Page 2 of Jackrabbit

Colt frowned. “I’m not gonna—”

“Please.”Walters had gone stern, and Colt’s mouth snapped shut.“Colton, we know your type. We’ve seen hundreds of twenty-somethings who have been street racing their whole lives and think they’re invincible. They’re not. And neither are you. The dimples are cute, the attitude is cuter, but we aren’t interested in someone with a death wish.”

If Colt opened his mouth, he was going to say something fucked that would get him in trouble. He clenched his jaw and flexed his toes.

“You have six months until pre-season starts,”Walters continued.“We want to test you at our home practice track. We’ll provide transport for you and your coach. Pass, and you’ve got yourself a spot on our team. Fail, and you can go back to street racing for likes.”

The views on his video ticked up, and emptiness yawned ahead of him.

He strode over and shut his laptop. “I’m in.”

“Of course you are.”A keyboard clacked fast enough to sound like rain drumming on a roof.“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Rourke. Try not to disappoint.”

The line went dead, and Colt stared at his phone with a taste in his mouth like copper after a near-crash. He clutched his phone and breathed.

Tried to, anyway, but instead he tossed his phone on the couch and stalked into his bedroom. He ran his fingers through his strawberry blonde curls and let a harsh breath out through his nose. The dumpster clanged outside his window, and he paced across the room in time to see Terry drop the warped plastic lid down and light a cigarette.

Oh, God.

Oh, shit.

Six months was nothing. Absolutely no time at all, and he needed tomove.Needed a simulator, a stock car for practice, a track—and his own damn car was impounded. Maybe he could borrow one from Rosario? That rich fuck had, like, six. But he’d just told him fuck no about borrowing cash. He couldn’t ask for a whole-ass car.

Colt moved back and forth across his apartment, chewing the inside of his cheek.

He needed money for gas, which he wasn’t going to get without a car, and heneeded—

A clank stopped him dead, and he looked down at the monitor he’d just slammed into his end table. Blinking green at him just to remind him it was watching.

Then there was that.

Sighing, Colt tipped his head back.

A coach. What he really needed first was a coach.

But fucking where? Barlowe, Arizona had a million people, and Colt’s circle was pretty exclusively not above the board. No one he knew could help him train for an oval track. But maybe someone knew someone. Only one way to find out.

Chapter 2

Beau pulled his red shop rag out of his pocket and wiped off the fingerprint of grease he’d left on the intake manifold. That’s how Sutton had always liked it, shining and clean, so that when they were out and someone asked to see under the hood he could present it like it was on a showroom floor. Beau preferred his cars honest—the sharp smell of oil, the shining parts marked by the hands that kept them running.

Twelve years Beau had been working on Sutton’s car, and he still struggled to keep it up to Sutton’s standards.

He straightened, and his back and knee revolted with sharp aches. Christ, he was getting old.

“Merc!” Liam popped his head into the garage, his white backwards cap smudged with grease. “Can you come sign off on this repair? Client’s a dick. Won’t take it if the shop owner doesn’t look at the finished product.”

“Mhmm.” Beau zipped his jumpsuit back up over his Pink Floyd shirt. As he passed Liam, he knocked the hat right off his head, exposing his sweat-flattened brown hair. “How many times I gotta tell you not to wear white caps in my shop? You look sloppy.”

“Aw, but it was from my mom.”

At only twenty, Liam was the youngest in the shop. Whiny as hell, too, but he was a good kid.

“And you’re taking care of your mama’s gift by ruining it?”

They crossed through the back hall and into the empty lobby, where a glass door led to the commercial garage out front—the one not haunted by ghosts and a mean smile and a revving engine. All four of his employees were gathered around the brand new SUV Liam had been working on. Piece of shit car, if you asked him. All looks and no substance.

“How many of this exact model this month?” Beau asked as he stepped up to the hood.