Furious Rush Read online

  Hayden stared at me for a full thirty seconds before he did anything. Then he slowly handed my phone back to me. “All right, fine. There you go…princess.”

  Anticipation energized the air, a lightning storm building, about to explode. He’d just thrown the ball in my court. Now what the hell should I do with it?

  Control. Dad would want me to show control.

  With my phone tightly in my hand, I turned around. I would leave him standing there, watching me go. My backside was all I would give him.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough for Hayden. Before I could completely turn away from him, he said, “Wait…one more thing before you go.” Then he reached out, grabbed me, turned me toward him, and pulled me into his body.

  His arms wrapped around me, holding me tight and pinning my arms in place. Panic and desire surged through me. What was he going to do to me? What did I want him to do to me? “Let me go,” I hissed, squirming.

  His face was just inches from mine, so close I could feel his breath on my cheeks, taste the whiskey he’d been drinking. His mouth moved toward me and my heart started pounding in my chest. Jesus, he was going to kiss me. His lips were so full, so inviting, so powerful and confident… Being someone’s side action was not okay with me, and being with a Benneti was even farther down the list of acceptable acts…but…despite it all, a part of me really wanted what he was offering. Yes…kiss me.

  Before our mouths collided, though, his hands slipped down my backside and pinched. Hard. I let out a surprised, pained yelp, and with a deep laugh, he let me go. Rubbing my ass, I glared at him with eyes hot enough to melt glass. Inwardly, though, I was relieved. Had I honestly wanted him to kiss me? What the hell?

  Pointing a finger at me, he stated, “That’s for not wearing green.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked back to the bar. I was so stunned, I couldn’t move. Who the hell still pinched people on St. Patrick’s Day? And why had I been expecting—no, wanting—so much more?

  * * *

  The next morning, Nikki wasn’t in yet when I got to the garage bay, but Kevin and Eli were there. They waved a greeting when I walked through the doors, and I prayed they didn’t ask me why I’d disappeared last night. Luckily, they just went back to work when the pleasantries were over with; we all had a lot to do before Wisconsin. I couldn’t wait for the next race. Daytona had almost been amazing. Wisconsin was definitely going to be.

  After changing into my leathers, I headed to my main bike and inspected it for any sign of damage. You’d never even know I’d dragged it across the concrete, though. It looked brand-spankin’-new, thanks to Nikki’s meticulous care. I inspected the brakes, the shocks, the air intake, the oil, the gas. Nikki would keep everything in race-ready condition, of course, but I liked to know my bike, right down to the minute scratches in the paint. This wasn’t just a piece of machinery to me; it was an extension of my soul, and it was yearning to soar.

  “Almost, baby,” I cooed, patting the seat.

  “Talking to inanimate objects, huh? That’s the first sign of mental illness, you know.”

  Hearing Myles’s voice, I looked up to see him walking toward me, looking sleepy and disheveled, like he’d just rolled out of bed. “You’re here early,” I said with a smile. “Lose a bet or something?”

  He frowned, then reluctantly looked around the shop. “Actually…yeah. And now I have to sort all the tools. Nikki won’t care if I just throw things in there, will she?” he asked, hope in his eyes.

  Keeping my expression even, I replied, “Have you met her?”

  Myles sighed and groaned, sitting on a swivel stool. “This sucks. That woman is evil. Pure, vindictive evil.”

  Laughing softly as I grabbed my helmet off a nearby table, I asked him, “What was the bet about?”

  He swished his hand like he didn’t want to talk about it. “A glass. A quarter. The details really aren’t important.”

  As I rolled my bike away from its resting place, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you’re a true man for following through on the deal. I wouldn’t have.”

  He smiled up at me. “That’s ’cause you’re not a man. And you’re not scared of Nikki like I am.”

  “True on both counts.” I laughed again.

  I was about to leave him to his tedious task, but his expression turned puzzled. “Hey, what happened to you after the bull? Nikki and I looked everywhere for you when we were done, but you were just…gone.”

  Yeah, I know. My phone had exploded when they’d started searching for me. I’d already texted my excuse to them, but clearly Myles wanted the expanded version. “It was just like I said. Riding the bull made me nauseous, so I called a cab and went home. After throwing up in the bathroom a couple times.” That lie made me want to throw up, but I couldn’t tell my friends the truth. Word would spread that…something…was going on with Hayden and me, and then Dad would have no choice but to fire me. The Benneti Ban allowed no mercy, not even to the daughter of Jordan Cox.

  Myles shrugged and nodded, like he thought it was weird but he was letting it go. With a long exhale of relief, I started rolling my bike toward the garage bay door. “Mackenzie, going out to practice?” Dad’s voice behind me made me stop and look back.

  He was walking my way, sheets of statistics in his hand. “I was just going over yesterday’s numbers. Very impressive, you bested everyone’s times. Try and duplicate that again today. Being consistent is what activates muscle memory. And that’s exactly what you’ll need for a win at Road America.”

  He patted my shoulder before he left, and I stared after him in amazement. That was kind of a compliment. For my dad, anyway; he rarely gave them. Unfortunately it was competing against Hayden that had gotten me those great times. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I could repeat the performance without him, and that worried me. I had to try, though. I had no other choice.

  That night, I met up with my sisters to go dress shopping. Watching Daphne try on an endless number of wedding gowns was about the last thing I wanted to be doing, but I’d promised her I’d participate in the bonding ritual. And besides, Daphne was making Dad go too, and watching him squirm was always entertaining.

  “It’s perfect, Daphne, let’s get it.” Daphne was twirling her latest find in front of Dad; a pained smile was on his face, one that clearly said, Someone please get me out of here.

  Stopping her swirling motion, Daphne rested her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “You said the exact same thing about the last three. You can’t have liked them all.” With a sigh, she sat down on the white padded bench beside him. “Where’s your journal? Let’s see your notes.”

  Theresa and I snorted, earning us both glares from Daphne, and I quickly turned around to examine the mannequins in the front window. Leaning into me, Theresa whispered, “I can’t believe she’s making him take notes on every single dress she tries on. Dad’s never going to survive this wedding.” I had to agree with her assessment. But unfortunately it wasn’t just our sister’s bridezilla tendencies that were going to kill him. Every dress Daphne had tried on was at least four figures.

  Wishing my sister had less expensive tastes, I told Theresa, “Just wait until she starts on shoes.” Theresa tried to contain her laughter, but a few giggles squeaked out, making me laugh too. But then I spotted something outside, and my good mood instantly faded.

  Hayden was across the street, casually walking down the sidewalk with that woman from the bar. Definitely his girlfriend. Bile filled my throat as I watched the two of them. They looked so damn cute together, comfortable, like they’d been with each other for years. But what was even more shocking than seeing them together again was the young girl, maybe seven or eight, walking between them, wearing a big, fluffy hat. Hayden and the woman were each holding one of the girl’s hands, swinging them back and forth like they were all some picture-perfect family. Oh my God…does he have a kid too? Jesus. So despite the heat between us sometimes…it really was just about the racing wit
h Hayden. His interest was somewhere else. I was just a tool that he wanted to use to perform better. And that was just fine. I didn’t want him to be interested in me.

  “Hey, you okay?” Theresa asked, laying her chin on my shoulder. “You know that guy or something?”

  “No,” I said, slapping on a smile and turning back to my family. I really didn’t.

  * * *

  Before I knew it, it was time to pack up and head out to Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin, for the second event of the season. I was itching to go—completely healed, and completely ready to blast my finish of thirteenth place out of the water. The entire way there I hoped for no mistakes this race. I needed to be the epitome of the perfect Cox racer. I needed to go all the way to the top this time. The family business wouldn’t magically get better on its own. It was up to me to be the miracle my father was praying for.

  Friday morning, I arrived at the course as early as they would allow me to be there. Except for the qualifying round and the practice round, we weren’t allowed on the track, but I liked to study the road and visualize the race. I was standing on the hot side of the pits, staring out at nothing as I envisioned myself twisting low through corners, flying at heart-stopping speeds through the straightaways. I was completely absorbed in my vision when a face suddenly appeared in my line of sight, distracting me.

  As I blinked in confusion, my mind’s eye evaporated and Myles’s smile came into view. “Howdy. Whatcha doing?”

  In my fantasy I’d been passing Hayden to take the lead and win the race. Hopefully that was exactly what would come to pass this weekend. My solo practice times hadn’t been anywhere near where they’d been when Hayden had lured me into a few laps with him, a fact that was seriously messing with my head. Along with the fact that he had a kid. What the hell? “Just picturing my win,” I told Myles, feigning a relaxed smile.

  Dark eyes bright with encouragement, Myles nodded. “Good. You know what your dad says about success.”

  “You have to see it before you can have it,” I automatically spouted.

  Myles clapped my shoulder in friendly camaraderie, just as a group of eager reporters walking down pit lane approached us. “Myles Kelley, Mackenzie Cox. Would you mind giving us a few words?”

  Making sure my back was to them, I made a sour face at Myles. I hated talking to reporters, especially TV reporters with imposing cameras like this group. Not only was being recorded while trying to have a conversation with a stranger incredibly awkward, but every single one of them only seemed to want to know what it was like to be Jordan Cox’s daughter. If only I could give them real answers to those questions…“How was it growing up with such a huge role model?” Fine, until I started racing and discovered just how massive his shadow was, something you guys love to remind me about. “At what age did your father tell you you’d have a place on his team?” Meaning the only reason I’m on the team is my DNA? Thanks, asshole. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to win a championship like your father did?” Oh…right. Because I’m a girl, so I don’t actually have a chance of coming in first. Well, screw you.

  Myles grinned at me before turning to face the reporters. “Of course we don’t mind,” he told them. He pretty much had no choice but to say that, though. The officials insisted that all racers be courteous to the press and answer any and all questions presented to them. Positively, of course. They wanted to attract the public’s attention to the sport, but only in the most flattering light. Riders who spouted negativity to the cameras were fined and penalized. So were riders who ignored the cameras altogether.

  With an internal sigh, I followed suit and smiled brightly at the awaiting journalists.

  “Myles, how are you feeling about the race today? Any concerns?” A man extended his microphone out to Myles, and Myles instantly turned into the flawless professional that he always was when cameras were involved. His ability to bullshit always made me a little jealous. I tended to turn into an unintelligible idiot when reporters asked me questions.

  While I listened to Myles giving the group a slew of intelligent, well-thought-out answers, my heart started racing and my stomach started twisting. The weight of my name was crushing during moments like this. I felt like the world expected profound theories and concepts to come out of my mouth every time I opened it, ideas and attitudes that would forever change the face of the ARRC—because that was what my father had done. His speeches had rewritten rules, influenced the sport. But I couldn’t be him, I could only be me. If the penalty were only a fine, I would have walked away and left Myles to answer for both of us, but unfortunately, grid placement was also a penalty for not speaking with the press, and I couldn’t risk starting at the back of the lineup.

  As I silently ran through what I’d say when asked about the upcoming race, I suddenly noticed that Myles had stopped talking and silent tension was filling the air. Myles was staring at me with raised eyebrows, and when he saw that he had my attention, he flicked his gaze toward the awaiting reporters. That was when I understood. Damn it. They’d asked me a question, and I’d completely missed it. I already looked like a fool.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  A reporter who looked annoyed at having to repeat himself said, “So Mackenzie, being the daughter of racing legend Jordan Cox, you must have a lot of pressure to do well this season, especially with the rumors of your family’s financial troubles. Can you tell me, Mackenzie, was your father pleased with your results at Daytona, or was he disappointed with that unfortunate slide out on the last turn?”

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? What I ended up saying probably wasn’t the most diplomatic answer. “I’m not my dad, so I can’t answer that. You’d have to ask him how he felt.”

  The reporter smirked, just a tiny bit, then said, “I guess I will. What about the news that your fellow rider Jimmy Holden dropped his contract with Cox Racing at the start of the season to join Stellar Racing? And that he took one of your biggest sponsors with him? That must have been quite a blow to your already shaky circumstances. Any thoughts you’d like to share on the matter?”

  His questions infuriated me. My family’s hardships were private, not fodder for the news. Speaking without fully thinking it through, I told him, “I’m not sure where you’re getting your information, but our circumstances are just fine. And Jimmy’s the one who decided to turn his back on the team that raised him up from nothing. I’d say the crappy finish he got at Daytona was fate paying him back for his ingratitude. Karma is a bitch, after all.”

  The reporter’s eyes widened and Myles put a warning hand on my shoulder. Jesus. I’d just cursed in an interview, after insulting another rider. “Don’t suppose I could get you to leave that part out, could I?”

  Like he understood he was completely in control of the situation now, the reporter said, “Maybe…One final question, though. Being a woman in a male-dominated sport has to be difficult. Do you feel pressure to be…at a certain level? Or are you comfortable with where you’re at?”

  Wasn’t that a loaded question? So how to answer it without getting myself into even more trouble. After a moment’s consideration, I said, “I know what I’m capable of, and I know I haven’t gotten there yet. And I also know that I will get there because of who I am, not what I am. So no, I don’t feel pressure to win because I’m a woman. I want to win, because I’m a racer.”

  My voice got a little passionate at the end, and I really hoped the reporter took it as fervor, not as an insult. With a politician-worthy smile, the reporter looked between Myles and me. “Thank you both for your time,” he said, making a cutting motion to the cameraman behind him. All grins, the group stalked off to find someone else to harass.

  Groaning, I dropped my head in my hands. “Oh my God…they’re going to air that debacle, aren’t they? I’m so screwed.”

  Myles placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It will be fine, Kenzie. Totally…fine.”
I peeked up at him with narrowed eyes, and he added, “It could have been worse, right?”

  “Not really.” Staring after the reporters, I shook my head. “Dad was so good at talking to the press when he was racing. He had them eating out of his hands. I can barely string two sentences together, and when I do, it’s all crap I shouldn’t say in public.” It was just one of the many, many ways my dad and I were different.

  Myles gave my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “You’re alike where it counts, Kenzie. On the track. And that’s all that really matters.”

  I peered up at him, wishing that were true, but we both knew there was more to this world of racing than being good on a bike. You needed charm to schmooze sponsors and a sparkling personality to win over the fans, and I wasn’t sure if I had either of those things.

  As I nodded at his comment, I happened to see the flock of reporters pouncing on Hayden. They were practically salivating at the opportunity to talk to the photogenic, charismatic new member of Benneti Motorsports. Hayden had his arms wide, and the reporters were visibly hanging on his every word. His ability to charm the press was yet another thing about him that irritated and frustrated me, and a small spark of doubt ignited in the back of my mind. Was I truly cut out for this life? The racing yes, but everything else…

  I forcefully threw a bucket of water on that ember of unrest. Yes. I was absolutely cut out for this. It was all I’d ever wanted to do with my life.

  Tuning out Hayden’s annoyingly resonant voice as he answered questions about his triumphant debut at Daytona, I resumed imagining my success. Dad is counting on me, my team is counting on me, the business is counting on me…I can do this. Closing my eyes, I saw the course in my mind, saw myself starting at the back of the pack. Then I pictured Hayden, and imagined slipping around people to get to him. I felt my body relaxing as I visualized myself grabbing an opportunity and sliding around him. In my mind, the visor on his helmet was clear, and I could see his shocked expression as I outmaneuvered him. My heart started beating harder as I imagined myself squealing away from him, crossing the finish line with him right on my heels. I pictured myself stopping my bike and looking back at Hayden with a challenge in my eyes. He screeched his bike to a stop right beside me, jerked off his helmet, and looked me over with desire clear in his features. Suddenly, my helmet was off, and he was grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me into him, claiming me for his victory since I’d stolen the race from him. Oddly, even with everything between us, I wanted to let him. My breath picked up and that familiar tingle of excitement shot through me as his mouth closed over mine.