Page 10 of Speed Trap

HAWK

Less than a week later I stood in a pile of wreckage that used to be our garage. Ryan stood beside me, already checking off a list of what was still usable. I surveyed the salvaged pile with a serene outlook—for the moment. My fists tightened inside my jean pockets as I rocked back on my heels. Managing the tight ball of fury writhing in my chest was a full time job, at least until one of my juniors who had the makings of a brilliant designer brought me his trashed designs, and the wall between sanity and rage opened.

“Who. The fuck. Did this.” I spat the words out between my teeth knowing not 0one of them were to blame but once I let my anger unspool I had no hope of reclaiming objectivity.

The thing was, I wasn’t pissed because of the break in. I was pissed because of the work Ryan and the team put in and how much time this setback would cost them. That was what upset me.

Ryan and the team had been the first ones into the garage early on. Usually, I made a point of getting into work as early as anyone else on the team. It sent a good message that I wasn’t only a diva—though I certainly had the right tendencies—but also that I was interested in the crew as a whole. Comethose minutes on the track, I needed them to back me, and the relationship didn't work if I was only present part of the time.

“I’ll give you a guess, but you won’t need it.” Ryan ripped his cap off his head, shucked his hair back and slammed his cap back on.

“We got proof?” I ground my teeth.

Ryan poked me and I desisted. I’d been held up at the front of the building when I’d seen Sunny hosting a media fair for Benson, and couldn't help doing my damnedest to flirt with her, screw with that perfect facade for no other reason than because she was at her cutest when she was riled.

Then I walked into my workplace to discover tools thrown around in a haphazard mess that looked more like a junkyard sale than a professional garage. Branding and signage had been trashed and torn, tires slashed.

The lead up to the season when we were meant to be tweaking the things that could hand us a race was the best time to fuck with our head space. Instead of confirming what we had was secure for the day, we would be on the back foot, cleaning up and hoping we had what we needed.

“'Course not. He’d be stupid to leave anything that could be traced back to him.”

“But you’re sure it was Benson?”

“No doubt. Don't you fucking do anything. You stay here and help the boys clean up. I’ll go speak to him.” Ryan turned to face me, but I ignored him. The rage building in me felt damn fine, and I fully intended to let it burn. Maybe take a slice of the world with me.

“You remember how that played out last time?”

Ryan sighed. “Yeah. But if I don’t go, and you can’t,” he poked my shoulder, “then who will?”

I shrugged. “Get one of the boys to file a report with the police. Make it official. I’m sick of this petty schoolyard bullshit. Gimme your list.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to fucking well see what’s irreplaceable before I get into the car again, that’s why,” I snapped, and winced. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t aimed at you.”

Ryan nodded, handing me his clipboard. “On it. Don’t leave here.”

I didn’t answer him, already running the damage through my head. The car was untouched. That was probably what made Ryan so certain that it wasn’t theft or vandalism from an outsider. We’d suffered a few small items that had gone missing at odd times, enough to ensure we knew it was either one of my boys—it was probably stupid, but I refused to believe that—or it was another driver.

Competition was fierce but we all knew not to screw with another man’s garage. Benson had broken the code.

I held to my word to Ryan and stayed in my lane, marking out everything damaged or what I knew we should have but what I couldn't find. He emerged from the office an hour later, well after we had finished our adjusted inventory without touching anything.

“Police will be here soon. You’d better hang around for it. No hot lap for you until we clear this up, and then we’ll be on clean up. Maybe...go for a jog later, or get some sleep? You’re gonna need to get rid of that grudge you're festering.”

“Is it that obvious?” I gave him a weary grin. If it was Benson—no doubt in my mind, but I wouldn’t accuse him until I had proof— then he’d picked the perfect time.

“How long have we got?”

“'Bout half an hour until the cops turn up to dust for prints.”

“Fine. Let’s do the meeting now. No point wasting the time.”

Ryan nodded slowly, his mouth curving in a grin. “Damn, boy. They won't keep you down.”

I snorted. “Fuck, no. We’re here to win, aren’t we?” I refused to let Benson—or anyone else—ruin the work my team had put in to get us where we were. They deserved better than that, and I intended to give them back at least as much as they gave to me.

We finished the morning on a high. Not only did the cops turn up and do their job, they did it well enough to field a stack of prints. Every one of my boys offered to provide their own for comparison, though it wasn’t necessary in the end. Still, I was proud of them.

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