3. Brayden

Back on the track. We're one week from the first official race, and the entire team is here today to race our cars without the crowd. It's time to test out the rookie—to see if he's actually going to listen, but I'm not holding my breath.

I know this kid. He's a hotshot wannabe. And Jenny isn't here today to wrangle him either. She had to go deal with another client of hers—some new football player who got caught with his pants down—literally.

And of fucking course, the rookie shows up later than anyone else. He drives his loud-as-hell motorcycle up, like he's perfected being fashionably late, and is so damn proud of himself.

The team owner isn't here though. No one is clapping for him today. No, if anything, the pit crew and the racing team are already annoyed with his antics. Not a great way to start.

He quickly suits up in his gear, clearly eager to get out there. Of course, he doesn't ask for any direction whatsoever. He acts like he owns the damn place. He's in for a really rude awakening. There's no doubt in my mind.

I've seen him race before—call me curious—and sure, I don't mind going to dirt track and even motorcycle races from time to time. There's a spot for all of it in this world, and he's good. I can't deny that he is, but he takes risks he doesn't need to.

He's reckless. A child. Impatient and too damn eager.

That's what I learned from watching him on the track, but people put up with it because he flashes that great big smile and makes his eyes twinkle for the cameras, and they eat it up.

Not. Me.

I don't want to die on the track because of some asshole who thinks he's above the rules, and I don't want to watch anyone else die either. Racing is unlike any other sport on Earth.

It's not a game.

You can die. You can lose your life out here by making one stupid, simple mistake. There's no room for error. It takes extreme precision and know-how.

I try to ignore him as he climbs into one of the cars—the brand-new shiny ones with lots of sponsors' names and logos all over it. I'm sure they creamed themselves when they found out Carson Hayes had signed on. Goddamn pretty boy.

Honestly, his looks put Sebastian Harris to shame, if you ask me. But you didn't, and I really shouldn't be having those sorts of thoughts.

I'm not attracted to Carson. That would be crazy. He's too mouthy. Too arrogant. Too fucking everything for me.

I haven't made it a habit to let the world know I've been sexually attracted to both male and females and have identified as bisexual for most of my life. I don't need to. It's no one's business, but I've seen Carson eyeing me.

I can feel the heat coming off him any time I'm near. I don't know how he identifies, but he'd for sure be up for some fun off the track with me, there's no doubt about it in my mind.

But it's not happening. Not ever.

I'm still lecturing myself when I hear a loud bang and turn around to find the source of the sound. I see the brand-new shiny car with its side all dented up because this arrogant motherfucker slammed it into the wall. The pit crew races over to assess the damage as I stalk over there, my fists clenching at my sides as I try like hell to keep myself under control.

Doesn't work though because as soon as I see his cocky-as-hell grin from where he's still seated in the car, with no helmet on, I lose my shit completely.

I grab the collar of his jumpsuit and pull his ass out of the car. "What the hell were you thinking?" I growl.

"I was just taking it for a spin."

"A spin?" I hiss and then gesture toward the wrecked car. "You spun it into the wall on your first lap. And where the hell is your helmet?"

He tries to shove me away, but I don't budge, caging him in between my body and the car. "Relax. I wasn't going very fast. I just wanted to try it out."

"You don't try out a fucking car. You have to know that. This isn't a game. This is real life. And these..."—I motion to all the people around us—"these are real lives you can take out here by making one stupid, dumbass mistake. Please tell me you get that."

He tries again to get out of my iron grip, but I don't let go. I only hold onto him tighter, my eyes narrowed and my tone deadly serious because he needs to understand this. "Get off me. I was just messing around. It's really not that serious."

"It is that serious." I want to throttle him. I can't believe he's this damn clueless. "This isn't preschool, kid. This isn't the juniors. This is the pros. You're playing with the big boys here. You do that shit on actual race day, one of them will take your ass out just so they don't have to deal with you."

I hear one of the other guys on the team grumbling about it being him, but I ignore it. "Okay. I'm sorry the car got away from me a little bit." He pouts, no longer trying to get away from me, but I think maybe... just maybe his pride is hurt. Good. He could use being knocked down a peg or two.

"Every single thing you do out on this track matters. Every single thing," I say carefully. "It's not a game or a show." I'm trembling from rage, and I hate it. Hate that it brings back too many damn memories for me.

"Bullshit," he seethes. "You may be getting up there, but I've seen you work the crowd, Brayden. The untouchable Ace. The expert. You love it. You eat it up. I know you do."

I clench my teeth, my jaw ticking because yes, some of that is true. It's part entertainment, but he doesn't know what can really happen. He's never been in a serious wreck. I doubt he's even really seen one.

I. Have.

I don't tell him that though. It's none of his goddamn business, and I'll be damned if I give him any intel into my life. But how is he this damn stupid?

"This is not the dirt track. You're playing with the big boys. I've told you before, and I'll tell you again and again. Keep your nose clean and follow the goddamn rules."

"Or what?" he challenges me.

"Or I will end you myself." I don't mean it, but I see the visible chill go through him when I say it. I'm not sure, but I swear I also see a glimmer of desire there. Of pure damn lust so hot it nearly burns me. I release him, shoving him away. "No more of this playground bullshit. You're a professional now. Act like it."

With that I'm off, away from him and all the prying eyes.

I'm not going to take this rookie under my wing. There's no helping someone who will not listen.

He's going to have to learn it the hard way.