall and into an empty office. Bare bones but functional. The AC worked, it looked clean, and there was a stocked mini fridge. That was all I needed.
Kane was already there, leaning against the counter with a beer in hand.
“How was the ride?”
“Hot as fuck,” I replied, dropping my duffel on the ground. “How do you assholes survive breathing bathwater?”
Kane chuckled and cocked his head toward a large picture window on the opposite side of the room. It looked out over a large mechanic bay that was separated from the large area we’d walked through when Edge brought me inside. There was a door next to the window that I assumed led out to the space.
It was large enough to work on both my car and my bike, with plenty of room to spare. On one end, there were shelves stocked with everything I needed to keep my vehicles running perfectly. The opposite wall was a large steel roll-up door. And directly across from the window was a station for cleaning.
“I could get used to a space like that,” I murmured.
Edge grinned. “Right? It’s also the perfect setup for…private company and after-hours conversations. That's why we have a few rooms like this, located two stories down. Floors are easier to rinse down there.” His smile went sharp. “In case anyone gets…difficult. Some folks don’t know when to shut up.”
Kane rolled his eyes, then looked back at me. “The car you’ll be racing will be delivered to the track early tomorrow morning. I have a backup you can use to practice. I haven’t reported the substitution yet, though. And I want to keep everything under wraps until the qualifier, so we’ll take you out to learn the track after dark.”
I nodded. Back in Old Bridge, Kane hadn’t mentioned that the race tomorrow night was a qualifier. When I realized it, I brought it up to him. He said he’d have one of his other guys race so I wouldn’t have to go in blind. Fuck that. I’d bested plenty of racetracks without even seeing them before I rode my bike or car to the starting line. But to keep him from treating me like a fucking pussy, I showed up this afternoon so I could get some practice before the race.
“Leave your shit here for now,” Edge instructed. “I’m heading back to the compound in twenty minutes. I’ll take it with me.”
“Thanks.”
“The boys know why you’re here,” Kane informed me. “My patches are solid. But I have other employees—drivers, sponsors, freelance techs—who don’t wear the cut. Can’t guarantee none of ’em are dirty.”
I met his eyes. “I’ll watch my back.”
“We’ll do the same,” Edge promised.
Kane took a swig from his bottle, then set it down with a soft clink. “The Helline Circuit final’s in three weeks. Since it’s one of the biggest underground races in the South, and money pours in from half the country, that’s most likely when the kingpin behind this shit’s gonna make his biggest move.”
“You think he’ll show his hand?”
“He has to. The kind of payout tied to that race…it’s too big not to. If we don’t flush him before then, that’s our shot.”
I nodded once. “So I put on a show.”
Kane’s grin sharpened. “Exactly.”
He took me through the garage, introducing me as his newest team member. I watched reactions closely but didn’t pick up on anything that set off alarm bells.
When the time came, Kane grabbed his keys, and we took his car out to a converted shipping-yard-turned-black-market racetrack.
“Perk of bein’ the owner,” he grunted as he unlocked the gates and opened them, allowing me to drive right onto the asphalt ring.
I ran laps for a couple of hours, until Kane seemed satisfied. “Now you’ll be familiar with the track, and nothing will trip you up on the race.”
Stopping in my tracks, I crossed my arms over my chest and turned to face him, scowling. “You treat all your drivers like toddlers?”
