Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40297 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40297 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
The numbers wouldn’t analyze themselves, and the entire financial health of all our club operations relied on me staying sharp.
Forcing my attention back to the spreadsheets, I leaned forward, scanning the data again. My eyes narrowed at one particular race last weekend at Burnside Circuit. The betting totals were lower than normal. Nothing drastic, just enough to catch my attention. Fewer high-stakes bets placed and smaller pots. The kind of anomaly that pricked uneasily at my instincts.
I flipped through the previous weeks, my eyes narrowing further when I spotted a similar dip in another race night at Torque Ridge. Subtle and easy to overlook—but there.
My pulse picked up a notch as I dug deeper, clicking through more records. Patterns formed like faint ripples on otherwise smooth waters. Three weeks ago at Brake Point Run, another small dip. And four weeks before that, at another Burnside Circuit race, the totals were slightly off again.
It wasn’t every race, only certain nights and locations.
But it wasn’t random. Patterns like this didn’t emerge by accident. These subtle shifts were controlled and deliberate.
With methodical care, I pulled up records of our regular high-stakes bettors—the heavy hitters who made or broke the success of any given night. My eyes tracked the familiar names, and irritation twisted in my gut as I noticed several prominent bettors either missing entirely from certain races or placing notably smaller wagers than usual. Men who lived for the rush of high stakes and didn’t skip nights without good reason.
“They’re not staying home,” I muttered to myself, leaning back in my chair, the leather creaking softly beneath my weight. I let the realization sit for a few minutes. If they weren’t betting with us, it meant they had found somewhere else to put their money.
Deciding I needed more data, I dove back into the numbers and discovered more disturbing information. Steady drivers were also skipping races. The same ones.
It looked like someone was pulling in high-stakes bettors, siphoning off drivers, and trying to do it right under our noses.
This was a possible threat I couldn’t afford to ignore. It wasn’t just about the lost revenue—the money was minor compared to the implication that someone was infringing on Redline Kings territory. Testing our control of the region.
I leaned back in my chair again, my fingers tapping on the armrest as I considered my next move. This wasn’t enough to take to Kane yet. I needed to get Jax on this first.
My thoughts snagged once more on Cecily, and her face flashed vividly through my mind again. The sweet curve of her smile, the confident tilt of her chin, and the fire of determination in her gaze.
A knock against my half-open office door jerked me out of thoughts that had nothing to do with money and everything to do with my woman. I snapped my gaze up, quickly composing myself as Jax sauntered inside, his lean frame filling the doorway, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
“Mierda,” I groaned softly, my heart thumping unevenly in my chest, desire tangling in my veins. My Spanish heritage often slipped out when I was curding, much to my mother’s dismay.
“Hey, brother,” he drawled, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe and folding his arms. “Heard Cecily got back in town last night. You manage to track down your patience yet, or should we all continue to keep our distance?”
I shot him a dry glare, my fingers tightening subtly around the leather armrests of my chair. “Fuck off, asshole.”
Yeah, I knew I’d been more of a bastard than usual lately, but I wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit. Even if I deserved it for the razzing I’d done when my brothers found their women.
Jax chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he pushed off the doorway and moved deeper into my office. He grabbed a chair from the corner, spun it around, and dropped down, straddling it lazily. His gaze was far too calculating to fool anyone with his casual pose. “Relax, Tyre. I just wanted to see if your sanity was still holding up. Been a while since I’ve seen you strung this tight. Edge was starting to take bets on when you’d snap.”
I grunted, leaning back and rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Like he’s got room to talk about sanity.”
Our VP, who was also Kane’s brother, was a pretty laid-back guy with a quick smile. But it barely hid the fact that he was just a little bit psycho.
“Touché,” Jax retorted, leaning forward slightly, his amusement fading as his assessing gaze scanned my face. “You look like shit. Seriously, when are you gonna make a move? You’re usually not this slow with…well, anything.”
I gave him a flat stare, unamused. “Already made it. Picking her up for dinner tonight.”
“She know she’s yours yet?” A chuckle slipped out as he shook his head. “Hope she knows she’s already claimed—has been since the minute you laid eyes on her at the pool.”