Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Her blond hair was yanked up into a messy knot as usual, but she had a pencil tucked through the locks, making it look as though she’d just walked out of a sexy librarian fantasy. Even the cute smear of grease across her cheek made my brain short-circuit. She belonged here—this garage was basically her kingdom—and it drove home how fucking perfect she was for me.
She wore low-slung jeans and one of my racing shirts, knotted at her side to keep it from swallowing her whole. I should’ve been thinking about sabotage. The race ahead. The plan. But all I could focus on was how the cotton had thinned out across her chest and my name looked right at home stretched over her tits.
Focus, asshole.
Outside the shop, the growl of engines echoed, and I got to my feet as five familiar motorcycles rolled in.
Fox swung off his bike first, composed and casual in his sleeveless tee and cut, the tattooed script along his forearm flexing as he tossed his helmet into Reaper’s hands. “Nice weather. Almost makes me miss Old Bridge.”
Reaper snorted, handing the helmet right back. “Miss it when your balls stop sweating.”
Midnight just muttered, “You fuckers bitch more than pregnant old ladies,” before heading toward the main bay with that cold-eyed calm that meant he was already thinking about bullets and body bags.
Maverick shook his head. “I’d love to see him say shit like that in front of our women.”
A rare grin cut across Fox’s face. “Dahlia would shove her piercing gun right between his legs.”
“At least when he finds a woman, he’d have some pretty jewelry to distract her from the lack of size,” Deviant quipped as he dismounted.
Midnight’s only response was to raise his hand and flip them off as he continued walking away.
Deviant and Reaper followed, already arguing about code structure for sensor input.
“I’m telling you, if you’d just run the baseline through my tracker before the sweep, it wouldn’t have flagged the—”
“It flagged because your system’s dumb as shit,” Deviant grunted, adjusting his tablet. “Unlike mine, which actually knows what it’s doing.”
“You two gonna make out or solve the problem?” I called.
“Depends on how fast you fix that shitbox,” Reaper deadpanned without looking up. “Heard she’s only pretty from a distance.”
“Don’t be mad ’cause she’s prettier than you,” I shot back, smirking. “She’ll smoke every one of your Frankenstein projects.”
Kane’s tech guy, Jax, was waiting for Deviant when he entered the garage and immediately peeled off to an empty office, setting up enough tech to probably ping satellites and hack the Vatican. Kane stood with Fox, Maverick, Edge, and Midnight, quiet murmurs already brewing between them.
I turned back to Emily, who was halfway underneath the Charger now, flashlight wedged between her shoulder and cheek.
“Rear mount’s clean. No sensor loops,” she said, voice echoing from beneath. “We’d be seeing telemetry drift if it’d been tapped.”
“Check the secondary fuses,” I said, crouching beside her. “Far left. There’s usually a kill switch rig there on these older builds.”
She slid out long enough to grab the tool I held out for her, cheeks flushed pink and brow furrowed. That little crease between her eyebrows—focused and frustrated—somehow made me want to flip her over and fuck her senseless across the hood. But I kept my damn hands in check. Barely.
“This car’s a monster,” she muttered. “But she’s clean so far.”
That was the problem.
I felt it before I saw it. Something itched at the back of my skull, like static crawling under my skin. We’d planned for sabotage. Wanted Franklin to rig the car with some coward’s trick so we could expose him. Instead, we were coming up empty, which didn’t sit right.
“Angel, come on out and let me get under her.”
Emily slid back out and quirked her brow. “Pushing me aside for an older woman?”
I laughed and grabbed a fistful of her shirt, pulling her up into a sitting position. “She’s got nothing on you, angel.” I kissed her hard and fast, then grinned salaciously. “How ’bout I ride you on her hood and prove it?”
Her cheeks flamed pink, and she shoved at my chest with a giggle. “Get to work, grease monkey.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a snappy salute.
I switched places with her, took her light and glided under the chassis. Since she’d already done a sweep of the obvious places, I started systematically checking every nook and cranny. When I got to the passenger side footwell, I almost missed it and moved on. But that same itch warned me to take a closer look.
“Wait a second,” I said softly.
“What is it?” Her voice was anxious.
“There’s something tucked behind the firewall insulation. It’s not wired into the usual harness.”
What the fuck?
I carefully removed the unfamiliar object, then eased out slowly. Cradled in my palm was a small black box the size of a cigarette pack. Flat. Seamless. Way too clean. Shit.