Furious Rush Read online

  On opposite sides of the course, about as far away from each other as they could be positioned, stood the office buildings and garages of Cox Racing and Benneti Motorsports. While Benneti’s side was bright and flashy with new paint and neon signs, the Cox side had seen better days. There were dings in the garage bay doors, chunks missing from the siding, and the paint was flaking off in large pieces that littered the ground like snow. Fixing up the place was on Dad’s to-do list, but first he needed to start winning some races.

  I drove straight to the Cox garages and parked my bike outside one of the rolled-up doors. The walls of the garage bay were lined with toolboxes holding just about every tool known to man. There were three garages like this on the Cox side, and they stored all the bikes and equipment for the team. Directly above the garages was the team’s gym and the offices for management. A symphony of sound met my ears as I stepped inside—the clanging echo of metal banging on metal, the high-pitched whine of power tools—and the smell of oil, grease, and gas permeated everything. Everywhere around me, some mechanical beast was being torn apart or pieced back together, and the familiarity of the chaos lifted my spirits, my irritation at both Nikki and Keith instantly forgotten. This place was a gearhead’s paradise, and it was my favorite spot in the whole wide world. Besides the racetrack, of course.

  Sticking to my normal routine, I warmed up by running three miles on a treadmill, then I changed into my racing leathers. When I reentered the garage, I ran into Myles. “Hey, Kenzie. Are you ready for this year? Racing in the big leagues is a hell of a lot more intense than what you’re used to.”

  Myles was currently the second-best racer on the team, almost always finishing top ten. My father had high hopes for his future and loved him like the son he’d never had. I wasn’t jealous though. I loved Myles like the brother I’d never had.

  “I was born ready, Myles,” I answered back, spouting a confidence I didn’t entirely feel. Dad had won his first rookie race, and while he hadn’t said it, I knew he expected the same result from me. I poked a finger into Myles’s chest and boastfully added, “You better enjoy your superstar status while you can, because after this year, you and Jimmy will no longer be the jewels of the Cox Racing crown.” Jimmy was currently Dad’s number one racer. He’d finished in sixth place overall last year and was looking good to break Dad’s slump of not having a top five racer.

  Myles’s dark brown eyes lit up with a devilish playfulness, and he rubbed his hands together like he was warming them. “Superstar, huh? I like that. I should start using it.” He held his hands out to his sides like he was addressing an audience. “Hey, ladies. Wanna hang with a superstar?”

  I was about to smack him when he was suddenly struck by an empty motor oil container. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that Nikki had finally shown up—she was never on time for anything, something her late-night antics probably hadn’t helped with. “Don’t get cocky, Kelley. You’re bad enough as it is.”

  While Nikki was a genius mechanic and nobody touched my bike but her, I was still pretty miffed at her for being the reason I’d gotten only a handful of hours of sleep last night. Nikki gave me a sheepish grin as she took in my irritated expression. “So…sleep well?” she asked.

  I glared at her in answer, and Myles leaned forward to study us. “I missed something, didn’t I?”

  Turning to him, I snipped, “Just Nikki losing her firstborn to me.”

  Myles smiled as he straightened. “I have got to hear this story.”

  “Later,” I said, grabbing his elbow. “We need to get some laps in before the track changes into enemy hands.”

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, Myles nodded. Every day it seemed like noon came quicker and quicker. “Right, let’s go.”

  Leaving my friends for a moment, I stepped over to my one true love. My only true love: my Ducati 848. Adorned with my racing number—twenty-two—she was blue and white, sleek and beautiful, and faster than any motorcycle I’d ever ridden before. Sitting on the back of her, going full bore, felt like being strapped to the top of an airplane during takeoff. She was coiled power, waiting to test my limits, waiting to push me further. She was my ticket to impressing my father.

  Wishing Myles and me luck, Nikki waved us off before heading to her station, where she was working on my backup bike, another Ducati 848. Slinging my helmet onto the edge of the handlebar, I pushed my bike out of the mammoth rolling door; Myles was a step behind me with his own bike, a flashy blue-and-white Yamaha YZF-R6.

  As Myles and I approached the entry point of the racetrack, I saw that there was a red-and-black Honda out there, whipping over the concrete, the number 43 proudly plastered on the front. When I’d been upstairs working out, I’d overheard the crew saying they’d changed the track today, but you wouldn’t know the course was completely foreign to the person gliding through the corners; the maneuvers were so fluid, so seamless, that the bike almost seemed sentient, like it instinctively knew where to go and all the rider had to do was hang on.

  I knew all the Cox and Benneti racers by sight and racing style, but I didn’t recognize this guy or his machine.

  Twisting to Myles, I said, “It’s not noon yet, right?” Myles shook his head and I racked my brain trying to remember if Dad had mentioned hiring anyone recently. He hadn’t. Not to me, anyway. “Do you have any idea who this guy is, and why the hell he’s on our track?”

  Myles tilted his head as he thought. “Don’t know, but if he’s on the track before noon, your dad must have hired him. The Bennetis know not to break that rule. Not after what happened last time.”

  The last time a Benneti stepped foot on our track before they were allowed to, that Benneti had found himself duct-taped to the flagpole in the middle of the track. Naked. Of course, the Benneti team had gotten us back by breaking all the windows in the garage doors. They were still boarded over, since we couldn’t afford to fix them yet. For the sake of our bank account, Dad had ordered every Cox racer not to continue the paybacks, no matter how warranted they were.

  Ignoring Myles’s chuckle, I renewed my inspection of the racer. The new rider was fast, and ridiculously good—his setup on the corners was perfectly timed, and he kept his body low, hanging off the bike so that nothing was over the center line but his outside arm and leg; his “triangle of daylight”—the space between his inside knee and the bike—was so beautiful that Dad would probably photograph it and hang it on his office wall. Considering the furious competition at the professional level—races were won or lost by mere seconds—and considering how much time, energy, and resources were spent on training new riders, I wasn’t too surprised this guy was top-notch. With the upcoming racing season so close, any person Dad brought onto our team would be impressive. Dad wouldn’t settle for anything less than amazing; he couldn’t afford to. Yet another reason I was feeling a profound pressure to perform. There was no free ride for Jordan Cox’s daughter; I had to earn my place, same as everyone else.

  When number 43 finally finished his set and slowed to exit the track, Myles let out a low whistle. “Not bad. He reminds me of you.” Frowning, I peeked up at him. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “No guts, no glory, balls-to-the-wall racing, like you have something to prove every time you go out there.” He raised a dark eyebrow at me, but I remained silent. Having to prove myself was a daily occurrence, and Myles knew that.

  The rider exited the track at the same place where we were standing with our bikes. He slowed to a stop directly in front of us, shut off his motorcycle, and removed his helmet. My jaw dropped to my chest, and my eyes bugged out of my skull. No. It was not possible. But the long-dulled desires starting to tingle back to life at just the sight of him told me it was possible. The man who was proudly wearing the number 43 was the same drop-dead-gorgeous man who’d won the street race early this morning. What the hell was he doing here—on my turf—looking for all the world like he belonged?

  In the bright sunshine, I could see that his eyes were actually
a light shade of green. There was a devious glint in them that silently promised that every day with him would be even more intriguing than the last. Add that to his dirty-blond hair, rugged jawline, perfect bone structure, athletic build, and perfectly full lips that hinted at a treasure trove of untold pleasures, and you got a man who attracted a lot of attention everywhere he went—as I’d witnessed last night by the swarm of groupies surrounding him while he’d been illegally racing.

  No way. There was no way Dad had hired this guy!

  Hopping off his bike, the stranger ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. The shaggy strands were sticking up every which way now, and the chaotic hairstyle was too damn appealing. A small groan slipped from me in my shock. Get it together, Kenzie.

  His emerald eyes swung my way, taking me in, and I held my breath and stood a little straighter. Did he recognize me like I recognized him? Did I want him to? Damn it…what was his name again? And why the hell did he have to have such incredible eyes? Green with flecks of gold, penetrating and intense, like when he was looking at you—truly looking at you—nothing else around him mattered. I could easily picture him studying the track with that unrelenting gaze. I could also picture him studying my curves with that superheated stare. Goddammit, no. This couldn’t seriously be happening.

  The air between this stranger and me seemed to crackle with tension as we stared at each other. I was sure only a second or two had passed, but it felt like hours. What the hell was he doing here? It made absolutely no sense. Before I could ask him, Myles stuck his hand out. “Myles Kelley. Nice riding out there, man. You new to the team?”

  Tearing his intense gaze from me, the guy looked over at Myles and shook his hand. “Hayden Hayes. And yeah, today’s my first day.”

  “That’s right,” I mumbled as the pieces clicked into place. “Hayden ‘Undefeated’ Hayes…” Both men twisted to look at me and heat flushed my cheeks. Damn it, I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But still, regardless of his record on the street, Dad wouldn’t have brought Hayden onto his team. My father didn’t Dumpster-dive for talent.

  Shaking my head, I firmly informed Hayden, “You’re trespassing. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  Myles’s eyes widened in shock that I’d say that to the new guy, but Myles didn’t know what I knew. “Kenzie…” You’re being a bitch. He didn’t say that last part, but it was heavily implied.

  Looking up at him, I shook my head again. “This guy’s a thug, Myles. Dad would never hire him.”

  Myles gave me a look that clearly said And how do you know that? I’d tell him about Nikki’s gambling problems later; right now I wanted this intruder—however hot he was—to get the hell off my property. He’d probably snuck onto the track. We should be calling the cops.

  Hayden’s eyes hardened as he studied me. “Easy there, princess. I have just as much right to be here as you do.”

  The anger simmering inside me instantly transformed into a boiling pool of volatile fury. “Princess?” I sputtered.

  Ignoring my indignation, Hayden continued speaking. God, I really hated it when he opened his mouth. “If you don’t believe me, go ask your dad. I’m sure Keith would be more than happy to show you the contract I signed.”

  A sick feeling washed over my skin, and I felt like his words had covered me in a layer of filth that would take weeks to wash off. “Keith? Benneti? You think he’s my…Oh God, I feel sick.” And I did. I even had to put a hand over my stomach.

  Myles’s expression turned serious as he pieced together what Hayden had just said. “Wait, you signed with Benneti Motorsports? Then she’s right, you’re trespassing. You shouldn’t be here.”

  Hayden looked more confused than ever as he flicked his eyes between us. “Why the hell not? It’s a practice track. I’m practicing,” he stated, his face firming into a hard look. Sweet Jesus…he was even more attractive when he was angry.

  Clearing my throat and shaking the image of his furious face from my mind, I told him the track rules, since he clearly didn’t know them. “Cox Racing has exclusive rights to the track until 11:59 a.m. Benneti has the track until 11:59 p.m.”—a fact that annoyed my father, since it gave Keith's team better practice hours; just one more thing they bickered about—“Since you’re a Benneti, you’re not allowed to be here until noon.”

  There was an unstoppable sneer in my voice when I said his team allegiance out loud. I couldn’t believe this insanely attractive yet talented asshole was going to race for my family’s bitter rival. Well, I guess it made a lot more sense than him racing for our side. Keith wouldn’t hesitate to scoop someone out of the gutter.

  Hayden laughed, then looked surprised when we didn’t laugh with him. “Wait, you’re serious? That’s actually a thing? Some of the guys mentioned it…but I thought they were just being dicks.” He frowned like he’d been on the receiving end of his teammates’ poor humor one too many times already. I sympathized. With them.

  “Yes, it’s actually a thing,” I coolly told him. “You’re breaking a very serious rule, and you need to leave. Right now.”

  Hayden calmly smiled in response, like he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the track’s rules. He would when Keith cracked down on him. It wasn’t just a Cox rule. “Good to know, sweetheart.”

  “You’re not welcome,” I snipped. “And my name is Mackenzie. Mackenzie Cox, daughter of Jordan Cox, and racer for Cox Racing. Not ‘babe,’ not ‘darling,’ not ‘sweetheart,’ and definitely not ‘princess.’” I stressed the word like a hissing snake.

  Hayden lifted an eyebrow once my rant was over; there was a faint, intriguing scar line through his brow that screamed of some unknown recklessness. If he wasn’t more careful, he’d soon be getting another one to add to the collection. “Wait, you’re the daughter of Jordan Cox…the owner of Cox Racing?” His eyes scanned my Ducati before returning to me, and with a scoff he added, “That explains a lot. So…Daddy lets you race, huh? Sweet, but stupid. This isn’t a game, something you can do on a whim. This sport is dangerous. If I were your dad, I would have encouraged you to stay on the sidelines…maybe pushed you toward modeling. You’re attractive enough. And every rider needs their own personal umbrella girl.” Leaning forward, he grinned and said, “It gets hot out there.”

  Umbrella girl? Was he fucking kidding me? “Good thing you’re not my dad, then,” I snarled, as the bubbling inferno of fury inside me started churning into molten rage. Too dangerous for a girl like me? Bullshit. I knew exactly how dangerous this sport could be, I saw the evidence of that whenever Keith limped across the parking lot, but the risks didn’t matter—racing was my life. Always had been, always would be.

  As Hayden slowly shook his head at me, my hand balled into a fist. I’d never been angry enough to hit someone before, but I was now. I was going to slug him, then impale him to the track, then run over him with my bike a few times, until he fully understood that I was his equal. With the words “You’re attractive enough” dancing through my brain, I cocked my arm back in preparation. I hope this doesn’t hurt too much. The pain would be worth it, though.

  Before I could take a swing at him, Myles grabbed my forearm. “Don’t, Kenzie.” Pulling back, he ducked down so he could look me in the eye. “Remember what your dad always says: Control is power. You’re better than this guy. Don’t let him win.”

  Hayden laughed again, then slowly shook his head. “You two are both a little tightly wound, aren’t you?” Locking eyes with me, he purred, “I could help you thaw out, Ice Queen. And who knows, chipping those blocks off your shoulders might even help you go a little faster…if you’re still gonna insist on giving this racing thing a try. Personally, I think you should stick to ponies.”

  I wasn’t one to completely lose it, but I swear my vision turned red. “Let me hit him, Myles. Just this once.”

  Myles sighed as he held on to my arm. “You know I can’t let you do that, Kenzie. And you also know we shouldn’t even be talking to him. He’s a Benneti.”r />
  He whispered the word like it was a curse, and I understood why. Sticking to our allotted times for the practice track wasn’t the only rule around here. Both teams had a ban in place, and fraternizing in any way, shape, or form with a member of the opposite team came with severe repercussions. Just last year, a pair of racers—one on each side—were both terminated because they’d been watching football games together in their spare time. On this one point both Dad and Keith agreed, and we’d all been warned on numerous occasions that getting caught hanging out with Bennetis was cause for immediate termination.

  Myles looked over at the Benneti side of the track before returning his gaze to me. “And besides, it looks like he’s got company coming anyway.”

  From the other side of the track I could see a pair of Benneti riders coming this way to collect their lost sheep. Hopefully they smacked some sense into Hayden when they got here, since I wasn’t allowed to. While I nodded at Myles, he put on his helmet, flashed a quick glance at Hayden, then headed out onto the track.

  I was just about to join him when I felt Hayden grab my arm. Fire and ice sizzled through my chest as I twisted to glare at him. He had no right to touch me. Face serious, green eyes dark with intensity, he quickly said, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention to anyone…where you’ve seen me before.”

  Heat in my eyes, I inspected his face; being so close to him was doing strange things to my insides. I felt like I was pulsing with energy. “So you do recognize me.”

  One side of his lip curled up, sending bolts of electricity through my arm where his hand was still wrapped around my jacket. “You’re a hard one to forget…‘Leaving.’” Blood rushed to my cheeks as I remembered callously dismissing him when he’d asked for my name.