I hear Hunter quietly urging me to wait, but I ignore him. I’m not about to play this he said she said bullshit game. If they have an issue, they can tell me to my face. No more games.
“Problem?” I ask, standing in front of the three men. Two are relatively tall with lean builds and the other is short with a beard and a thick, muscular frame. I don’t remember their names. I can barely remember drinking with them, for that matter.
“Problem?” repeats the shortest man in a thick accent. “No problem here, carajito.”
I pretend not to notice the slight. I spent enough time in the Dominican Republic to know carajito is basically a term for an annoying child. “If there was a problem,” I say, “I’m sure three grown men wouldn’t be afraid to say so to my face.”
One of the taller men, who has a faint scar from his eye to his mouth, smirks. “It sounds like you have the problem, pana.”
I let the silence that follows linger, meeting their eyes and giving them one last chance to speak up. When it seems clear they have nothing more to say, I scoff, walking away and heading toward the car waiting for me.
Hunter jogs to catch up with me, leaning into the supercar as I strap myself into the modified racing seat. “What happened?” he asks, having to yell to be heard over the engine.
I notice Dean Cartwell, a billionaire hedge fund mogul, getting into the car beside mine and starting the engine.
“Looks like they want to keep whispering behind my back,” I say, pulling the door closed and revving my engine.
“Think about it, Jackson. At least let someone look over the car before you drive,” pleads Hunter through the window.
I roll the window up, setting my jaw in defiance. I feel a faint sense of unease. I know it’s possible that he’s right, but I’m not about to let these men dictate how I live my life. I won’t let them make me show fear.
Fuck that.
The car is so minimalistic inside that I feel like I’m in some sort of cocoon. The engine roars powerfully, shaking through to the center of my being. All sound dies out. There’s nothing but me and my connection to the machine.
Of the many events I’m forced to attend because of my station, the races are one of my favorites. Billionaires find endless ways to waste their money, but I’ve always found a special thrill in riding the edge of danger on the track. I can feel the terrifying power of the car waiting to be unleashed. I look over toward Dean’s car while we wait for the previous two cars to pull off the track ahead of us.
I stick my arm out the window to signal I’m ready. Dean does the same. A scantily dressed woman stands between our cars holding a checkered flag. She slowly raises her arms, looks between both our cars, and then yanks the flag down.
Our cars scream into action. I’m off the paint faster than Dean, and immediately cut in front of him, establishing my position early and hard. The car drives like a possessed beast. I have the accelerator pressed to the floor, and the engine sounds like a demon from hell clawing its way to the surface. Everything but the road in front of me blurs, and I’m completely aware that even the smallest miscalculation could send me smashing into the wall at hundreds of miles an hour.
I take the first turn, letting off the accelerator only as much as I have to, but as soon as I turn the wheel, I feel the steering column disconnect from the axle. The detachment only takes a fraction of a second, but I feel it play out like it takes ages. I’m hurtling forward on the track at blinding speeds and I just lost complete control of the steering column. There’s a grinding sound and the wheel jumps in my hands. I yank it hard to the left, but it’s pointless.
I slam on the brakes, eyes fixed on the wall ahead of me. The tires scream and the back of the car whips out of control, but there’s no stopping it.
I have a split second to feel the inevitability of the crash and the cost of my stubborn pride before it happens.
There’s a sound of breaking metal and a roar like a tsunami crashing over my head, and then darkness.
I’m sitting in a dark room with one window. Sarah is beside me. She’s young though. Far too young. She can’t be more than fourteen, and when I look down at my hands they are softer than I remember. Smaller. There are metal bars covering the window. Two simple beds with no blankets in either corner. There’s a foul-smelling hole in the floor just big enough for us to use the bathroom, but not to escape. We can never escape from here.
My heart beats faster and I feel like I can hardly breathe. I suck in rapid breath after rapid breath, unable to get enough air in my lungs. Heavy footsteps approach the door. Thump. Thump. Thump.
He’s coming, and there’s nothing we can do but wait.
I gasp, opening my eyes and raising a hand to my face. It’s calloused and powerful. Older. There are tubes attached to it, leading to beeping machines. I blink the bleariness from my eyes and try to lift my head, but a pain like an ice pick in my neck stops me. I’m still breathing hard. It was just a dream. A memory. A fucking unwelcome memory.
But when I think of Sarah, a panic that has nothing to do with the past settles over me. Fuck. How long was I out? She’ll be wondering where I was.
“Nurse!” I shout. My voice comes out gravely and thick.
A few minutes later, a tired looking woman comes in the room. She sees I’m awake, and looks like she’s about to go run for a doctor.
“No,” I say firmly. “Come here.”
She hesitates, but obeys. “You shouldn’t be trying to talk, Mr. Pierce. You had a very serious accident. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for close to a week.”
“I need to make a phone call. Someone give me a phone.”
“Mr. Pierce!” she says more firmly, moving to keep me from trying to sit up again. “You need rest.”
“Jackson?” asks a soft voice.
It’s not until she speaks that I notice her sitting in the corner of the room. My princess. Fuck, I don’t know if it’s the painkillers or the days we were apart, but she looks even more beautiful than I remember, if that’s even possible. Her big blue eyes are full of compassion, but also nervousness. “I came as soon as I heard about the accident. I know you probably don’t want to see me, but I…” she trails off, either losing her nerve or her train of thought.
I raise my hand to her cheek as she comes closer, wincing a little as the movement tugs at the I.V..
“Can we have some space?” I say to the nurse.
“Of course,” she says. She pauses at the door, eyeing us suspiciously. “No physical activity. He needs time to heal.”
Brianne blushes and shakes her head. “We’re just--”
The nurse closes the door before she can finish.
“Just what?” I ask.
She opens her mouth to answer and then looks down, shaking her head again. “That depends on you, I guess. If you still want to give me a chance.”
I let out a laugh, stroking her cheek. “Princess, I want to give you a hell of a lot more than a chance.”
She smiles, leaning into my hand in the most adorable way. “I guess I’ll just have to help nurse you back to health before you can try anything naughty.”
I bite my lip. “My mouth works. I wouldn’t be so sure I can’t do anything dirty to you.”