I race to finance it.
I evade to protect it.
I kill to attain it.
I planned everything.
The alluring, curvaceous blonde at the finish line.
With sapphire eyes that cheat and lie.
Whose powerful family murdered mine.
I hate her.
I want her.
I know she’s hiding something.
But so am I.
He knelt over my attacker, his strength visible in the stretch of the jacket over his back and shoulders. His helmet cocked, angled in my direction. “I had this.”
Oh my God, his voice. Okay, it was definitely synthesized, his timbre humming with an electronic overlay, but it was deep and gravelly and so goddamned sexy.
Pull yourself together, Kaci. He was far more dangerous than the man who just attacked me.
“Get out of here.” I nodded to the street behind me, and as if on cue, another squad car zoomed by. “I’ll hold him until you’re gone.”
What was I saying? I didn’t want him to leave.
I thought I heard a chuckle, but couldn’t be sure with the whine of sirens and exhaust pipes. He looked back at my attacker, swung an arm, and knocked him out. Damn. Okay, that worked too.
I lowered the gun. “You won the race?”
“Of course.” He rose and erased the distance between us in three strides.
My nerves shivered, overloaded and amped up, and oh God, he was just standing there, heating the air around me, staring at me. What did he want? I opened my mouth to spew a gushing thank you.
He snatched the gun from my hand.
What the? “Give that ba—”
He lifted my chin and stroked a gloved finger over the nicks on my throat. Each caress irritated the cuts, but I didn’t want him to stop. He raised the finger in front of my visor, blood soaking the leather tip. “Have you learned your lesson?”
His voice reverberated through me, and my knees weakened. Even with the electronic distortion, he sounded pissed.
My heart panted, and a throb swelled, hot and needy, between my legs. All because of a pissed-off synthesized voice? I might’ve just swallowed my self-respect, but I couldn’t help it. My body had one mission, and that mission vibrated against me like he wanted to tear me in half. Damn me to hell, but my inner muscles clenched at the thought.
I touched my throat and flinched at the bite of pain. “It’s just a scratch.”
The reflection of my helmet in his visor wavered as he shook his head. He gazed down on me as if he were…considering something? God, I wished I could see his face, his eyes.
His finger returned to my throat, trailed a path beneath my chin, lifting it and catching on the edge of the helmet. He tugged it, like he wanted to rip off the shield and see my eyes, too. “Get on your bike, sweetheart.”
He flicked the safety on the gun and gripped my shoulders, turning my body to face the bike. Both bikes. His and mine side-by-side. Oh, how I loved the sight of that.
His fingers touched my hip, slipping beneath my jacket to stroke my bare skin. I trembled against the brush of his glove, until he opened his mouth. “This is your last race.”
The temperature in my helmet rose by ten degrees, and my cheeks inflamed. I glared at him over my shoulder. “Excuse me?”
Smack. A stinging jolt of fire rippled over my ass, and I shuffled forward. He fucking hit me! I placed my hands on the bike’s seat, and unbidden, a grin took hold of my face. He fucking spanked me.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.
Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.