Racer (Iron Rogues MC #15) Read Online Fiona Davenport

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Insta-Love, MC, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: Iron Rogues MC Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
<<<<818262728293038>41
Advertisement


Jude exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “By the time he noticed the late braking, bad shift timing, and oversteering, it was already too late.”

“Not only was the crash not Axle’s fault…but his skills at the wheel probably prevented anyone else from getting hurt,” Kane pointed out.

I slumped against Jude’s side, relief coursing through my veins.

Kane studied me in silence, then pushed back from the desk and circled to my side. “Deviant also recovered some of the video feed. It’s shaky and fragmented. But enough to see what happened from Axle’s perspective.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Do you want to see it?” Kane asked.

Jude’s hand tightened on mine.

I forced myself to meet Kane’s gaze. “Yeah. I need to see what he saw.”

Jax clicked the file and hit play. The screen flickered once, then stabilized, displaying the split feed: forward camera and dash telemetry. My breath caught when the view from the front of Mason’s Mustang filled the frame, tearing around the first curve with familiar grace.

He was so smooth behind the wheel. Confident. In control.

RPMs climbed. The engine roared. The telemetry numbers stayed in perfect rhythm. There was no warning before everything went to hell. The dash readings remained normal, but Mason swore, “What the fuck?”

Then the Mustang’s front end twitched as if the car had suddenly gone light. Mason fought it, but the car veered, the tires catching just enough to yank the whole frame sideways.

My hand flew to my mouth as the video spiraled. The camera jolted as the car spun, metal screeching. For a split second, I could hear Mason yell. Then the feed cut to static upon impact.

The room was silent.

I sat frozen, my lungs refusing to work, tears slipping free as the stillness stretched. Kane shut the laptop without a word, his mouth drawn tight.

Jude didn’t say anything. He just stood and gently lifted me into his arms as though I weighed nothing. My fingers curled into his shirt as I buried my face in his chest.

The hallway blurred past us.

He didn’t stop until we were back in his room—or ours since I’d stayed in it almost as long as he had. He eased us both down onto the bed without letting go. His back hit the pillows first, and I followed, curled up in his lap as the dam broke.

Sobs tore out of me, harsh and ragged, weeks of fear and guilt pouring out all at once. Jude held me tighter. One hand cradled the back of my head, and the other wrapped securely around my waist, grounding me.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t try to fix it.

Just held me.

And that was everything.

Long minutes passed before I could form a coherent thought.

My voice cracked on the whisper. “He wasn’t at fault. It wasn’t his fault. Or mine. And now I finally have proof.”

Jude’s arms tightened.

And for the first time since that awful night, I felt like I could breathe.

12

RACER

The heat rolled heavily through the open bays of Kane’s garage, but it didn’t hit me as hard as it had when I first arrived. I was surrounded by motorcycles and cars, tools that felt like extensions of my arms, and the sharp scents of motor oil, scorched rubber, and a lingering bite of race fuel.

Other than when I was buried inside my woman, this was where I found the most peace.

I crouched in front of my new Charger—a ’69 Daytona. The only thing sexier than this girl was Emily.

Two weeks ago, I’d heard a whisper about it being up for grabs. I didn’t even have to think about it. Just wired the cash.

Now she sat in front of me, a 426 Hemi under the hood, and hell stitched into every inch of her. Her matte-black frame looked like burned charcoal. She had redline pinstriping tracing the body curves, thin as a knife’s edge. Black chrome tailpipes, matte graphite wheels, and the interior was blood-red leather with black diamond stitching.

The pointed nose cone, that wicked rear wing, and the low-slung body—she was sin on wheels. Built to own the fucking road and leave everyone choking on its exhaust. It was the kind of machine that didn’t just roll in— she announced herself. Deadly, distinctive, and intimidating the hell out of everyone watching.

I couldn’t wait to get her out on the road again, but I was also planning to test the sturdiness of the frame by having my woman bouncing on my cock in the back seat.

Head out of the gutter and into the game, man.

Thankfully, I was kneeling in front of the Charger where the growing bulge in my pants wouldn’t be obvious. Discreetly, I adjusted myself before turning my attention back to the task at hand.

Emily dropped to her heels beside me, her fingers tracing along the fuel lines as she spoke under her breath, more to herself than to me. “Pressure’s clean. No inconsistencies.”


Advertisement

<<<<818262728293038>41

Advertisement