#Junkie (GearShark #1)(31)

But not everyone really understood.

In fact, no one really knew.

But he did.

Since I was literally buzzed from everything that went down I figured it might be best if he drove. I could totally handle it, but kicking back and letting my mind go to all the possibilities seemed like a pretty f*cking fine idea right about now.

“Dude.” I agreed. “If we can pull this off…”

He laughed. “Are you kidding? This is like perfect for you.”

It was pretty freaking perfect.

Gamble wanted to create a whole new division of racing. Kind of like pro racing’s bad boy brother. Where institutions like NASCAR and Formula One, etc. were governed by rules and policies and pages of stipulations, this new world—this new generation of racing—wouldn’t be.

We would be dirtier. Grittier. More exciting.

Basically, we’d be just as the indie world was now—but bigger. Better.

The difference?

We’d have money. We’d be given a spotlight.

It would be illegal street racing. Except it would be legal and we’d have a track.

People would flock to it.

Why?

Because there was something inherently exciting about no rules. It was thrilling. It was taboo. It was dangerous.

Most people were too cautious to live like that, but watching someone else do it? From behind the wheel of a sweet-ass car?

Hells yeah.

The idea was to bring underground racing out of the dark. To set up a series of races—all at legitimate tracks—basically for the “non-professional” driver.

Can I just say that really burns my britches? The fact that any driver who devotes so much time and energy to his car and driving, a man who hones his skill and strives to make a name for himself, only to be called unprofessional and somehow lacking compared to a driver with sponsors and logos is a bunch of blazing horse shit.

Horse shit covered in flies.

If anything, the drivers of the indie world are hungrier and more knowledgeable because they have to work and scrape for everything.

We might be less controlled, not as honed to the “rules” of traditional racing, but I’d still put money on one of my own before I would on anyone else.

One of my own.

It’s funny how going to basically interview for a spot on a pro racing team, a place I thought was my end game, only proved to show me where I really belonged.

Exactly where I already was.

Not that it was out of the realm I would end up in the pro racing circuit someday. Hell, I’d never rule it out. Gamble said something about having a foot in both worlds someday.

I might like that. It would make me a better driver, more well-rounded.

But for now, I planned to keep both feet in the indie domain.

So…

An entire season of races would be set up. Preliminaries to determine the best of the best in my class. Then those driver’s would move on.

Races would be held.

Winners would be crowned.

And at the end of the season, a final race, to be held right there at Gamble Speedway, a championship race to determine the underground king.

Fans hadn’t had a “new” sport to sink their teeth into in a long time. And everyone loved to root for the underdog.

Well, this entire institution was being built on them.

Pick your underdog. Watch them fight for a title.

And the only rule?

There are no rules.

Side note: of course there would have to be some rules. Some kind of standards at which everyone would be held. But these standards wouldn’t be as rigid and stifling as the pros. There would be leeway. There would be honor.

There would be no guarantees.

That was the best part.

Gamble wanted to make me the face of the new revolution of racing. The guy who would give a name to it all. He wanted to sponsor me in the races, make sure my car had the best parts and I had the opportunities to step through the doors he was opening.

I’d take all he was offering.

But in the end, the only way I’d make it through to the championship, to truly own the world of underground racing, was to drive there.

Money would only get me so far. Talent and skill was what would take me across the finish line.

“Your life is about to get hella busy,” Trent said. I wasn’t sure, but there might have been a little hesitation in his voice.

“You up for it?” I asked, realizing I’d been so damn pumped I never really asked him what he thought about it all.

He seemed to be all about it during the meeting. He’d thrown in ideas and suggestions as we all talked. But now we weren’t sitting in a meeting. Now we were in familiar territory, alone. He had time to think.

“Me?” His voice was dubious. “Why would I need to be up for it?”

“You know I can’t do this without you.”

He made a sound. “Dude, you know damn well I won’t be able to do all the work this car’s going to need for these upcoming races.”

I waved away his words. “I’m not talking about a mechanic, *. Hopper and Gamble seemed to think you’d make a good manager. What’d you say to them anyway?”

He was sipping on his soda and choked. His arm flung out, and I took the soda before it could spill as he hacked and coughed.

Oh, this would be good.