Drive

Aiden downshifted into a lower gear as they reached a busier street. Madison’s knuckles were white where she gripped the car. He could hear her panting for breath over the purr of the engine and it set his teeth on edge.

He should have sent her on her way, but he hadn’t been able to. The way her eyes had pleaded with him, the desperation.

He’d bet his Challenger she was innocent.

And he didn’t harm innocents. There weren’t a lot of limits left to him, but that was one.

There was still a chance this whole thing could be a setup. Madison could be playing him. This whole divorce might be a ruse. But if it were, they had even the police fooled. No, Madison’s story was at least partly truthful. She was Dustin’s ex, but she might also be the key to learning how to pry open the inner ranks of Michael Evers’s organization.

That didn’t answer why he had Madison in his car, or why he pushed the Challenger in turns or zipped through traffic. This kind of driving was asking for trouble, but the way her breathing hitched, how she squeaked when he cut it close passing another car or skidded around a turn—it only encouraged him. By the time he reached the highway and headed toward the night’s meet-up, the pitch of her noises had changed, dropping an octave. Yeah, fast cars had that kind of effect on some people.

“How exactly did you go from being a housewife to a roller derby girl?” She baited his curiosity like few things did these days unless it was connected to Evers. His life was one, sad refrain—catch the bastard.

Madison chuckled. “Wish fulfillment. In high school I wanted the family I didn’t have. When I got divorced, I wanted to be the kind of woman who didn’t let life keep her down. Want to take a bet on what I do next?”

Her humor surprised a laugh out of him. She was an interesting woman, that was for sure.

It wasn’t long before the lights of Miami faded behind them and the Everglades stretched out on either side. For the couple miles it took to reach the race site, he could pretend he wasn’t doing a job. That he was just a guy, driving a fast car with a pretty girl by his side. It was a nice dream, but it wasn’t for him.

He exited onto a two-lane road that seemed to go nowhere. Unless you knew where you were going. He took a turn and taillights lit up the darkness. Other speed junkies on the search for a fix.

They’d created a loose association of drivers. Those people in Miami who felt they had what it took under the hood to go fast and drive hard met up for a little friendly competition. At least they pretended it was friendly.

He passed a four-way stop, rounded another turn, and the night came alive with headlights, running lights, and the beat of a dozen different sound systems blaring music. There were a couple of groups dancing, some popping and grinding while others pulled out the smooth, salsa moves. People milled up and down the street, taking a look under the hood of some of the most jacked-up cars in the state.

“What’s this?” Madison asked. They passed the outlying vehicles, the people lined up to watch the beginning of the race.

“This is race night.” He revved the engine and chuckled when she jumped.

“Okay, smart-ass, I can kind of figure that one out on my own. I mean, ”—she waved at the crowds gathering on the shoulder, the people set up for a show and the cars—“is this a thing? What’s going on?”

She had no idea the world she’d just stepped into.

“Every couple of weeks we have race night. Rules are simple—you have to have won a race since the last race night and someone has to verify you won. We pick a place, set the track, and see who wins. Simple, really.”

A redheaded woman stepped onto the asphalt directly in front of them. She wore a tiny pair of white shorts and a bikini top. She wiggled her fingers at him and smirked.

Roni was a damn fine driver, but you wouldn’t know it looking at her. She preferred to distract with her looks, as much as her twin, Tori, preferred to hide them under grease. Another of the guys pulled a few chairs out of the way and Aiden reversed into the vacant spot.

“Who’s that?” Madison asked. Her posture had gone tense, rigid.

“A friend,” he replied.

He gave the accelerator one last tap to hear the purr before shutting it off. Too bad he’d been too wrapped up with a restoration job the last few weeks to make any of the propositioned races. It would have been interesting to see how Madison reacted when he burned over the finish line. Some women really got into it. Was she the type? He kind of wanted to find out.

Since meeting her that afternoon, he’d rolled around a few ways to tackle this situation. He felt pretty certain coming clean with her was the best choice. The question now was how to continue. There was no denying his attraction to her. He could play that angle, which would be a perfect explanation to Dustin why he was hanging out with his ex-wife.

Aiden stepped out of the Challenger. The damp evening air wrapped around him like a blanket. This far out into the Everglades they might as well be swimming. Without the noise of the cars, they could hear the buzz of cicadas and calls of the birds that lived in the wetlands. It was a beautiful and deadly habitat.

Madison circled the car and met him at the edge of the road. He could feel the gaze of not just his crew on him, but everyone surrounding them. There was no doubt that when Aiden or Julian did something, people paid attention, but this was a little much. He let his gaze travel over those gathered, taking in the position of the major players, the sideline jockeys, the outright gang members, and the other crews who just wanted to drive fast and score quick cash.

Why the hell were they staring?

He turned toward Madison—oh.

Standing in front of his Challenger, dressed like she’d just stepped off the pages of a hot-rod magazine, of course she’d draw the eyes of everyone in a quarter-mile radius. Those long legs were silhouetted by the running lights of his car and the thin fabric of her shirt was practically see-through.

“Come here.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the light.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” Madison grumbled.

He didn’t reply, because what was he going to say?

I don’t want everyone looking at you like that.

“Hey, mami,” Julian said. He stopped between them and peered down at Madison. Julian was a big man, of mixed Cuban and Mexican heritage. His face was scarred from an IED explosion and more than a couple fights. He still kept his hair military short, which only accentuated the broken lines of his face and his dark, soulless eyes. Julian was a man with a singular purpose in life. Little else filled him now. He was hardly the same man Aiden remembered from boot camp.

Madison arched one brow and stared up at him, as if she were issuing a challenge. Aiden might find the exchange entertaining—were she tangling with anyone else. Julian though, he wasn’t a man to be trifled with.

“Madison, this is Julian. He co-owns the shop with me.”

“Nice.”

Julian’s gaze flicked toward Aiden, but he didn’t meet it. Why had he brought her?

She put her hands on her hips and the neckline gaped forward.

Right. How could he forget those curves?

“You still racing tonight?” Aiden asked to get Julian to stop leering at Madison’s breasts. If she didn’t need Aiden in her life, then she really didn’t need Julian’s baggage barreling into hers.

Julian’s lips curled. “Yeah, heat four.”

“Hey, boys.” Tori stepped into their cluster, holding two beers. Unlike her sister, Tori wore cargo pants and a tank top, her red hair braided on either side of her head. A grease smudge marked her cheek, which was pretty much the norm. “Oh, sorry, didn’t realize you had a third. Hi, I’m Tori.” She handed the bottles to them and wiped her hand off on her pants before offering it to Madison.

“Hi.” It was almost comical to watch Madison’s face, the way it creased. She no doubt recalled Roni’s distracting shorts and bikini-top number to Tori’s cargos and tank top.

“Hey, Aiden.” Roni crossed the street at a jog. Up and down the street people stopped to stare, which was exactly why Roni picked her race-day outfits to show as much skin as possible. Distraction was her favorite tactic.

Madison’s gaze bounced from Roni to Tori and back again. The women were identical and even after years of being around them, sometimes Aiden mixed them up on a bad day. You had to know to look for the grease under Tori’s nails and the slight scar above Roni’s left eyebrow, which she covered with makeup.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Roni’s mouth curved. She nodded to the side, her gaze never coming close to Madison.

“I’ll be back.” He handed his beer to Madison and thumbed at Julian. “If he gives you a problem, just hit him with it.”

Aiden followed Roni past his car and two others so they were somewhat alone.

“What’s going on?” Aiden asked without preamble.

“Eleventh knows we disposed of their stuff. I heard Raibel Canales wants to make an example out of the people who stole from him.”

And what did he want to bet that point would be made with a bullet in his head if the Eleventh Street crew leader had his way?

“Fuck.” Aiden resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. Talk about bad timing. “Who told you? What do you want me to do? You pulling out?”

“Hell no.” Roni appeared almost offended. “Emery texted Tori earlier about it. Said he hacked one of their phones and went through some text messages. Should we do anything? Try to talk them out of it?” By talk she meant something a little more active. Like hitting the Eleventh before they hit Aiden and his crew. Roni fidgeted with a tiny gold medallion she wore around her neck, one of her Orthodox saints, no doubt.

Emery should have reached out to Aiden first. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed their Walking Brain warning Tori of danger before the rest of them. He’d have to take Emery to task. Later.

“What does Julian say?” Like it or not, Aiden and Julian were a team, co-leaders, though more often than not Julian was the Lone Ranger of their operation.

“I didn’t exactly tell him.” She winced. “He’s just been so—I don’t know—‘Let’s just blow the problem up’ recently. I’m not too keen on having to pick up radiator parts off the road to cover our ass because he got C4 happy. Or maybe you don’t know how his last Hoover job went?” Hoover was the code word for their FBI gigs. It wasn’t a reference to J. Edgar Hoover, the famed director, or even the building named after him that housed the FBI headquarters. No, the Feds were Hoovers because so much of what they did was just a huge time and energy suck.

Their crew had started what was supposed to be a onetime undercover operation to take down Evers. Two years later and they were still on the job.

He grimaced. Kathy and CJ had given him the highlights of Julian’s off-the-rails exploits. “Let’s get through tonight. Be careful out there. They won’t do anything with so many people around. Too many witnesses.” Least he hoped so. It wouldn’t be the first time a gang lit up a race day, but it hadn’t happened in one hell of a long time.

“Who’s the chick?” Roni asked.

“Oh—the new client.” He barely resisted glancing over his shoulder to make sure Julian didn’t have her on the hood of his car and his tongue down her throat.

“Client? Is that what we’re calling it now?” Roni slid her arm through his, leaning against him.

He frowned at her. Roni wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type.

“Want to know a secret?” She pitched her voice lower so he had to lean down to hear her.

“What?” he asked.

“Clients don’t get jealous.” She smiled and batted her eyelashes at him.

Shit. Was it that obvious to everyone else?

He peeked over his shoulder and locked on the narrowed gaze of Madison, arms crossed and lips tightly compressed. She wasn’t enjoying the show.

“It’s not like that,” he said, shaking his arm loose. At least it wasn’t right now. “Go get in your car. I’m going to be scarce tonight. No need to make us a bigger target than we already are.”

There was nothing between him and Madison. She was a client. A job. Nothing more.

There was no way he’d do anything with Roni, either. The twins were hot, but he’d been around enough old KGB spies to know better than to get involved with the daughter of one. The Chazov girls were trouble, but loyal. He wanted them on his side, not in his bed.

He stalked toward the cluster of people around Madison and laid his hand against the small of her back. Julian glanced at him, smirking. The bastard knew exactly how Roni had played him.

“Heat’s about to start,” he said when the conversation lulled.

Julian nodded and his gaze dropped to Madison. “You can watch the start with me, if you’d like.”

The hell she would.

Aiden shoved Julian with his free hand. Julian laughed, holding up his hands.

“A’ight.” Julian backed away a few steps before pivoting and walking past the starting line. “We need to talk later, bro.”

Aiden nodded. Between the Eleventh, the situation with Dustin, and having to work with Madison, there was a lot to discuss. They’d also have to decide how big of a role Julian would play.

“See you around, Madison,” Julian said with a wink.

Tori shook her head and went to join her sister, leaving him alone with Madison. He could feel the chill coming off her. He pulled his hand away to avoid frostbite and gestured toward the cars taking position, three abreast.

“You okay?” Aiden nudged her arm.

“Fine.”

“Been to a race before?” he asked.

“Nope.” Monosyllabic answers. Great.

He could see if there were extra chairs, but he wasn’t in the mood to sit and stew. Roni’s little Lancer rolled past, Tori jogging along next to the driver’s seat, the twins saying something to each other. Though it was Roni who always drove, both twins were devils behind the wheel. He suspected it was their way of preventing conflict between them. They had each other’s back no matter how wrong the other might be. He didn’t know the entirety of their history, but he could guess by the way they were the first to reach for a wrench or a concealed knife when a new person entered the garage.

“Why are we all the way out here? I thought street races happened in the city or something,” Madison blurted.

“Qualifying races do, but these get a little . . . heated. We pushed to move these out here a few years ago after one of the Eleventh Street guys had a wreck. We can more easily control who is on these roads. Besides, it’s more interesting and the cops take a lot longer to arrive.”

The three cars nosed up to the line someone had spray-painted, revving their engines. Roni had the inside position on the left side. Exactly where she’d want to be for the first turn. She could take corners tighter than the other vehicles, not so much because of the car, but her skill as a driver.

He glanced down the line. Not an Eleventh driver in sight, at least not one he recognized. Raibel Canales was recruiting pretty heavily, and not just for fast drivers anymore. He was pulling in real thugs, people with a laundry list of felonies. The kind who wouldn’t hesitate to pull a trigger if the boss said to.

Damn. Aiden needed to get Madison out of here. She was the most valuable piece of leverage they’d had in a while. But they couldn’t split until after the heat started and the road cleared.

Madison uncrossed and recrossed her arms, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“You said there was an accident. What happened?” Her voice was strained and she lifted up on tiptoes, peering down the street.

Aiden tried to slam the door shut on the memories, but they rolled right over him with the same regret and guilt he’d felt after the accident. He’d told the driver his car was listing to the left, that he shouldn’t drive in that heat, but Aiden wasn’t Eleventh and his opinion was suspect.

“Guy raced though we told him not to. Something was wrong with his ride. He went into a turn and bumped the back of my car. I had to jerk the wheel to keep from hitting the guy on my left, when I glanced in the rearview all I saw was him flipping over and over again. He hit a car at the intersection that was stopped.” He shook his head, trying to forget the sight.

“Oh my God, did they all die?” Madison stared up at him, her jaw dropped.

“No, just the driver. The family in the car he hit was fine. Their car was totaled, but they only had bruises.”

And that’s when the FBI twisted my arm . . .

Instead of driving off, he’d stopped and called 9-1-1. Racing was dangerous, and if you didn’t get into a few wrecks you didn’t want to win badly enough, but no one should die for it. He’d known staying on the scene would make him liable, but it was one of those times when doing the right thing was more important. If his sister had still been alive, she’d have told him he did the right thing. And he had. His one fault was driving too fast. It was the other driver who hit him and lost control. He was pretty sure the specialist the prosecution hired to testify that Aiden was at fault had taken a bribe. One to make sure that the blame rested in Aiden’s lap. He should have smelled a rat when the FBI showed up and promised to make it all go away if he did one tiny thing for them. Too bad Julian hadn’t warned Aiden about how the FBI got their hooks into him, at least not in time.

They’d been back to the States for a hot minute. Not even long enough to wash the dust from their BDUs when Julian called Aiden from the ER, screaming about his baby sister dying.

That was the first time Aiden had heard the name Michael Evers. He hadn’t killed Julian’s mentally handicapped sister directly, but he’d employed her, using her as a drug mule and sending her into rival territory. Evers was a sick bastard, with a lot of enemies. When Aiden’s sister and brother-in-law died for investigating the cold case with too much zeal, Julian had shown up out of the blue when Julian should have been incarcerated for attempted murder on Evers himself. Aiden had later learned about Julian’s deal with the FBI and new name. He’d essentially traded his life for revenge, a concept Aiden was all too familiar with now.

The cars revved their engines again and people cheered. Drivers up and down the street revved in answer and for a few moments it was impossible to hear anything except the mechanical hearts roaring.

He leaned down, putting his mouth next to Madison’s ear, and pointed at a fairly normal-looking man across the street from them.

“Watch him.”

Madison nodded while he counted down in his head.

Five.

The man shifted, checking a watch.

Four.

Roni’s car roared.

Three.

The man grabbed a flag in the back of his jeans and held it out parallel to the ground.

Two.

Roni’s grip shifted on the wheel and her chin tipped down.

One.

The man shifted his weight to his back leg.

Zero.

The flag dropped and the three cars shot forward, the initial burn of acceleration sending off a wave of heat and exhaust as one body, one force of movement. He spun, keeping his gaze on the cars, noting how one pulled off the line just a little faster, how Roni hugged the line on her left.

Damn, he knew how this would end, but the kick of adrenaline was a drug. He’d do this until either the cops or the FBI put him away.

“Where’d they go?” Madison peered around him.

“They’ll do a loop through the Everglades. It’s one big circle.” He liked this track. They had an agreement with the few people who lived along the route; they were paid, they didn’t complain. It seemed like a good use for the steep entry fee, besides the winner’s pot.

“Oh.”

People began to mill around. It would take the drivers a few minutes even at top speeds to complete the loop.

He turned to face her, studying the slight frown on her face, the crease on her brow.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” she said too fast.

“You don’t like the racing.”

Her gaze darted to his face. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it—but—people get hurt.”

“Not this way they don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

He paused. No, he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t control what the drivers did, if someone ran out in front of them or if something caused freak accidents. Neither could he deny that their past time was completely illegal, and for many that was the draw of it.

“I’m a buzzkill, I know. My coach tells me that enough.” She rolled her eyes.

“Roller derby?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get involved in that?” His gaze slid down her body, lingering on those legs.

“Uh, well, I left my husband, filed for divorce, and had a lot of anger to work out. I met a girl at South Beach on roller skates handing out fliers and I figured, why not? I had a whole life to fill up.”

“What did you do before the divorce?”

“I kept the house.” She shrugged.

“What? Like a housewife?”

“Uh, yeah. The tattoos and roller derby were my way of working through my lifelong dream dying.”

“You wanted to be a housewife?”

“Yeah. I wanted what I didn’t have. A husband and family, the house, all of that stuff. Dustin saw a young, desperate girl who was perfectly happy to be his puppet in exchange for a home, the picket fence, and the appearance of a perfect family. It didn’t last long.”

“When did you find out he was a drug dealer?”

“I think I always knew he was bad news, but he bought me stuff I’d never been able to have and he gave me a home. I wanted to believe he was the husband I’d always wanted.” She glanced away. “Is this what you wanted to know? All my dirty secrets?”

The facts of Madison’s life were a lot different when he saw them through her eyes. Fuck Dustin Ross. He didn’t deserve the comforts of a prison. Aiden grabbed Madison’s arm and steered her toward his car. He threaded their hands together.

“Come on, we’re going.”

“But, don’t you need to stay to see who wins?”

“Roni wins.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she’s the only person in our crew that’s in the race. She’ll win.” Because that was how things went. His crew wasn’t just fast, they drove to win. It was the difference between just having a fast car and knowing what to do with it. They had the heart to win, because everything, the lives of the people they loved, their continued freedom, it all hinged on being the fastest.