Chapter 1
Desmond
“Here they come folks! It looks like lucky thirteen is going to prove he’s the top dog once again here in Chicago! Desmond Keys is posed to be our champion,” yelled Glen Cooper into his microphone.
It was no secret that number thirteen was Glen’s favorite race car. I couldn’t blame him, he was my best friend, and I was the driver he was cheering for. It was nice to always have someone up there in the stands rooting for me—even if he was a little childish and slightly irritating at times. You couldn’t compete with loyalty like his nowadays. It was hard to come by, and I appreciated him for that.
I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering but luckily, it shifted back onto the race just in time to catch a glimpse of movement. Just as I dropped my car into its highest gear to prepare for the final stretch, a black car came into my side view. I didn’t need Glen’s commentary blasting through the headset to tell me who it was approaching at my flank. The only racer who stood a chance against me was Luke Chambers.
“Not today you prick,” I muttered.
I swerved my car to the side, stopping Chambers from making a close pass and possibly sending me into the railing, a stunt he had pulled before. Chambers slammed on his brakes. I could hear the tires squealing behind me—even over the hum of my engine.
“A great save by number thirteen! It looks like Keys will be taking home the gold once again,” announced Glen's confident voice.
I had to cringe at my friend’s words. I'd never been the superstitious type, but I hated to assume I was going to win. Later, I would be saying a few choice words to the man.
Sure, Glen was right, with only half a mile between me and the finish line, victory was almost guaranteed. Still, saying the phrase out loud seemed like bad luck though. As if the gods knew I was going to win, I heard a subtle change in the humming under my car’s hood.
“Shit,” I muttered.
My hand left the steering wheel and reached up to press a button on the headset. A loud chime, followed by a masculine voice laced with a thick Hispanic accent blared in my ears.
“What’s up boss?” said José.
From where I was positioned on the track, I could see my main mechanic run out of the side tent to the road, looking for the car that was as much his baby as it was mine. While other racers had a fleet of cars, I just had the one. In my opinion though, that’s all you needed to win.
I don’t have a huge pit crew either. José did the best work I'd ever seen, so I made sure he had enough money to take care of himself and his family. It was another friendship started with a common interest but fed with a mutual respect.
“José, she just missed the second cylinder again,” I said quickly.
José cursed in Spanish before saying, “I knew that little tramposa was up to no good!”
I had to sigh as the crowd grew closer. The noise was growing louder with each passing second. I knew that the damage caused by one small, misfiring cylinder would mean thousands of dollars and countless man hours to repair. I also knew it would mean breaking up another fight or risk losing the best teammate I had ever hired. There was no doubt in my mind that the misfire had been intentional.
“José, you don’t know that it was Chambers’ men,” I murmured, waiting for the backlash.
I didn’t have to wait long. “That’s horse crap, and you know it! That shady bastard was lurking around Theresa last night. He’s lucky I didn’t bury him then!”
“José!” I shouted.
I couldn’t find the words I needed to follow up with the threat, though. I had been in the garage when José found one of Chambers’ men trying to sneak past him. They had both gone over the car until the early morning hours, but neither of them found anything wrong with it.
I'm no mechanic, but I could hear when something was off with my prized Theresa from a mile away. Compared to the rest of the racing scene, she was an old car. At two years old, she has been fine tuned to outrun all the competition. It was a labor of love, not of money. I have no use for the money.
I crossed the finish line just as the first puff of smoke snuck out from under Theresa’s hood. I raced past the waiting throngs of people and the winner’s circle and went directly to the tent. José was waiting with a bucket full of tools and a jug of iced water.
I jumped from the car and popped open the hood, ignoring the people racing my way. I did, however, catch a glimpse of the two girls who were waiting for me at the tent.
I had never seen them before, but that wasn’t surprising. With my hot winning streak and devilishly handsome good looks, women flocked to me no matter where I was. I couldn’t stop myself from shooting them a flash of my breathtaking smile before returning my attention to the car.
The women would be there when I finished. They always were. It was one of the few perks I made sure to enjoy when I had the time. The women loved me, and I loved them right back. Of course, none of them would ever replace Theresa in my life.
“Desmond! Is something wrong with your car?” asked a reporter as they started to crowd around me.
Another one spoke up, “Do you think it’s time to finally replace it?”
“Is it money problems that stop you?” asked a third.
My eyes shot over the hood to José, and we suppressed a laugh. Money was the least of my worries. It was always fun to keep the press guessing, though.
“Go,” said José, knowing I would need to anyways, “I will take care of her, I always do.”
I smiled at my friend before turning to the reporters, “Alright, let’s have it!”
As I made my way to the winner’s circle, I answered the questions as the press threw them my way. When we reached the outskirts of the circle, I saw the black car parked in the winner’s spot, and my eyes narrowed.
“Was that your spot?” asked Chambers, his eyes full of malice.
“I didn’t think they let the losers get this close to the winning circle,” I seethed.
Luke glared back, “Well, they had to have something to put there, you just drove right on by! I hope nothing’s wrong with your old car?”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed, unlike your losing streak,” I replied.
Luke took a step towards me, but I was ready. I wanted nothing more than to lay the cheating man out on the ground and put him in his place. If I had any doubt about my car’s misfire being an accident, it was gone now.
One look at Luke Chambers and I knew that he was the reason my car was almost blown now. I could feel the rage begin to build within me, my fists clenched and I took another step toward the other driver, ready to beat him to a pulp. Before I could advance any further, a small man with curly brown hair stepped between the two of us.
“Whoa! Here he is folks, your winner!” said Glen, microphone in hand.
He had a fake smile plastered across his face for the cameras that were still flashing, taking in every second of the heated rivalry.
“Let’s see if we can’t get some questions answered. Jane?” said Glen, nodding to one of the few female reporters.
“Desmond, are you accusing Luke of tampering with your car?” she asked, her perky attitude and body seductively turned towards me.
I turned on the charm as I ran my fingers through my dark hair, “Not at all Jane, just a friendly rivalry.”
“What about the rumors that you won’t be racing in the Grand Nevada Cross-State next month?” she asked.
I couldn’t help but cringe, I had hoped that wouldn’t get brought up. There was nothing to the rumor, but it was going to be difficult for me to race. Several years ago, José drank a little too much tequila and started a fight with one of the race officials at the bar. Now, he was banned from the race. I was doing everything I could to make sure that my pit-boss was going to be able to come, including kissing some major rear.
Still, I couldn’t just miss the race. It was the largest one of the season and the final notch on my shifter. Winning the GNCS would be the pinnacle of my racing career.
I shook my head, “There is no truth to those rumors whatsoever. I will be racing in Nevada no matter what!”
“Even though the judges are standing by the ban?” she asked him.
I glared at Chambers and saw what I had feared, the man was smiling. I’d never been one to accept defeat, and I wasn’t about to start now.
“I promise you, Jane, I will be at that race. My mechanic may not be able to come help me stop anyone who’s potentially trying to fight unfair, but I will hold my own,” I said, my eyes fixed on Luke.
I come by my determination earnestly. I had taken my uncle's prized car for a spin at the ripe old age age of fifteen and I’ve been hooked on the rush ever since. The result had been brutal. I'd been chased by two police officers, and my father had to pay a hefty bribe just to keep me out of trouble. The flashback made my chest hurt, and I quickly shook myself free from the memory. It had been one of the last ones that I had of my parents before the accident.
The cameras flashed as Luke was led away from the winner’s circle for my final round of pictures and I couldn’t help but gloat a little bit. Each time I won, I loved watching as the smug man got a bit more agitated.
As I looked past the group, I saw José working on my car and the two blondes still waiting for me, jumping up and down and cheering my name. I couldn’t ask for anything more as I raised the winner’s cup high above my head. I thought about everything that had brought me there and how I couldn’t let my dream end now. Not when I was so close.
With José unable to be at my side for the Nevada race, I couldn’t help but wonder what else was going to happen. I already had the best mechanic in the country. How would I ever find someone to replace him, even if it was only for one race?
Losing wasn’t an option; I was going to need to find someone to step in. While the press started to dissipate, the two girls sauntered over to where I was talking with Glen. I caught the taller one’s eyes and decided that everything else could wait—at least for one more night of fun that is.
Chapter 2
Amber
“Son of a,” I muttered to myself.
It was the second time in as many minutes that I had dropped the wrench I was using to pry open the casing on my cousin’s old Ford. Still, she wouldn’t bust loose.
“Time for a break,” I told myself, knowing that the more frustrated I got, the more difficult this would be.
As I made my way through the shop, I took into account everything that still needed to get done. My father had left me the mechanic shop two years ago when he passed away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the same booming business it had been back in the sixties. That was evident in the stack of bills sitting by the front door.
I reached down to pick them up, cursing each one as I went. The only one that mattered was the one with giant red letters plastered across the front. Another warning from the bank about the mortgage, no doubt. What did they think? That I didn’t like to pay them? With a stressful sigh, I tossed it onto the office desk with the rest of the threats.
“You’re killing me, Papa,” I murmured to his picture hanging on the wall, “Couldn’t you have found a better line of work to stick me with?”
I knew it was all talk though. I loved being a mechanic as much as he did. My wonderful sister had inherited genes that had screamed for her to leave the nest and carve her own path. Ever since I was a child, all I wanted to do was work in the shop that my father had started. Now, though, that dream was becoming a faint glimmer against reality.
Flipping on the television, I tried to drown out my worries while I popped open a beer. No one would notice, it was Sunday morning, and everyone was off for the day except me, trying to pull extra hours in hopes of saving a few dollars.
If I was able to get my cousin’s old clunker running again, he promised to give the building the fresh coat of paint that it so desperately needed. The ancient television roared to life and I flipped through the channels.
I stopped when a good looking man caught my eye. He had a grin that must melt hearts left and right. Although, it wasn’t his smile that made my heart skip a beat; it was the car he was standing in front of.
“Desmond, with the Grand Nevada Cross-State race coming up, what do you hope to accomplish before that time?” asked a reporter.
“Well,” he said with a smile, “Hopefully I can sweet talk them into letting me bring my mechanic with me. Otherwise, I hope that I can find someone to fill his shoes.”
“Just a mechanic? What about winning?” she asked.
He laughed, “Of course I want to win, and the Grand Nevada Cross-State is like the icing on a perfect birthday cake or a good looking woman at the end of the day, everyone wants it right?”
They all laughed as the cameras panned out and back to the reporter. She was, of course, smiling like a fool at the winning driver. I couldn’t help but scoff a little bit at how the woman fawned over him.
He was attractive, and any red-blooded woman would love to wrap her legs around him. Still, he seemed to be a little full of himself.
“There you have it folks, Desmond Keys wants what every driver here wants, to win the Grand Nevada Cross-State. It’s not just a race, it’s a way of life, bringing prestige, money and endorsements to all the team members,” said the reporter.
Her last few words caught my attention. My father had always claimed that I was one of the best mechanics he’d ever seen before. Ten times better than the men he had hired over the years.
With my interest peaked, I powered on the old computer we used for ordering parts and waited impatiently for the Internet to start. As I logged onto the Grand Nevada Cross-State racing site, my heart did a little flip.
There, in bold letters, was an application for a crew. It was vague, but it was a chance. They were looking for everything from mechanics to wheel greasers. All the drivers had to have a full staff, and when they couldn’t provide that, the race provided them with one.
If I could get onto a team and make the car a winner, I might be able to save the shop. As I filled out the application, I held my breath for each question, praying I got everything right.
Just as I sent the application in and finished up my second drink, the phone began to ring. Of course, we were closed on Sundays, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I begrudgingly picked up the phone before it could go to voicemail.
“Martinez’s garage,” I muttered, struggling to turn off the television in the background.
“I knew it!” screamed a shrill voice. “Amber Martinez you promised me you would be here for Sunday breakfast!”
I couldn’t suppress my sigh. I had forgotten about my sister entirely. “Hey, Diana, it’s nice to talk to you too.”
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