Page 114 of Broken Pact

He points toward a faded metal sign over the entrance. “Avalon Falls Alley was the first circle track in the area for hundreds of miles back in the 50s. It shut down decades ago, and no one really knows why. But there are rumors that it’s because of a bunch of murders.”

My eyes widen at Jasper’s words. “Murders?” I can’t help the shiver that runs down my spine despite the balmy evening air.

He chuckles, pulling me closer against his side. "Just local legends, baby. No one knows for sure what really happened. But that's part of the allure, isn't it? The mystery, the history."

As we step through the entrance, the energy of the crowd envelops us. Laughter and chatter mingle with the growl of mufflers as cars line up on the track, their hoods propped open to show their engines. The sound is deafening in the best way.

We weave through the crowd, Jasper’s arm a reassuring weight around my shoulders. I take in the scene: the gleaming cars, the flirty girls in their ripped jeans and crop tops, the racers posturing and taunting each other. It feels like something you’d see on a TV show, not a scene from my town.

Jasper guides us over to the waist-high chain-link fence that separates us from the track itself. He situates me in front of him, his chest to my back and arms on either side of me.

I lean my head back against his chest, turning my face toward him and kissing the side of his neck.

He drops his head forward and leans down, his lips grazing my ear as he murmurs, “Having fun yet, baby?”

I grin up at him, nodding. “This is wild here. I can’t believe I never knew it existed until now.”

“It’s not exactly a secret, but it’s not advertised either,” he says, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Self-governed by the unofficial new owner and his crew. He’s the one who put in the time and effort into getting it up and running again.”

I hum in understanding, my gaze drawn back to the track as a pair of cars rev their engines, the sound echoing off the bleachers. I watch as a bunch of guys clustered around a sleek black car on the other side of the fence. It’s not on the cement track, but a big grassy patch next to it. I recognize a few of them as Reapers, their kuttes unmistakable even in the fading light.

Just as I’m about to ask Jasper if we need to worry about other MCs coming here, someone stumbles into us. Beer sloshes over my arm, splashing against my bare legs and the hem of my dress.

“Shit,” I curse, jumping to the side out of instinct. Not that it matters much since it feels like he dumped his whole drink on me.

“Damn, you made me spill my drink,” some random guy snaps. His words slide together too easily, and he stumbles a little.

Okay, so he’s definitely drunk.

“Watch it, asshole,” Jasper warns, his voice a low growl. He plants a hand against the drunk guy’s shoulder and pushes him back a few steps.

The drunk guy staggers back, nearly losing his balance. He blinks a few times, trying to focus his bleary eyes on Jasper. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" he slurs, puffing out his chest in a misguided attempt at bravado.

Jasper’s jaw tightens, and he moves to stand in front of me, shielding me with his body. “Walk it off.”

The tension crackles between them, and for a moment, I’m afraid it might come to blows. But then the drunk guy seems to think better of it, muttering curses under his breath as he walks backward until he disappears into the crowd.

Jasper resumes his position behind me, using his body as a shield from the rest of the crowd. He leans down, his breath warm against that sensitive spot behind my ear. “You good, baby?”

I arch my neck to give him better access, and like the mind reader I swear he is sometimes, he plants a line of kisses down my neck.

“I’m fine, really.”

The floodlights flicker to life as dusk settles over the old racetrack, and anticipation skips across my skin.

“Is it always cars or do motorcycles race here too?”

“Both. And before you ask, no, I haven’t raced here. But Hawke has a couple of times,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear with every word.

Like he was summoned by his name alone, Hawke appears next to me with three drinks in his hands. He leans his ass against the fence and faces us. “Well, don’t you two look cute. Here, got these for you guys.”

I tip my chin up and look at him. “I know, right. And thanks,” I say, accepting the solo cup. It looks like a mixed drink. I take an experimental sniff and immediately regret it. I can feel the instant grimace tighten my expression.

Whisky and cola. Woof.

I glance inside Jasper’s cup, and it’s definitely beer. “Hey, why did you give him beer and I got . . . whatever this is.”

“You wanna trade, baby? I’m driving, so I’m not really drinking,” Jasper says, dragging the side of his face along mine.

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