"So you did show up? I thought you'd forgotten how to ride a bike."
Dylan looked amazing in the glow of the sun dipping toward the horizon. Then again, he always looked damn good. He kept himself in shape, made sure his body was in top condition. He helped his brother run the gym, and you could tell he didn't hold back when it came to using the equipment.
Brad pulled off his helmet, answering the jab with a grin.
"You can't forget what runs in your blood."
Dylan's eyes lit up with satisfaction. His hair, caught by the sunset, looked like a halo of fire.
Because he was a fiery guy—Brad knew that well. He remembered it perfectly. And yeah, he'd gladly jump into bed with him…
No.
Something in his chest twisted—restless, unpleasant.
He pushed the feeling away.
He needed to hold someone. To be with someone. To touch. So why the hell couldn't it be Dylan, someone he already knew so… deeply?
No.
The discomfort pulsed again. Stronger this time. More insistent. Like it wanted to tell him, "This is your final warning."
Warning about what, for fuck's sake?
Was it because he had the girls in his care, and hooking up with anyone from a gang wasn't exactly a smart move? It wouldn't be a relationship, just sex, sure—but even that could mess with how people judged him as a guardian. Was that it? Or maybe Brad didn't want to return to that world not because of the girls… but because of himself?
He'd walked away years ago. Chose to cut ties. He did it for a reason.
But that reason didn't exist anymore. His big-world adventure was over. All he had now was what was here and now.
And Dylan was exactly that—here and now. And a damn attractive man…
So was Doc.
He felt a warmth bloom inside him. And a pang of sorrow.
Doc wasn't gay.
But the thought of sleeping with Dr. Stone didn't set off that same resistance—in fact, quite the opposite…
What the hell are you thinking about at a time like this? Get a grip, idiot!
It worked. The sex thoughts vanished. What stayed was a different kind of thrill—the race. He glanced over the gathered crowd.
The West Vikings sat on their bikes along the roadside or leaned against the wall of the Old Slaughterhouse, sipping beer and pawing at their girls. Some of them flashed him arrogant grins. He recognized a few, others not. But they sure as hell all recognized him. And they were waiting for a show.
So he'd give them one. He was a professional, after all. Sure, the number of wheels didn't match—but that didn't matter. He was a racer. What mattered wasn't the wheels, but instinct.
"We've got ten minutes left," Dylan announced, checking his watch. "Enough time to settle the terms. But maybe we should wait for your second?"
"I don't have a second," Brad replied with casual ease. "Go ahead."
Dylan raised his eyebrows.
"Seriously, no second? You trust us that much?"
"Why not? There's always been honor between us. I've got no reason to doubt the word of a lieutenant of the West Vikings."
A rumble of approval rolled behind his back.
"All right. We'll loop around Hangman's Tree," the redhead began explaining, "and come back here. Jenny will be our timer."
He pointed at a busty blonde wearing way too much makeup. With a deliberately seductive move, she flaunted what she had and winked at Brad. She blew a bubble, let it pop, scooped it off her lips with her tongue, and shot him a provocative smile. He ignored her efforts; she shrugged and walked toward the spot they'd chosen earlier.
"Any objection?" Dylan asked.
"Not a bit."
"Good. If you win this race, we leave Aunt Sally, her diner, and your people alone. And if you lose… actually, we didn't decide what happens if you lose."
"If he loses," someone shouted from the crowd, "you tear his ass up!" His buddies cracked up.
"He becomes your bitch!" someone else yelled. Laughter grew louder.
"No, he becomes our bitch," another added.
Easy, just stay calm, Brad reminded himself. No reason to react.
Dylan stepped toward him—slowly, deliberately. Stopped just one step away. Leaned close to his ear and whispered:
"I like the bitch idea. How about it? Just one day. Out of town. Nobody has to know. Your pride stays intact. One day and one night where you do everything I tell you. What do you say?"
Lipski's dick twitched. Shit.
"Sounds good," he whispered back. "But you are going to be my bitch. I'm gonna slam into you hard."
Dylan flinched. Then a smile slowly curved across his face. Brad was sure he'd pictured it.
Good. Think about me taking you. Think about sex, not the race.
As for himself—he reined it in.
"What Lipski gives me if he loses is already settled," Dylan announced. "You confirm?"
Brad nodded.
"All right then. Let's get this show started."