Drive (6 page)

“Hey, baby, want to straddle my NOS tank?”

She stared at him a moment before bursting out laughing. “What the hell is NOS?”

“That and this.” He pointed to the tank in the floorboard by her feet, and the one in the console.

“What do they do?”

“Do you want the technical answer or the simple one?”

“Simple.”

“They make the car go really, really fast.”

“Okay, I get it. And no, thanks.” A tank wasn't what she wanted to straddle, unless he was packing something in those jeans of his she'd never seen before.

An engine whined in the distance, growing louder. Aiden's smile faltered and he glanced over his shoulder at the street. Headlights turned into the carhop, one after another after another.

“Fuck.” Aiden reached under the seat.

The cars pulled up on either side, in front and behind them in a cluster of flashy paint and bright lights. Music thumped and blared from at least five different sound systems, drowning out the Stoke's speakers.

“Why do you have a gun?” She could feel her throat constricting as the sight of the slick, black gun struck terror in her.

“Reasons,” he replied without looking at her.

Squealing tires broke her out of her trance. There was a very real reason Aiden had the gun, and it didn't appear to have anything to do with her or Dustin.

“What's going on?” Madison twisted in her seat, heart pounding. Was this Dustin? Or Aiden's doing?

“Nothing. Play it cool.” Aiden assumed a relaxed posture, but she saw the way he clenched his left hand. In his right hand, he held the gun low, next to his leg and out of sight from the other drivers.

“What the hell is going on?” she demanded again.

“Stay in the car. I'll tell you later,” he said in a whisper.

She grabbed her burger and shoved a big bite in her mouth. If her last meal was Stoke's, she at least wanted to get her money's worth.

A tall, thin man dressed in jeans and a white tank top got out of the cherry-red car in front of them. He wasn't the kind of guy you'd pass on the street and think anything of. He was—normal. And yet, the calculating way he was staring at Aiden was the same way Dustin had stared at her, back when she didn't ask questions about where the money came from or where he'd been.

“Who is that?” she asked in a whisper.

“That's the Eleventh Street Gang leader, Raibel Canales. He's not exactly a friend.” Aiden grabbed one of the paper bags and used it to hide the gun in his hand.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Raibel, why did that name sound familiar? Did she want to remember? Probably not, but she couldn't stop the wheels from turning now.

Raibel sauntered toward the driver's-side door and leaned his forearms on the open window.

“
Que bolá, asere?
” Raibel's gaze flicked from Aiden to her.

Madison took back her initial assessment of the man. He wasn't normal at all. The way he stared at her was more like staring into her and wondering what it would be like to turn her inside out. She'd met a few sickos like that who ran in the same circles with Dustin, and they terrified her.

“Helena, right?” Raibel pointed at her.

Madison froze. Fucking fuckity fuck.

“How's Alison? It's been a while since I saw her.”

Alison Plunderland was a derby girl with a short fuse, plenty of brawling buddies, and a little black book thicker than the Bible. Madison wasn't close with her, but she'd been to a few of the after-parties where Alison had come in with a long-haired Cuban man at her side. Without the long hair, Raibel's features were sharper, more defined.

“She's good,” Madison said for lack of a better answer. The last she'd seen of Alison the girl was turning in her notice for a month off. Or was it two now? She'd come to a few practices with a black eye and limping, but Madison had never found out why and Alison never came back. Looking at Raibel now, she wouldn't be surprised if he were Alison's reason for leaving.

“I should give her a call, see how she's doing.”

“What do you want, Canales?” Aiden asked before Madison's mouth could get her into trouble.

“Just checking in on a friend.” Raibel shrugged. “That's not allowed?”

“When have we ever been friends?” Aiden draped an arm on the steering wheel and turned his body toward Raibel, partially blocking her view.

“I wasn't talking to you.” Raibel cocked his head to the side. “Hey, Helena, want to come take a ride in a real car?”

Oh, hell to the never no.

“What? You can't pick up your own chicks now, Canales?”

Raibel slashed a glare Aiden's way. “That's some talk, coming from you.”

“Hey, I can bring my own girl to the party, that's not a problem for me. If you need a date, though, I might be able to help you out. I'm a nice guy.” Aiden's smile was more a baring of teeth.

“Your own girl? Yeah? But what about bringing a car? Can you do that?”

Aiden gestured to the dash of the Challenger. “Looks like it. So where's this party happening? Am I invited?”

“Oh, you'll get your invitation, DeHart.” Raibel ground his teeth. From the way he stared at Aiden, turning him inside out was just the beginning of what Raibel wanted to do. “I know what you did.”

“I'm sorry, what I did? You're going to have to be a little clearer.”

Raibel pounded the door with his fist.

“Wow, hey, easy on the paint,” Aiden snapped. He leveled the gun at his door, right at the Cuban man.

“I fucking know what you did,” Raibel whispered through clenched teeth. He didn't even glance at the gun, not the least bit concerned that he could get a bullet in the groin.

Madison didn't dare breathe. If Aiden had a gun, what were these other guys packing?

“I don't know what you're talking about, sorry,” Aiden said.

“You do, and you'll pay.” Raibel wagged his finger in Aiden's face. Raibel glanced down at the gun and smirked. “Cute toy.”

Madison pressed her back against the door. Being in close confines with these two was not a good idea, and that wasn't even taking into consideration that one of them had a fucking gun. She didn't know which one was scarier, Raibel with his overt, homicidal thoughts, or Aiden, with his thinly veiled ability to kick some ass.

Aiden pulled out a twenty-dollar bill with his left hand. “Here you go, get a burger. The fries are good too.”

Raibel crumpled the money into a ball and threw it back in Aiden's face. “
Coño carajo
.”

“You too,” Aiden replied.

Raibel turned and stalked back to his car. He flashed some sort of a sign with his fingers twisted around each other and curved. The cars around them revved their engines. Madison pressed her hands over her ears. Raibel peeled out, followed closely by his pack of followers. The scent of burned rubber and exhaust hung thick on the air.

A cluster of derby girls and people stood along the covered eave of the bar as a light rain began to fall. Hopefully it would cleanse the area of whatever Raibel's gang had left behind.

Aiden blew out a breath and tucked the gun under his thigh, as if it were a cell phone or something he wanted to have on hand.

“What was that about? And why do you have a gun?” Madison asked.

“How does he know you?” Aiden turned toward her.

“He dated a derby girl, Alison Plunderland. We were at some parties together. I heard some rumors he hit her, next thing I know she's on leave and I haven't thought about her since.”

“He just knows you from parties?”

“Hey, I'm kind of a big deal in our league, okay? Everyone knows me. I'm on the fucking fliers.” She gestured toward Stoke's. There were piles of them inside. The day the league had unveiled the flier, she'd nearly shit her pants. A photograph of her shouldering aside a rival jammer had been digitized and made into the season's poster. It was a point of pride, a sign of how far she'd come that she could wear the Skating Gator and compete for her league.

“Why the gun?”

“How do you think I'm supposed to protect you?” His stare was hard, unyielding.

Crap. He thought he was going to have to shoot someone to keep her safe? Her stomach twisted around into knots. This was bad. Really, really bad.

“Shit.” Aiden scrubbed a hand over his face. “We need to get out of here.”

He started the car and accelerated out of the parking lot hard enough to press her into the seats. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

Chapter Six

A string of curses ran on repeat in Aiden's head.

His play of leaving the races to avoid starting anything with the Eleventh had just gone up in smoke. And not just smoke, but with fireworks. He didn't know what Raibel Canales was capable of, but he had a few good guesses. New gangs like theirs needed a leader who could show force and get things rolling. Raibel had taken over maybe six months ago and the little crew was becoming a true gang. Raibel would kill someone before much longer. It was just the cycle of street life.

Aiden had never liked Raibel much. There was no depth of humanity in the man. It was one thing for Raibel to have Aiden in his sights, but Madison was another matter.

“Hey. Hey!” Madison leaned across the console. “You said you were going to tell me what was going on.”

“Hold on for a minute,” he snapped.

It was a fifteen-minute drive back to Classic Rides. Somehow, Madison kept her trap shut the whole drive back. He couldn't eat. Too many things were spinning out of control. He hadn't even begun to figure out what Julian was doing, and now he had not only Dustin on one side, but the Eleventh on the other. He needed to get things under control, or at least a little ahead of the game.

He pulled into the drive at the garage and paused, surveying the lot. The security system would pick up anyone trespassing and relay it back to their Walking Brain of an IT guy, Emery, but computers and cameras weren't infallible. Everything was quiet. One small mercy, at least.

Aiden tucked the gun in his waistband before letting down the chain barring entry to the shop and left it there. He didn't plan to be around long. The night was growing old, and there was still a hell of a lot to do.

“Now are you going to tell me?” Madison asked when he got back in the car.

“You are a dog with a fucking bone, aren't you?” He drove the car up next to the shop and shifted into park. “This isn't the first job I've taken from Dustin. A month and a half ago he brings me in through a mutual contact to do a job for him. Quiet-like. Seems the Eleventh Street Gang has started stepping on their territory.”

“Territory? Seriously?”

“In case you are unaware, your husband—”

“Ex-husband.”

“Your ex-husband deals a lot of coke. Eleventh is getting shipments from someone, and selling to your ex's customers. He didn't like it, but he was also told to take care of the problem without causing a big thing.” He shouldn't tell her, but she needed to know exactly what she was dealing with here. Thank goodness she had a cop detail. It would give her some measure of protection.

“And you did it?”

Aiden nodded. “It's economics. Someone like Dustin has the cash to bankroll a shipment of coke. The Eleventh? They're working on credit. So I stole it and burned the take. Now, the Eleventh is in debt to their suppliers, they can't fulfill their demand, so that puts Dustin back on top, without anyone getting killed.”

“Except? There's a but in there.”

“But, somehow the Eleventh found out what I did, and they're pissed. I don't think Canales knows for sure, but it won't be long before he doesn't care if it's the truth or not, he'll just want to kill me.” He shouldn't tell Madison any of this. Outside of his organization, only the mutual contact knew of his involvement. And yet, she was part of it now.

Madison gasped. “Shouldn't you go to the police or something?”

He laughed. That was cute. Real cute. “And what would I tell them?”

She stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“Sorry, officer, I don't have any drugs or evidence why this guy wants me dead, he just does. Trust me, okay?” He shook his head. “That's not going to go over well.”

He didn't blame her disbelief. How did he explain the delicate nature of being undercover? On one hand, he had to do the job. On the other, he had to keep up appearances. The Hoovers didn't mind that he'd disposed of the product because it meant the DEA had one less leg to stand on when it came to who called the shots on their operation. And that wasn't even counting the cops, who were butt hurt about being told to back off. If they knew the undercover FBI operation was run out of his garage, they should send Evers a notice as well.

Besides, his crew was capable of handling someone like Raibel. It would just be a lot more convenient if Aiden weren't trying to sell himself as Dustin's go-to guy for outside jobs at the same time.

“What are you going to do?” Madison asked.

“Figure it out later. Canales isn't stupid. He knows he can't come at me unless he can take my whole crew on and he's not ready to open that can.” If it came down to it, CJ could tip off the DEA and have the Eleventh raided simultaneously, but Aiden wanted to avoid that. The less federal activity going on, the easier his job was.

“Why?”

“Don't worry about it.” He cut the engine and opened his door.

“The hell I'm not worrying about it. Aiden, you pulled a gun on a man at a place I go to all the time. Big fucking deal.” She unbuckled and twisted to face him, her face creased by a frown he didn't like.

“Look, Canales is a thug. A smart thug, but still a thug. It doesn't make sense for him to start something with me. If he were a dumb thug I'd be worried, but Canales knows the numbers. It will cost him more money and get the cops interested if he does anything to me or my crew. Until the benefits outweigh the cost, he's just going to make threats.” Besides, the younger drivers were nervous around him thanks to the rumors. And Aiden seriously doubted Canales had another driver willing to pull a trigger.

“What about me?”

“As far as Canales is concerned, you're mine.”

“Is that so?” She arched a brow at him. Damn, he wanted to kiss that little frown.

“It is. You're safe. Come on, let's get your bike out.”

He stretched and he stood from the car, glancing around the lot instinctively. When he'd opened the garage, the last thing he'd expected was to turn it into a front for an FBI investigation. But here he was, on another case. This time, though, he'd finally get to take a piece out of Evers's hide.

* * *

Madison wasn't sure what to make of Aiden. What kind of a man brushed off threats from the leader of a gang while taking on her ex? He was either crazy—or capable. She got the distinct feeling he'd done this sort of thing before. He was helping her. And sure, he might spin it so that he was doing her a favor, but she'd been around bad men before, and Aiden DeHart had none of their stink on his tanned skin. She'd bet money—if she had any—that he'd helped more than a few people.

What kind of a man did that? What kind of training did he have? What life experiences had shaped him into—whatever he was? She wanted to peel back his layers and figure him out.

“You're up past your bedtime,” Aiden finally replied. He handed her a bottle of water from the office mini-fridge and gestured to one of the spare chairs.

“I haven't had a fucking bedtime since I was a kid.” She sank into one of the empty office chairs. Bedtime with Aiden, now there was a thought.

“Maybe that's what's wrong. You stayed up too late and learned all those bad words.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “I didn't have to stay up late to hear them.”

Aiden leaned against the desk and studied her. He hadn't bothered with the overhead lights, just a dim corner lamp. It wasn't quite a romantic glow, but she wasn't in the market for romance. The way he looked at her now, it wasn't like before, when she'd felt exposed, maybe even in his crosshairs. It was like he was seeing her for the first time.

“Who'd you hear it from, then?”

She shifted in her seat. “My dad, at least until he left.”

“He taught you all those words?”

“He was a sailor. I'm pretty sure he invented some of them.”

Aiden nodded. “Yeah, those navy boys have a certain way with words.”

Those navy boys? She tilted her head to the side, taking him in once more. He wasn't the only one who could tell a thing or two about a person just by looking at them.

“You were in the military, weren't you?”

He stilled and there was a deadly air about him, as if in a second he might explode in a flurry of action. His arms flexed, gripping the edge of the desk. Aiden reached across with his right hand and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing his left bicep. Some truly talented artist had inked the iconic Iwo Jima Memorial onto his arm, set against two pillars of smoke and arching over it all, the words
WE WILL NEVER FORGET.
There was so much detail to it; she almost wanted to brush the sand from the soldiers' boots out of respect.

It wasn't the kind of tattoo a person could just go into a shop and pick off a wall. She'd spent enough time around the local shops to recognize a custom piece when she saw it.

He'd thought about this tattoo. It meant something to him, more than the momentary jab of emotion pricking her heart. For him, this was something he'd survived. His service alone didn't mean Aiden was a good type of man, but it was hard to not fling her trust at his feet.

Perhaps he wasn't a bad boy at all. Just a badass one.

She licked her lips, aware she was staring. “How long did you serve for?”

“Eight years. That was more than enough for me.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For serving.”

He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Don't thank me for what I did. We did what we thought we had to do.”

She knew nothing of how the military worked. Her father had left before her teenage years and with him anything she might have gleaned about the navy.

“Is that where you learned how to do this stuff?” she asked.

“This stuff?”

“Helping people.”

“You ask too many questions.”

She shrugged. “I learned too late that not asking them was a bad idea.”

“How do you completely miss that your husband is a dope dealer?”

She flinched, because his words stung. She deserved that.

“I saw what I wanted to see. I was young, I was stupid, and I was afraid that if I asked what was going on, I'd know the truth. It was easy to live with it at first. I had things and money. Whatever I wanted. But I learned too late the price having stuff cost me. I think I always knew Dustin wasn't a good guy, but I wanted someone in my life so badly I was willing to ignore all the warning signs. Once I started to suspect something”—she shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself—“then I was scared that if I rocked the boat I'd get kicked to the curb.”

“But isn't that what happened?”

“The hell it isn't.” She glared at him. “I left him. He didn't kick me out. Dustin didn't give one shit about what happened to me, so long as I kept the house and answered the phone.”

“But you knew what he was doing.”

“No, I knew he was screwing around on me. I suspected there was something else. I thought it was gambling, that maybe he was doing drugs, but I had no idea he was
dealing
until right before I split. I started looking in his pockets, checking his phone and that's when I figured it out. Was I stupid? Yes. Yes, I was stupid and I did what I thought I had to at the time. Would you like to keep rehashing this? We can talk about it again and again and again if you want, but it's not going to change what I'm saying. Yes, I married a criminal. Yes, I willingly remained ignorant of what he was doing. And yes, I left him. Any more questions?” She was practically yelling at him, but her give-a-shit reserve was empty. If he wanted to keep questioning her and doubting her, well, he could do it without her present.

Aiden shook his head. “You're a defensive little thing, aren't you?”

If he was on roller skates, she'd hip-check him onto his ass and feel good about it. Instead, she imagined him flying up, going parallel to the ground, and slamming down. She shoved to her feet and clenched her fists. It would be so satisfying to punch him.

“Fuck you,” she spat.

Madison stalked to the other side of the office. One bad thing about roller derby was the way it encouraged the girls to embrace their anger, use it, except once you started wielding the wicked emotion you had the wolf by the ears. Let go of it and it would bite you.

“You shouldn't go around offering things like that,” he said in a lazy drawl, except there was nothing lackadaisical about the man.

“You are not funny.” She turned to face him, digging her nails into her palm. Heat rolled across her body. So she had a thing for him? Any girl drawing breath would swoon at those blue eyes.

“The guys think I'm hilarious.” The deadpan delivery was almost comical.

“Well, good for them.” It was time to leave, except he stood between her and the door. “You got a bathroom around here?” If she couldn't leave, she'd retreat.

“Sure.” He pointed at the door behind her. The pane of glass shone out into the dark garage. “Through there, to the left.”

Madison jerked the door open and the scent of rubber, oil, and grease assaulted her senses. The classic restore shop had always made her curious, and she'd often wanted a closer look at the cars she could never afford to own.

The bathroom was a small, cramped space with barely enough room for the toilet and sink, but it was clean. She shut the door, closing out Aiden and the mess he'd thrown her life into. How could one person stir up so much stuff? He was dealing with Dustin, her, and a street gang. He didn't seem like the man to share his secrets, but she thought it was safe to assume he had more going on than what she knew about.