Chapter Seven

Returning to the race feels like someone grabbed me by the collar and dragged me back, kicking and screaming, to the exact spot where my entire world went to shit. In the span of a few minutes, my life experienced a free fall from complete and utter happiness to soul destroying despair.

The sounds are the same. Motorcycles revving, tires spinning, exhaust pipes spitting out flames from the engine brakes. It's all familiar and should be comforting since this scene was my favorite time of the month before…

Before I held the love of my life's limp body in my arms and wished I could just die right alongside her.

Except she wasn't dead, was she? She was supposed to be my partner in all things, yet the whole time we were together, she was planning on leaving me… broken and devastated on that blacktop road.

I wish I could convince myself that forgiveness is impossible. That this level of deceit is a deal breaker for me. In the five days since I laid eyes on Mackenzie, I've thought of nothing else but this. The Clash had it right all along, "Should I Stay or Should I Go?"

As luck would have it, my obsession over Mackenzie didn't even suffer a dent from this whole fucked up situation. If anything, I want to fuck the bad decision making right out of her. Teach her, with my cock, how to use her fucking words and share her plans with me. Not her best friend… me. I should be her confidant, the one she runs to when she needs a sounding board. The only person she thinks of when she needs someone to hold the shovel.

Me, goddammit.

Running my freshly replaced barbell through my teeth, I grin at the thought of kissing my girl again. Maybe even punishing her for breaking my fucking heart. Then I'll eat her pussy so good, she'll regret ever thinking she could go without it.

"Holy shit. Cain is back." Bear slaps me on the shoulder, nearly sending me flat on my face with the force of it, getting my immediate attention. "Nothing better to keep your mind off painful memories, brother. Beat that motherfucker for first place."

He's not wrong. My ears perk up, and for the first time since I've been here, my attention is somewhere other than on Mackenzie. I've been wanting to race and beat this Cain dude for months but he doesn't show regularly, which only pisses me off. Can't beat him if I can't race him.

Standing on the back of Vanessa's truck, I cup my hands over my mouth and bellow out my desire to kick this mystery rider's ass down that straight line.

"Cain! I'm calling you out, man. First place is mine." The crowd goes quiet as I announce my intentions, their attention turning across the street and down a few yards from us where Cain stands on a table and gives me a thumbs up.

Then the roar of the spectators rivals the booming sounds of their bikes with every engine brake on the asphalt as the race chief approaches to take the entry cash to hold for the winner. Some of it will be kept aside to go toward the grand total for the end-of-season race next month.

As long as I've been racing, Chief has been the same. Tall and lanky with a shock of white hair on his head, he looks like a living, breathing cotton swab. I watch him like a hawk as he slowly makes his way to the other side, heading straight for Cain to collect his entry cash.

Tonight's a good night. A much-needed distraction from the shitshow that is my life.

"Aww, my little brother is all grown up." Bear holds up his large palm, our hands clasping as I jump from the bed of the truck and do a one-sided shoulder check hug.

"It's gonna feel good to win this one." For more than just one reason but I don't need to elaborate, he knows exactly what I'm talking about.

Then it hits me.

Fuck.

Bear doesn't know about Mackenzie because she didn't show up at the club like I'd told her to when she visited me in jail. Not that I was expecting her to follow my instructions. I mean, I get it, she's legally dead to the world. I'm pretty sure faking your own death is illegal.

I make a mental note to come clean to Bear and possibly to the club because lying to them feels wrong. Then again, betraying Mackenzie's secret brings me physical pain.

Like I said, my life's a fucking shitshow. Well, except for this moment.

I'm going to race Cain and take that number one title, and the cash that flows with it, for myself. With the next race being the last of the season, I"ll be able to infuse some cash into the club to reimburse the legal fees incurred with my stunt as an explosives expert. It's the least I can do.

Wasting no time, Bear and I jog over to the van the club wheeled my racing bike, Elektra, into at the compound in hopes I'd be here and willing to race. She's been fine-tuned by the best among us while I've been away in fucking jail. My mind was so consumed by Mackenzie that I didn't even take a detour to look at her when I got to the SOK clubhouse.

Right now, though, I'm hyper focused and that title means something to me.

I will stop at nothing to win.

Bear takes a half-sleeping Ninja out of my hoodie and rubs his soft white belly, but I don't miss his beady little eyes letting me know he's not happy about being jostled during what I'm guessing was a cheese dream where copious amounts of dairy were falling all over him. I have those same dreams, except instead of cheese, I'm picturing Mackenzie on top of me, naked and trembling with her need to come all over my face. Or dick. Or sliding her wet little cunt from my mouth to my chin to my chest to my abs, then impaling herself on my hard-as-fuck cock.

"Dude, are you even listening to me?" I shake the daydream away as Bear pokes me in the shoulder, because being distracted on race night is pretty close to a death sentence.

"Cut it out, I'm listening. Just getting into the zone." My lie isn't far from the truth. I was getting into the zone… just not the racing one.

"Why's your dick hard? Man, two months in jail turned you into a preteen?" I side-eye Grinder who's full-on staring at my crotch like it's got all the answers to the world's problems.

"Eyes up here, asshole. Racing gets me hard." Why… the fuck… did I just give him that fodder? I'll never hear the end of that shit. Like, ever.

"Right on, man. I actually came in my leathers once just as I crossed the finish line." Grinder nods as he speaks, like he's reliving that particular moment in his life. I blink up at him, certain that he's fucking with me. He's not. In fact, I rarely see him this serious.

"Y'all are fuckin' weird. Now, if we could just talk racing and not niche kinks, that would be great." We both turn to Bear then jump into action, although, I do tuck that Grinder tidbit in the back of my mind for future reference.

The bike warms for about ten minutes while I suit up. The rich scent of leather reminds me of my recent freedom and my never-ending love of racing. It's not just fun, it's in my DNA. The anticipation of being one with the bike, of knowing that one stupid mistake could be my last, makes my entire body buzz with electric energy. It's the rush of that tunnel vision where nothing exists except for the finish line. It's knowing my talent will bring honor to the club, put cash in our pockets, and give me the deeply rooted satisfaction that I'm number fucking one.

"All right, listen up." My attention is solely on Bear as he gives me the downlow on Cain's racing. It's not enough to be good, you have to know your opponent's weaknesses to compensate and take advantage. "Dude is good, mostly because he's agile and his body positioning is pretty fucking perfect at the turn. He's not afraid to lean in and let the bike run to its full capacity. However…" Fucking finally. I don't want to hear how good he is, I need the dirt. "His throttle control is jerky at the turn, and although it's never happened, it has the potential to make him unstable on the way back. Push him, don't hesitate to egg him on, get him to make a mistake."

Throttle control is an art. It's delicate. Acceleration in a race has to be smooth and controlled, especially when exiting a turn. Bear is right, this is where I excel. I'll be sure to make this a teaching moment for Cain.

Minutes later, I'm straddling my beautiful Elektra. A moan escapes my throat but is lost to the cacophony of the hundreds of race fanatics hanging around this patch of road. Tonight's event is on an isolated country road where organizers are standing guard on either end. One shrill whistle from the chief and everyone disperses to avoid getting caught by the cops.

As Cain sidles up to me, I grin knowing I'm going to finally get the chance to win. When I turn to look at him, I only get his profile. He's smaller than I'd anticipated since I've never actually been up close to him. He can't be much older than a teenager. Maybe twenty? His bike fits him perfectly though, and with his low weight, I get why he's riding an inline-twin. He'll have a small advantage in a short distance race like tonight but I'll burn him at the turn when he chokes his throttle and loses precious seconds.

My vision of Cain is obstructed by the leggy redhead who walks up between us, a scarf wrapped around her bare neck and a skirt that'll give the crowd a little show when we take off. I barely give her the time of day because at this moment, Cain turns his head toward me just an inch, giving me a three-quarter view of his blacked-out helmet, and something about that move distracts me just a second too long.

We're both revving the engines, giving the crowd exactly what they're screaming for, fire spitting out of my exhaust for added entertainment, when the redhead slides her scarf from her neck. In slow motion, she raises her hand and spreads her legs hip-wide, a perfect row of white teeth blinding the spectators as she counts down from five.

Five. I need to know who this Cain dude is.

Four. Why wasn't he arrested with the rest of the Rebels?

Three. There's just something about him that seems familiar.

Two. What if he's still working with the Rebels?

One. I may need to kill him too.

When the scarf whips down, Cain takes off like a fucking bullet, but my attention was elsewhere, and instead of holding my rear brake on my acceleration to avoid the front wheel from tipping up, I have to use my clutch to ease the transition. It's finite but it's there. He's got a second on me as he handles his machine like it's part of his own body.

In no time at all, we're at the turn, and just as Bear predicted, Cain's body position is on point, leaning in and using the center of gravity to his advantage. I do the same, leaning into the turn smoothly and keeping the perfect balance. Just as I exit the turn, my right wrist rolls in a slick, practiced motion, controlling the acceleration with masterful precision, and from the corner of my eye I see Cain's jerky movement making the front wheel lift off slightly before he adjusts and we're nose to nose, a racing duel; fighting for the win.

The golden rule is to always look ahead of your immediate surroundings. The bike follows the rider's eye, so we look far and ahead to make sure we take our machines to the win. This means that, seconds before the finish line, I'm only focused on the end, ignoring everything around me. Ignoring Cain.

Just as we reach the makeshift white line, Cain inches up ahead of me.

It's close. So fucking close that I'm not sure who's won when I push both front and back brakes, creating a cloud of smoke behind me as rubber burns against the asphalt. Handing off Elektra to Bash, I run to the organizer whose job it is to catch the finish line with his camera and can't help my irritated tone.

"Whose tire?" I yell out, about to turn and talk shit to Cain about how I'm the winner. Except he's not rushing the organizer, he's sitting on his bike, all relaxed and confident.

I want to fucking punch him, knowing that behind his visor hides a smug face anticipating the announcement that he still owns the number one spot.

"Look for yourself, Psycho." Johnston angles the camera my way and I watch the video with horror contorting my face as Cain's tire bites the line mere milliseconds before mine.

Clenching my jaw so tight I get a tick right below my ears, I thank him before pushing my way through the crowd and back to my brothers. Some women congratulate me, patting me down from shoulder to ass, but I ignore them. Others ask for autographs but I barely pay any attention to them either. I'm being a spoiled little shit but I can't find it in me to care.

Just as I peel off the top half of my suit and let it hang from my waist, Cain rides up to me and stops, revving once, twice, before throwing something at me that I catch on instinct.

When he rides away, he releases his clutch and raises his arm, giving me a goodbye wave with his gloved hands.

That singular move brings me back to months earlier when someone else said goodbye before I was able to get some answers.

Frowning as my brain tries to add up numbers that make no sense, I look down at what Cain threw at me, and like a puzzle piece that makes the entire picture come to life, everything starts to click into place.

In my hand is a sucker. A cherry sucker covered with transparent plastic. My favorite candy in the world.

"Bear, bring me Philia and keep Ninja with you!" I'm running as I bark out my orders and, to my best friend's credit, he doesn't make me explain… yet.

As he rolls my street bike over, I gear right back up and I'm gone within seconds.

My Cherry Pie wants me to hunt her down. And like the animal I am when it comes to her, I make all her begging wishes come true.