Bad News

Laina

            When people told me stories about Mason, I always thought they were lying or exaggerating. I knew stories of fights he’d been in and the damage he’d inflicted on other men. I knew scary people who were afraid of him.

            I realized how wrong I’d been when I saw him angry and drunk those times after Evelyn had left him. It was enough to fill me with nauseating fear. Benji and Rick had both had to hold him down once when he went off. None of them knew what triggered it, but we were out having a couple of drinks when he tried to start a fight with a bunch of bikers who looked like the sort who would wipe the pavement with him. Mason didn’t care. He wanted the pain.

            If not for Benji and Rick, that night would have gone very, very badly. They managed to subdue Mason and get him out of the bar. Then, naturally, Mason wanted to fight them. And he did. It was bloody and terrible and one of the worst memories I had.

            But I still trusted him.

            It was weird. But not crazy. Rick and Benji still trusted him too. They didn’t fear him. They understood him, and I was pretty sure I did too.

            His heart had been broken by the one person he’d ever let his guard down around. He was angry. Betrayed. Destroyed.

            I was happy to hear that things were looking up for him.

            I got out of the car and followed Benji and Ginny over to the registration booth. There were too many people crowded around for me to see the end of the line, but Benji was a seasoned pro at this. He knew where to stand and wait.

            As Ginny and I stood with him, we looked around. More people were arriving by the second. The hum of running engines filled our ears as those who weren’t racing popped open their hoods to display the masterpieces beneath. Women walked around in skimpy outfits—legitimate ones, not just crop tops and pants—and flashed sexy smiles at the drivers.

            The rain really started to fall after standing in line for fifteen minutes or so. I ran my fingers through my thick brown hair to slick it back. I’d taken the time to straighten it, and now the rain would just make it wavy again.

            I stretched up to the tips of my toes to peer down the line to the registration table. I couldn’t make out any familiar faces, and I was hoping to see Mason somewhere in the crowd.

            “He’s not here yet,” Benji said.

            I glanced up at him.

            “Mason,” Benji clarified. “He’s not here.”

            “Oh. I wasn’t looking for him. I was just—”

            “Uh-huh,” Benji said, giving me that brotherly I-don’t-believe-you sigh. He nodded his head at Ginny. “Why don’t the two of you take a lap and check out the scene. Maybe you’ll recognize some people. I’ll be here a while.”

            I looked at Ginny. “Do you want to wander?”

            She grinned. “Hell yes.”

            I took her by the hand and waved at Benji as we slipped away through the scantily clad taut bodies. We broke free from the crowd around the registration area and decided to work our way over to where the race would start. I always liked to scope out the starting line before all the cars were there.

            A line had been painted on the black asphalt with red spray paint. There was a red flag draped over the back of a chair to the side of the track, and I knew it would be mine to use when the time came. Men and women had already gathered around the edges of the road to secure the perfect spot to watch the race start and end. The cars would leave from this point and circle back, making their way along the marked track up and over the overpass and through the route that had been planned by Harley. She had an in with the police department and knew what streets would be cop-free and when to keep our little racing ring on the down-low. Of course, police still caught wind of the races and would bust us every now and then, but we were usually able to get away.

            Butterflies took flight in my stomach. It had been too long since I was at one of these. I was looking forward to seeing the cars and who was racing. The drivers always determined how thrilling a race would be.

            If Mason really was coming tonight, it would be a spectacle and a half. The people on the sidelines had no idea how real their night was about to get.

            Ginny and I turned to make our way down a line of cars with popped hoods. I stopped beside a purple Skyline and was about to talk to the driver when I caught sight of a man who made my skin crawl.

            Sid Paul. The rat of the underground racing scene.

            He was standing three cars down from me and Ginny. There was a smirk on his thin lips as he stroked his stubble-lined jaw and laughed about something with the driver, who was a young thin guy who looked more than a little nervous. Anyone would be nervous talking to Sid. He was a slimy, mean cheat who would do anything to win—including but not limited to trying to kill you. He wasn’t opposed to horribly maiming you either. He had a rough record with the police and had been to prison on charges of assault, illegal racing, and theft.

            I swallowed and grabbed Ginny by the hand. “Come on. I don’t want that guy to see me.”

            “Which guy?” she asked as I tugged her along behind me.

            “The one by the blue car. With the earrings and the tattoos. He’s bad news, Gin. If he ever comes around you, go the other way. Okay?”

            “Okay,” she said, sounding a little unsure as she stumbled along behind me.

If Mason was coming to this thing tonight, he wouldn’t be happy to run into Sid. He wouldn’t be happy at all.