Page 81 of Bitter Prince
“Good, good.”
His eyes darted to Reina, checking her out. But before I could snap, she extended her hand and said, “Hello. I’m Reina.” She tilted her chin my way. “His girlfriend.”
“Oh.”That’s right, motherfucker. Oh.
I never had a shortage of women coming after me, but they usually fell into two categories: troublemakers and skanks. Reina didn’t fall into either category. Yes, she had a rebel streak in her, but she was a sunshine girl with a soft heart, through and through.
“The driver—” Tony hissed, moving away from the topic of my girlfriend. “He’s sick. Flu or some shit. Can you drive in the race?”
I raised my eyebrow. “Where is his backup?”
He inhaled deeply. “He decided not to show up.”
Motherfucking lazy ass. I’d never wanted to hire a backup in the first place, especially not the one that my driver asked for. He was his boyfriend, and usually when one played hooky, so did the other. I hated people you couldn’t count on, and although I loved car racing, it wasn’t the reason I brought Reina here.
“It’s okay.” She must have read my mind. “Is this like F1 racing or something?”
I shook my head. “No, just a race that a few race car owners put together. They need somewhere to spend their money, and what better place than to bet on themselves.”
“Is it safe?” I nodded. “Then go. I’ll wait for you here.”
I gritted my teeth. “No, I’m not leaving you alone with vultures roaming all over this place.”
Aside from racing, this was a famous place for hooking up, and Reina had already turned quite a few heads.
“I can keep her with me until you finish the laps,” Tony offered. I didn’t particularly like the sound of that either.
Her slim fingers grabbed the hem of my shirt. “Seriously, Amon. Do your thing and I’ll wait.”
I turned to look at Tony. “You don’t let her out of your sight. And keep her safe.” Tony’s attention darted back to Reina, stuck on her legs. I clenched my teeth. “And don’t fucking ogle or you’ll lose your eyeballs.”
Tony turned beet red—there was a first for everything—and gave me a curt nod. “I won’t, and you have my word, boss.”
Reina chuckled softly. “Okay, you hurry and do your laps around the track. Is it okay to say good luck?”
I nodded, pulled her to me, and pressed my mouth to hers. “I won’t be long,” I promised.
Ten minutes later, I pulled down the visor on my helmet and brought my gloved hands to the steering wheel of my race car. The engine’s vibration shook my hand as I gave a signal to Tony to pull off my tire warmers.
One by one, red lights illuminated above me, shining off the hood’s glossy red paint. I pressed against the throttle and my car sped down the track before I pulled up to the first turn. The tires skid across the pavement.
“Fuck, you’re good at this.” Tony’s voice carried over the radio in my helmet. “You should drive all the time instead of paying the drivers.”
I ignored his comment and remained focused on defending my position, making it impossible for anyone to pass me. The hum of the engine matched the buzzed exhilaration flooding through my veins. I picked up speed, hitting over two hundred miles per hour.
Another turn came up and my foot pressed on the brake exactly two seconds before turning the wheel, tires screeching against the asphalt. Before long I was on the tenth lap with twenty more to go.
Adrenaline flooded my body as I neared another turn. Another car attempted to pass me, and I slammed on the brake later than recommended. My left tire lifted off the ground before slamming back down and the car pulled back. I kept the lead.
Ten more laps went without a hitch. Almost home.
My eyes caught a forest-green car approaching quickly. The fucker raced up to my rear, closing the gap between us. My heart pumped wildly. My hands clenched the steering wheel as another turn came. The engine revved, hitting the accelerator to the maximum. Another turn made. One less lap to go.
The car fell behind, but it wasn’t over. We repeated the same thing for the next three laps. On the last lap, I throttled to max speed. I’d come too far to give up first place. This wasn’t the World Championship or Grand Prix, but for me it still counted as a victory.
I took a few deep breaths—I was on the homestretch. I could almost see the finish line. Could almost taste victory. I pushed into the highest speed. A car appeared on my left. His car made contact with mine, the sound of crunching metal. The finish line was twenty yards away, but it was too late.
Everything happened in slow motion. The wheels lifted off the ground. For several long moments, I was airborne. My race car flipped over once, twice, three times before skidding across the pavement, the harness keeping me suspended all the while. Sparks flew around my head. The sound of scraping metal screeched in my ear until my car stopped moving.
