BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(61)

He looked at me and grinned. “Oh, really?”

“Uh huh. Respect. Give it and get it. Don’t talk about club business. Don’t ask questions. Don’t ever be seen around a cop. I’m pretty legit.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Sounds like it.”

“All joking aside. I’m not going to embarrass you.”

He glanced at me. “I never thought you would.”

I went back to eating my snacks, wondering when the day would come where I could get to know his brothers. It fascinated me that they’d been friends for a lifetime. Forty-five minutes later, we pulled into a place marked Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca. I read the sign and then looked at him side-eyed. “We’re at a race track?”

“We are.”

I wasn’t dressed for the occasion, and neither was he. I wasn’t thrilled in the least. “We’re going to watch a car race?”

“No. We’re going to race a car.”

As much as I didn’t want to be excited, I was. “We’re going to race?”

“We are.”

My eyes went wide. “Holy crap. Really?”

“Really.”

An hour later, even though he said I didn’t have to be, I was fitted with an awesome leather suit, a helmet, and some cool boots. I didn’t care that my hair and makeup were a mess, I was excited to see what the car with an engine in the trunk was all about.

When we started the race, boredom immediately set in. Two minutes later, Baker announced that the tires were heated up, and he began to slaughter the competition.

“The geometric line follows the radius of the track’s corners. That’s not where you want to be. You want to be on the racing line. It follows the outside edge as you come to a corner, then as soon as you hit the turn in point...” He took a corner so fast I thought I was going to vomit. “You turn to the inside edge.”

Despite my thoughts that it would, the car didn’t squeal or slide. Baker downshifted, hit the throttle, and then upshifted, all with the steering wheel switches.

He shifted the car from the right to the left, and passed a red car with little effort. “Then, back to the outside.”

It made sense. Regardless of the radius of the track’s corners, the drivers attempted to make them as wide as they could, to prevent sliding out.

After a few laps where we reached speeds of over one hundred and thirty miles an hour, I was hooked. When we passed cars, I mentally cheered. When we went in the corners, I held my breath. When we came out of the corners, I exhaled.

I have no idea when I took a breath. I was too excited to figure it out.

He gave me instructions as we drove, making sure I fully understood what it was he was explaining. When I was sure we were going to be declared the winner, he pulled the car off the track and by one of the buildings.

He opened the door and got out. “Your turn.”

“Oh my God, no,” I gasped. “I couldn’t--”

“You can. Go as fast or as slow as you want.”

“I don’t know how to drive a stick,” I said.

“You don’t have to. All you need to do is pull the paddles. The right is up a gear, and the left is down. I’ll instruct you.”

“I don’t want to hurt it. This thing’s got to be expensive. I mean, crap, it came with that handy little fire extinguisher.”

“It’s a car. I’m not worried. Drive it, please.” He looked at me with sad eyes. “It’s why we came.”

I decided what the hell. With his instructions, I drove the car around the track six times. Although I didn’t go as fast as he did, I went over a hundred and ten miles an hour, and I even passed the same red car that he passed a few times.

In the end, my hands were shaking, my head was spinning, and my pussy was soaked. It was a much different experience than the motorcycle, but equally satisfying. Maybe even more so, but for different reasons.

After the race, we parked the car by the buildings. I removed my helmet and held it in my hands. I felt powerful. Accomplished. Different. The smell of rubber and hot exhaust caused my nostrils to flare as the sound of the exhaust made funny noises from cooling down. I swung the helmet back and forth and admired the car.

“I’m glad I didn’t wreck it,” I said. “I’d probably have to work some overtime to pay for this little guy.”

“Two hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars’ worth,” he said with a laugh.

I stumbled against the building’s wall as he revealed the value. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. It’s worth a little more than that, now. Maybe three hundred grand. These go up in value as time passes, as long as you take care of ‘em.”

“You let me drive a three hundred-thousand-dollar car?”

He shrugged. “It’s a car.”

“An expensive one.”

“Did you have fun?”

I traced my finger over the top of my helmet and smiled. “I did.”

“All that matters.” He leaned toward me and kissed me. “Is that you had fun.”

Driving three-hundred-thousand-dollar cars wasn’t something I could ever get used to, but I had a feeling racing wasn’t the first – or the last – of the exciting things Baker was going to bring my way.