“Now listen, today’s a test,” he began. “Not for you, but for Jett to see if he’s gone all soft. They want to see if he still has what it takes. The best you can do is keep quiet and trust what he’s doing, because Jett—” he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly “—was our best driver, and many of us want him back.”

There was more to the story. It was all over Kenny’s face. It was in his eyes and the way he considered his words carefully.

“What happened?” Sylvie asked, as though reading my mind.

Kenny pointed to a box on the table. “Make sure you wear gloves, just in case.”

It was an obvious maneuver to avoid answering Sylvie’s question. I decided to rephrase.

“What if he wins and we stay? Will there be any problems?” I asked.

“After what happened, maybe,” Kenny said. “Better ask Jett.”

I bit my lip, wondering what he meant. So much of Jett’s past was in the dark, and while it didn’t bother me because I knew he’d open up to me eventually, I sensed the magnitude of the situation.

“You have five minutes left,” Kenny said and then walked out, leaving Sylvie and me alone. In the privacy of the room, my walls of confidence began to crumble.

“This is such a mess. What if we lose?” I whispered.

She clicked her tongue and sat down beside me. “Back in Italy you said he was good.”

“We were chased and made it out alive. Everything is a big blur infused by panic.” I shuddered as I remembered the winding mountain roads. “I was scared out of my mind, Sylvie, and can’t remember much. This is different, but just as scary. God knows I hate when people speed, particularly when I’m inside the vehicle.”

“Is it strange that I have faith in him?” Sylvie asked. “I know he wouldn’t do anything reckless and risk your life.”

I didn’t know if her words were meant to reassure me, or if she meant them. It didn’t matter either way.

“Thanks. But I’m not worried about Jett doing anything reckless,” I admitted. “I’m worried that if we lose, he won’t be able to accept failure.”

I could see my own fear reflected in Sylvie’s eyes. Truth be told, I had never seen Jett losing at anything. So how would he deal with it?

“Just believe in him, Brooke,” Sylvie whispered.

“You’re right,” I replied. “What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s probably just a stupid race on some training ground, right?”

“I have no clue.” She checked her watch. “But Kenny said have only five minutes left, so get dressed before someone barges in here and drags you out there. That Brian guy looks like he’s capable of it.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” I closed the door behind her and changed into the suit. It was loose on me, but not to the point of being unwearable. I grabbed some gloves, and left the sanctuary of the changing rooms.

The woman from before wasn’t outside, but the door to my left was open and animated voices carried over from inside. I walked in and stopped in my tracks. In front of us were eight sports cars, four on each side—the kind of vehicles I only knew from car magazines. My jaw almost dropped as my eyes swept over one luxury model after another. They looked like they had just been imported from the manufacturer, and if it wasn’t for their registration numbers, I would have believed they were.

Some of the drivers had already taken their places behind the wheel. Jett hadn’t arrived yet, and the agitated murmurs showed his arrival was highly anticipated.

I spied Brian leaning against a shiny blue Ferrari, and he smiled when our eyes connected. His confidence was overpowering, and while he wasn’t my type, I couldn’t help but be aware of his masculinity from the way his probing glance lingered on me. He was assessing me, probably wondering why Jett would return for me to the place he once left. I raised my chin and smiled back. But it was a cold smile, one that was supposed to say, You don’t know me, and you’ll never figure me out.

The door opened, and Jett entered trailed by a dark skinned guy. The room fell silent. Like me, he was dressed in a black racing suit. I had no idea when or where he had changed, but he looked so hot my knees turned weak in spite of my better judgment. The fabric sat snug around his broad shoulders and narrow hips. The zipper at the front wasn’t fully zipped up, revealing a bronze patch of skin just below his neck. I fought the urge to rise on my toes and place a kiss on it just to see whether he tasted as delicious as he looked.

His gaze barely brushed me as he inched closer. I knew when he was angry—and right now he was fuming.

Brian threw Jett the keys, and Jett caught them in midair.

“We kept your baby. Thought you might feel more at home,” Brian said. “If you need time, you know, to check your tires or whatever, let me know and I’ll tell Doug.”

“No need. My guys know how I like her,” Jett said.

Her?

His car was a “she”?

What did you expect, Stewart?

I suppressed the urge to smile. It was a male thing—like getting all worked up about a bunch of guys running across a football field for hours—but the knowledge didn’t make it less sexy.

Jett’s fingers settled firmly on my lower back as he guided me to the dark red sports car to our left. He opened the passenger door and motioned for me to get in. I followed his unspoken command and watched him drop into the driver’s seat, then fasten his seatbelt.

Engines began to roar, and the crowd dissipated. The wall opposite from us shifted and slowly opened, giving a view of the street and the parking lots. Most of the people got into their cars, and I realized they were spectators.

Jett pushed the key into the ignition and turned on the engine, then drove outside slowly, past the parked vehicles and onto the main road. Hundreds of questions swirled around in my head. Who was Doug? Was he the guy who’d be racing against Jett? Where were we heading, and what exactly was going to happen?

I stole a glance at Jett. His eyes were focused on the road, and I decided to postpone my interrogation. His strained expression worried me even more than not knowing what to expect.

In the rearview mirror, I saw several cars trailing us. Jett changed lanes. A blue car cut in front of the others and drove next to us. I didn’t need to look at the driver to know it was Brian. Jett’s foot remained on the accelerator, and for a moment I thought he wouldn’t let Brian pass. And then our car slowed down, and Brian cut in front of us, and his taillights blinked once.

He was mocking us. Putting on a show.

Seemingly unaffected, Jett followed the blue Ferrari at a leisurely speed to God knows where.

Chapter 23

THROUGHOUT THE DRIVE Jett kept quiet, and I didn’t speak in case he was tapping into his inner powers, or planning his strategy, or whatever professional drivers did. It was only after we’d left the city behind that Jett broke the silence.

“Why did you have to intervene, Brooke?” His voice was calm but angry.

Holy cow.

That hint of a southern accent of his was even more sexy when he was angry.

So he had been giving me the silent treatment. I raised my chin defiantly and turned to look at him. The way his elbow rested against the window, and his other hand was relaxed on the steering wheel, he gave the impression of being bored—were it not for the pulsing nerve in his temple and the way his eyes stared ahead at Brian’s taillights.

“We need to hide somewhere,” I stated the obvious.

“Fuck, Brooke. You have no idea how dangerous this is.” All the anger he been hiding seeped through—gradually, like a rivulet turning into a river. “Brian and I had an arrangement. If Brian wanted to bend the situation, to hell with that!” His fingers clenched at the steering wheel until his knuckles shimmered white beneath his bronze skin. “This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid. I had it under control until you intervened.”

Talk about accusing.

His sudden need to play the blame game made me angry.

“It didn’t look like you had anything under control,” I said quietly. “It looked like you were about to get us kicked out.”

He pressed his lips in a tight line. Had I gone too far? I didn’t care.

“What did you expect, Jett? That you could come back and pretend you never left them?” His silence told me that I had hit a soft spot.

“I’ve no idea what the big deal with you guys is, but they don’t trust you, just like you don’t trust them,” I continued, softer. “But they want you back.”

“Who told you?” he asked. I met his glance before he turned his eyes back on the road.

“Kenny. And the fact that they kept your car and the name on your locker.”

He nodded, nonchalant.

“There’s something I haven’t told you about my past.” The ominous tone in his voice sent a chill down my spine. I straightened in my seat and turned to him until the seatbelt tightened around me. “There’s a reason Brian wants me to race. Last time I did, there was an accident and somebody got killed. It was the reason why I left. Did Kenny tell you that, too?”

My heart dropped in my chest.

Holy shit.

Someone died?

“No,” I murmured. “We didn’t have much time to talk.”

“Or he left it out on purpose.”

I held my breath as I waited for him to go on and explain, but when Jett didn’t continue, I realized he wasn’t going to say more.

Either he still wasn’t ready to disclose the whole story, or he didn’t want to be distracted. The past was nothing but a shadow with the ability to create emotional upheaval. Maybe Jett didn’t want to talk about it because it was too upsetting. I made a mental reminder to ask him later—if we survived the race—and decided to change the subject.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” Jett said, flatly. “Brian chooses the location.”

For a few minutes we drove in silence. Finally, Brian’s brake lights lit up and the vehicle slowed down to take a right onto open terrain. We stopped—in the middle of nowhere. Jett’s face was emotionless as he switched off the engine and we exited the car. A half dozen other vehicles followed and parked behind us. I was sure more would arrive soon.

The moon hid behind thick rainclouds that promised a heavy shower. The only light came from Brian’s taillights. A gust of wind whipped my hair against my face. I wrapped my arms around me as I watched the scene unfold.

This is it.

I didn’t need to ask. My gut feeling told me.

Jett’s face remained an impenetrable mask as we waited for the games to begin.

“How does this work?” I whispered.

“Three rounds with various checkpoints to make sure no one’s bluffing,” Jett whispered back. “The first round’s always bumpy. The second is all about speed. The third’s unpredictable. Whoever makes it back first wins. That’s about it.”

I nodded, even though I hadn’t caught half of what he said. Judging from the tense lines around his mouth, he was nervous. I didn’t like it, because Jett was never nervous.