Page 1 of Jackrabbit

Chapter 1

Colt tapped his foot, his heel smacking the chipped linoleum as he refreshed the page again.

3.4 million views.

The ratty couch he’d snagged from the street in the neighborhood behind his apartment complex groaned as he leaned back. He grinned and reached down to scratch underneath the cuff of his ankle monitor. Which was itchy as fuck, honestly, shouldn’t these things be more comfortable? Maybe that was part of the punishment. Nonstop discomfort.

The top comment on the video had fifty thousand likes and climbing:“How is this man not dead yet?”

Solid question, really. He’d been asking himself that for years between the screech of tires and the full-body shakes of adrenaline drop. Three nights ago, when the cop had clipped his rear quarter panel, there had been a split-second when his hands had gone dead-cold on the wheel. His heart had stuttered. Then the moment had passed as he leaned into the spin and drifted between a semi and a moving van going eighty-eight miles per hour.

On the screen, he grinned behind his middle finger as he pulled that drift out of his ass and kept going backwards. As he screeched around and shot onto an exit ramp, he looked directly at the dashcam. “My name is Colton Rourke, and this is for Liberty Speedworks. Call me.”

Blowing a kiss at the camera, Colt turned off the ramp as flashing lights lit up his rear window. They’d boxed him in a mile down the road. The views ticked up to 3.5 million, and Colt laughed. Worth it.

His phone blared a classic rock song, and he answered. “Rosy, babe, you’re alive!”

“Yeah, and you’re out of the clink.”Rosy laughed, a lawn mower whirring in the background.“Thanks for the save, Mini Rourke. I’d say sorry you had to take the heat for me, but I’ve got three grand waiting for you from the race, and it looks like you found a way to use the footage.”

“Three grand.” Colt sighed and stood, pacing to his window and then to the front door. “And I can’t get into a car again for six weeks. That’s gonna have to stretch.”

“I could swing you more,”Rosy offered.“Not charity, alright, you can be an idiot and pay my fabulously wealthy ass back. Plus, if you hadn’t drawn the cops then I’d be the one with the pretty new ankle bracelet.”

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

“Colt, come on—”

Colt’s phone screamed in his hand, and he pulled it away from his ear to look at the caller I.D. Unknown number.

“Rosy, shut up. I have to take this call. It could be my parole officer, and she’s mean.”

Before Rosy could respond, Colt hung up on him and switched to the new caller.

“Hello?”

“Colton Rourke?” Definitely not his parole officer.

“Yeah.” Colt stepped up to the counter and drummed his fingers across the cigarette burns. “Who’s asking?”

“This is Laura Walters. From Liberty Speedworks.”Colt jerked, slamming his hand into the counter.“We saw your little stunt.”

Fuck yes. It had worked!

It had worked?

Colt’s eyes drifted to the video playing on his laptop, and he watched himself get shoved—shirtless, inked up and flush with adrenaline—into the back of a cop car.

“The one where I got hauled off to the pen?” he asked, then dropped his forehead against his palm. Goddamn it. His mouth.

Laura laughed—the kind that came with self-assurance and money.“Yes, Mr. Rourke. That one.”

Papers shuffled on the other end of the line, and a desk chair squeaked.“I believe in being frank, Mr. Rourke. We liked what we saw. The control at that speed in traffic? You have talent.”

Blood rushed in Colt’s veins, zipping from his toes to the tops of his ears as every hair on his body stood. He looked toward the eighteen-year-old poster hanging on his wall, the Reeve sitting on the hood of his black and red Gen 6 car. Firesuit tied around his waist, his dark hair pushed back from his sun-kissed forehead, The Reeve had that ultra serious expression that had earned him his name.

Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy—

“But you’re reckless,”Walters continued, vaguely pleasant while actively popping his budding excitement.“You’re as reckless as you are talented. We think you could be an asset to our team, but not without training. We want the bad boy. What we don’t want is the bad boy who’s going to crash and burn and take one of our cars with him.”