Page 78 of Law Maker
Ethan scowled. “Pass. Hugh’s still working on the bike.”
“Nah.” Hugh stood, grinning. “It’s ready. You can use it.”
“See you on the grid,” I tossed over my shoulder. “And make sure your guys watch. They wouldn’t want to miss the show.”
I didn’t bother checking Ethan’s face. No doubt it soured. Unless he bailed—which he wouldn’t—he’d have to beat me on the track. I had no intention of letting that happen.
“Is the bike ready?” I asked Dawson when I got back.
He nodded. “Are you doing this for the right reason, Asher?”
I stripped out of my clothes and grabbed my gear. “Doing what? Racing my teammate?”
Dawson sighed as I pulled the leather suit up my legs. “Listen. I’m not against you and Kaia. I was young once. I just worry about you. I know you—but I also know Russell.”
“Don’t worry.” I fastened the Velcro on my gloves. “I know him, too. That’s why he won’t know shit.”
We’d tell him once Kaia was in college. By then, he couldn’t do a damn thing. I shoved the thought aside, forcing my mind on the race. I was done letting Ethan get away with his crap.
Dawson finished prepping while I zipped into my suit. Ethan was already at the starting line when I mounted my bike. I gave a single nod, and the engines roared as we shot forward together.
The track twisted ahead. I locked my gaze on the tarmac, Ethan hovering in my periphery.
I left him behind after the first corner, but he caught me on the second. My pulse spiked as I leaned into the bend. Ethan edged closer, awareness prickling over my skin. He was up to something.
Right before I accelerated, his leg shot out and clipped my footpeg.
“What the fuck?” I shouted, straightening the bike. The recovery gave him time to slip ahead—but I was my father’s son. It took nothing to overtake him again.
Rage and adrenaline surged through me as I hopped off my bike at the finish line. Ethan’s crew muttered among themselves, chins tipping in my direction. The second his engine cut, I yanked off my helmet and stormed toward him.
“Playing dirty, Brooks?”
He froze, helmet in hand. “What do you mean, champ?”
“What do I mean? Your foot didn’t hit my peg by accident, asshole.”
“But you didn’t lose grip.” He dragged a hand through sweat-soaked hair, smirking. “You still won. It was just a prank. Relax.”
“A fucking prank?” In a real race, it would’ve gotten him disqualified—he could’ve made me crash. I stepped in until our chests nearly touched. “I know what you tried to do. Believe me, you don’t want to fuck with me again.”
His smirk hardened. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll make you regret it.”
“Welp.” He backed off, maybe worried I’d swing. “You’re definitely not like your father. He’d never threaten a teammate. Then again, he wouldn’t have highsided, either.”
I lurched forward.
“Asher!” Dawson’s voice boomed. “Come here!”
Fuck. Why did he have to stop me?
Ethan retreated, tucking his helmet under his arm as he whistled his way to Hugh.
Dawson’s heavy hand clamped my forearm. I shook him off. “Not now, Dawson.”
His eyes mixed worry with contempt. I ignored it and stalked to the garage to change, desperate to get the hell out.
