Wreck (Fuel Series Book 2) Read online

  Wreck

  The Fuel Series Book 2

  Ginger Scott

  Copyright 2021

  Ginger Scott, Little Miss Write LLC

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Ginger Scott, Little Miss Write LLC

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  THE FUEL SERIES CONCLUDES WITH BURN - OUT JULY 30, 2021

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also By Ginger Scott

  Yep.

  This is still for you, Lesley.

  All 3 of these suckers,

  born from your race-lovin’ heart.

  1

  When I was stuck in Camp Verde, I couldn’t wait to get out. Now, I officially feel I don’t belong. What I don’t get, though, is how unbelievably sad I am about it.

  I spent the morning driving around this place in my rental car, and as familiar as every twist and turn in the road is, the curves no longer feel like they’re mine. I’m not sure what’s changed over four years. The landscape? Or me?

  Colt’s gone.

  That’s a big change.

  I have to keep reminding myself that my father—scratch that, sperm donor—is dead. He can’t hurt me, and I think maybe that’s partly what has me feeling off. My natural instinct in this place is to have a heightened awareness for danger, and I find my neck craning constantly in search of either Colt’s truck or his friends.

  Of all the things that could have taken that man out, pancreatic cancer did the trick. I guess he spent the last four years of his life being a puppet for the ATF and FBI, ratting out players in the drug trade, and his reward was he got to spend the last year of his life slowly dying in that shithole he called home.

  I wouldn’t have come back at all if it weren’t for the weird legal crap that seems to require my signature and a lawyer present. Seems Colt left something behind. A safe deposit box. I guess he never put my mom’s name on anything. Only mine.

  Yay, me.

  I inherited the shitty trailer too, and all the junk around it. Only thing I don’t own is the tiny plot of land the trailer’s parked on, which means I need to have it hauled out of there before the landowner starts charging me rent. The guy gave me a break this month on account of my dad dying. He only collects the checks and doesn’t live in Camp Verde. If he did, he’d know better than to think I was torn up over Colt’s passing.

  Just like that asshole to croak on the cusp of summer in Arizona. It was ninety-six degrees when my plane landed. Camp Verde is north, but it isn’t that north. It’s still smothering as fuck out here. At least I don’t have Oklahoma’s wet blanket of humidity suffocating me on top of things. There’s the silver lining for having to come back home for the summer. Well, that and the bronzed legs in tall red heels striding across the newly minted pavement toward a car I never thought I’d lay eyes on again. I suppose those are legs I never thought I’d get to see again either.

  Hannah’s home from college.

  And she’s all woman.

  My knuckle finds its way between my teeth as I slink low in the driver’s seat, trying to blend in with the crowd parked out on the Straights. It’s been four years since I left this place; four years since I left a trail of burnt rubber next to that yellow dotted line. Of all the tracks I’ve been on, nothing compares to this two-mile stretch that splits the desert in half. I don’t think I will ever love driving a strip of road as much as I loved this one. The there-and-back pulse-firing races are what forged me, and every time I snake by a driver in the truck race circuit, I thank this little bit of highway.

  I also thank that girl.

  Hannah has to know I’m here. This town is too small for word not to get around that Colt Bridges has business that needs tending to. I kept my promise to Hannah’s best friend Bailey, though, and I didn’t call Hannah. I didn’t call Tommy, either. Unlike his sister, he kept his phone number the same. We’ve texted a few times over the last four years, but that’s it. Our exchanges are always cold and short, like the Christmas cards you get from people you knew in another life.

  I got the disconnected notice for Hannah’s phone the first time I tried calling her while in a drunken stupor out in my uncle’s barn. I was too wasted to understand what happened, or rather, too easily convinced of my own denial. I called her cell phone provider to file a complaint and lodge my concern. The customer service guy politely informed me that I was a stalker. After that, I quit calling Hannah’s old line.

  It was four years of radio silence, nothing but the rare scraps of social media news I was able to find through my Google search, and the one time Tommy mentioned Hannah in a text. He said he couldn’t message with me at the time because he was with her. I knew what it meant—that Tommy hates me for hurting her and he was refusing to pile on the pain. It’s okay. I hate me for that, too.

  The only connection I had with Hannah Judge was the one in my imagination, the times we met in my dreams. And then Bailey called.

  She didn’t have to. She must have known I would be contacted about Colt eventually. But Hannah was worried about me finding out. At least, that’s what Bailey said. Through all the hate, the impossibly thick wall she rightfully built around her heart with the sole intent of keeping me out, she still was worried about me losing my dad. I knew it wasn’t in the way most people show sympathy when a family member dies, either. Hannah understood that this death was different. Losing Colt was bound to fuck with my head, tear open scars.

  She was right. It has. Only, I’m so distracted with hope and the possibility of seeing her again that I haven’t been able to feel the toxic cocktail of emotions left in Colt’s wake. I’ll have to cope with them eventually, but for now . . . for now I stalk the girl of my dreams as she bends down and talks to someone in the passenger side of my old car.

  “Goddamn.” The word falls from my lips, raspy with forbidden guilt as I take in the lush curves of her ass cheeks as they peek out from the frayed bottoms of her incredibly short denim shorts.

  Maybe I am a stalker.

  Laughter consumes her and she tilts her head back, letting her long waves of hair spill down her spine. I get a glimpse of the inside of my old car and recognize Bailey’s prim and proper smile. Still the best of friends. I’m glad Hannah has her. If it weren’t for Bailey, I’m not sure I would be sitting here. I probably would have slipped into town last minute and avoided any and all contact with people beyond the lawyer I meet with in the morning.

  I was content simply waiting, too. After Bailey’s call, I was going to be patient with hope. My body was full of this str
ange kind of faith—blind faith. I believed Hannah would find me when she was ready. But when I was pulled back to Camp Verde to deal with Colt’s belongings, I decided that was fate’s sign telling me to get off my ass and not wait around any longer. It’s time for me to do the work, to earn my heart back and put it where it belongs.

  “You have to be shitting me.” My heart ratchets up to a thousand beats per minute at the familiar voice coming through the passenger window. I didn’t plan on being recognized, but I can’t help the warmth growing in my chest when I meet Ava Cruz’s gaze.

  “Hey!” I roll the window down the rest of the way and lean across the console to embrace her arm as she reaches toward me.

  “Unlock this door, mijo. Give me a real hug.”

  I do as she says and she climbs in and wraps her arms around me all at once. Her palms find my cheeks as we part and she twists to the side, leaning back to inspect me. The sharp points of her deep red nails scratch against my scruff. She pats the right side of my face a few times before letting go.

  “You don’t look skinny. Good.”

  I cough out a laugh. Ava was always trying to feed me when I was younger. I’m glad to see I’m fat enough for her this time. I spent so many hours at her dad Earl’s garage growing up, and she knew my story. I think if it weren’t for the Judges, Ava would have stepped in and mothered me.

  “What’s this piece of shit?” She glances around the bland inside of my rental sedan. Ava’s probably the only person more car-elitist than I am. That’s what goes along with growing up in a garage and being the reigning queen of the Straights.

  “Only here for a few days. Didn’t want to drive my car all the way out here from—” I stop short out of habit. I haven’t linked my past with my present location for anyone other than Hannah and Tommy’s dad.

  “Baby, I know you’re with your uncle. You’re a little more famous than you used to be. Lots of people around here been following Dustin Bridges on the circuit. You know, your uncle and I were a thing back in high school.” A coy smirk crawls into one of her cheeks.

  “No. I absolutely did not know that!” I swallow down my surprise at her news—all of it.

  Truth is, as much as life at my uncle’s has been easy, it hasn’t been full of earth-shattering revelations. We barely talk. He’s busy with his small trucking business and I’m busy hustling to prove myself to anyone worth a damn.

  “Yeah, me and Jeff were homecoming king and queen. He was this stud wide-receiver—”

  “And let me guess, you were the cheer captain.” I roll my eyes, but she smacks my arm to correct me.

  “Hell no! I was all about racing back then. No time for that rah-rah shit! Your uncle was the only damn reason I ever went to a high school football game at all!” Her laugh comes out with the rasp of a pack of cigarettes a day and she sinks back into the passenger seat while memories seem to drift through her mind. Her smirk inches into her cheeks before she covers her mouth with the back of her palm.

  “God, time goes fast. You know?” She flits her gaze to me.

  I blink and let her words soak in.

  “Yeah.” I draw in a deep breath before letting my eyes wander back to my left, to the Supra and the girl now climbing in the driver’s seat.

  “She drives that thing almost as good as you. Just so you know.”

  I smile to myself and keep my gaze fixed on Hannah’s profile as she checks the mirrors, pausing as she sits up tall to look at her reflection and fix the lipstick on the corners of her mouth.

  “You should stick around. She’s racing some new kid in town. His daddy has money.”

  I turn back in time to catch Ava’s wink as she opens the door. Our smiles match. Ava and I both have a history of taking trust-fund boys who want to play race car driver down a notch.

  “Maybe I’ll put a little money on our girl,” I say. Ava laughs and waggles a well-manicured finger at me before shutting the door behind her. I feel at my back pocket while she heads toward the Supra and pull my wallet out. I’ve got a couple hundred bucks on me.

  I get out of my rental and spot the new kid’s car right away. It’s a bright red Honda Civic, modified in all the right places. The kid is maybe sixteen, seventeen at the most. He’s trying to look older by sporting some gnarly long sideburns that look patchy from several feet away. He’s also rocking one of those hard parts, the shaven part of his head fresh. I bet he’s got a girl around he’s trying to impress.

  I feel ya, kid. I’ve been there.

  If Hannah’s gotten as good as Ava says she is, this kid is way out of his league. I slip behind a few clusters of spectators, mostly people I don’t know, and find the familiar jacket and pale green ball cap of the money man. Matty’s been at this about as long as Ava has. He takes a cut of every bet, which is even more illegal than all this racing shit, but whatever. Man’s gotta make a living. Matty slings beers all day at the Lodge, and I know those old codgers don’t tip him very well. He’s got a family to feed, too.

  “Hey, can you give me two hunny on the Supra?”

  The way his shoulders lift and freeze by his ears amuses me.

  “No fuckin’ way.” Matty makes the slow turn, and when our wide eyes meet, it’s hard not to feel that tinge of belonging. Finally. Something here fits.

  “Bruh!” Matty pulls me into his arms, patting my back with fists clutching rolled-up bills. When we part, he leaves his fists against my biceps so he can eye me the same way Ava did. “You’re really here!”

  A few people nearby are looking our way, and I know it’s a matter of seconds before the whispers about my presence make their way to Hannah’s ears. I duck my head to shrink a little anyhow, not wanting to distract her. Also, a little afraid of her.

  “Just for a few days. Family business,” I say.

  “Yeah, yeah. I heard about Colt. Real shame.” He smiles through his words to be funny.

  “Thanks, man,” I respond. I glance toward Hannah and Bailey again, relieved to see their eyes are still trained straight ahead. The news hasn’t traveled that far yet. “So what do you think? Got room for one more bet?”

  “Shoot, for you? I’ll even waive the commission.” He winks and takes the two hundreds from my fingers, folding them in with the dozens of others in his right palm. I’d worry about him getting jumped with all this cash on him, but Matty’s former military, and he’s got a gun he knows damn well how to use tucked in the back of his jeans. It’s always on him; always loaded.

  “Thanks, brotha.” I give him a nod and step back to let him get on with his business.

  Doing my best to blend in with the crowd, I pull the brim of my hat down low on my brow and shove my hands in the pockets of my black jeans. I wish I had worn a less bold shirt, but behind a few bodies and in the dark, away from the headlights, the bright orange and yellow on my Tulsa Wings Racing T-shirt is a little less . . . loud.

  Whistles from the crowd alert me that a race is coming up. It won’t be Hannah yet; I would guess they hold hers third or fourth, given the novelty of a girl driver. Sexist, but lucrative. Matty and Ava work together on these races. It’s an informal agreement that’s lasted years and was passed down from relatives before them. Ava, or someone she decides to leave in charge, sets the lineup for the night, and Matty handles the money business.

  The deep rumble of a classic Chevy gurgles forward through the crowd and I fall in step, careful to remain tucked behind someone at all times. I breathe in the sharp notes of gas and oil, and acknowledge to myself that everything smells better here. At home. Sure, I get the same scents for races in Florida or down in Texas, but the mixture is always missing something. Maybe it’s the cottonwood trees or the red clay dirt that gets kicked up by the summer monsoon. The smell is never quite as sweet as a Friday night on the Straights.

  The Chevy lines up next to a familiar Dodge and my mouth ticks up with a grin. Good for you, Jimmy. Glad to know you’re still racing. I’m half-tempted to sneak up to his window and say something to encoura
ge him, but then a whole different sight causes me to panic.

  The Supra—it’s empty.

  “Shit,” I mutter to myself.

  Tucking my chin to my chest, I scoot back inches at a time, apologizing on my way for every elbow and shoulder I bump into without looking. I think I’m finally clear of the crowd when I’m brought to a hard stop with a stiff arm against my spine.

  “Leave.”

  That’s all Hannah says. One word, and though probably not the coldest thing she could have said, it fills my chest with ice that cracks and shatters to pieces in a breath.

  I wish I’d practiced this part more. I played conversations in my head, trying to predict how it would go, seeing her again. It always ended in a mess, like it’s bound to now, so I quit pretending. I figure, What’s the use?

  Drawing a slow breath in through my nose, I keep my eyes on the ground and turn slowly, a quiet nervous laugh inching out my lips. I glance up from the shadow of my hat before lifting my chin completely. Her eyes are ice blue to match the single word that left her mouth. I can’t be afraid, though. It’s too important. She’s too important to tuck my tail and go running when I just got here. She’ll be mean. I’ll deserve it. I’m going to have to endure it.

  “No.” I huff out a laugh after my response. In a millisecond, I decide to play this out by instinct. And that’s what I come up with.

  Her eyes dim and her mouth, already a hard line, somehow emits a growl despite her tight lips. Her nostrils flare. The urge to shift my feet is strong in my legs. I can feel my nerves firing from my quads, through my knees and calves, all the way into my toes. I don’t give in, though. I stand rigid and tall, lifting my chin a little more. I’m being smug despite my racing pulse. Inside, I’m scared shitless.