She could touch me. She could touch any part of me, and that was it. Just her.

So I swallowed the jagged pill in my throat and gripped the iPad, forcing myself to focus. The Loop. The track. The money.

“Heads up!”

I jerked my head, seeing Fallon just in time to catch the water bottle she tossed. Holding it up and offering a tight smile, I watched her smile in return and walk back to Madoc, who leaned against his car, waiting for the races to start.

About a year ago, I had started working with Zack Hager, the Racemaster, who’d run races here on Friday and Saturday nights. Things were amateur back then. Mostly local high school kids racing their fancy toys that Mommy and Daddy had bought them around an unstable dirt track. My brother, Madoc, and Tate had all raced here during that time. They were illegal events on private property that everyone knew about but no one cared to stop.

And why would they? It was boring as hell.

For me, anyway. It was like watching NASCAR. Left turn, left turn, left turn. Guess what’s next. Yeah, left turn.

But cars interested me. Racing definitely interested me. So Zack and I had pooled our resources and stepped up the game. High school races Friday nights. College-and-beyond races Saturday nights. We struck a deal with Dirk Benson, the farmer on whose land the track sat, and got permission to pave it. Only instead of being a rounded square circling a pond, the track now had kind of a Hershey’s Kiss–looking top. We’d included the long driveway leading into the track as part of the race now. Drivers did their turn around the track and ended by racing to the end of the driveway, skidding to a turn, and racing back to the finish line.

We’d also constructed another dirt track through the forest between his farm and the highway and incorporated off-roading races as well. Sometimes they ran simultaneously, but we usually tried to keep them separate.

Best of all, the races were almost fully legal—except for the betting—and now they were wired in as well. GoPro cameras were installed on all the vehicles before the races so viewers could access footage on their phones and iPads with the Web Site I’d created. This feature was especially important for the off-road races where the viewers couldn’t venture.

Zack took care of scheduling drivers, making sure they signed our disclaimer forms, and the money. I took care of the tech stuff, planning new events, and alterations to the track.

After all, this would eventually get boring, too, so things had to keep changing.

And thankfully this kept me busy. During the school year, when I attended college, my class load, plus the track, was enough to keep me out of trouble. The fall and spring were my safest times. School was in session, and the weather was good for racing. The winter and summer were shaky. Either school was out or the track was dead.

My leg vibrated, and I inhaled a deep breath before looking down.

I blinked long and hard, my stomach turning as I dug out my phone.

Yeah.

My father called regularly, and I did nothing to stop him. Jared didn’t know, his mom, Katherine, didn’t know, and I wasn’t running from the bastard.

I answered the phone. “You’re boring me,” I said right away. “Come find me when you get out, and we’ll have a real conversation then.”

“That may be sooner than you think.”

A bad taste filled my mouth, but I tried to keep my face even as I swallowed.

“Good,” I replied. “I still play with knives.”

I heard his quiet laugh on the other end of the phone line.

I had no idea how he called me. I could find out if I wanted to, but for some reason, I didn’t want to keep him away. I’d never try to avoid him. I wanted him to avoid me.

“I only want what I’ve always wanted,” he stated. “A chance to make amends. I raised you, Jax. I’d like to show you that I’m better than I was.”

“No, you want me to take care of you,” I shot back. “You’re not using me to pay your way. Not anymore, you sick fuck.”

When I was little, my father used me—and Jared—to make money. Stealing, breaking and entering … A kid could get in where an adult couldn’t, and my father knew that.

“You forget, you little shit,” he growled, and my stomach rolled with the memories his insults invoked. “I know where your mess is buried.”

But his threat didn’t hit home, because I made damn sure I’d always have the upper hand.

“And you forget,” I countered, “that I’m not a kid anymore.” I jumped off the hood and strolled around to the door, tossing the iPad through the open window onto a seat. “There’s a guy in there with you. Christian Dooley. You got a beating from him, right?”

The phone was silent, so I continued. “Just happened to be right after the last time you threatened me?” I taunted, knowing my meaning was clear. “Threaten me again, and you won’t make it out of those doors alive.”

And I hung up, putting my palms down on the roof of my Mustang and lowering my head.

He wasn’t a man, I told myself. I was strong. I was worthy. And I was clean.

I could feel the sweat on my brow cooling me as the light wind hit it, but now my back was nearly drenched, and I wanted to rip off my shirt.

It was after eight, but the day’s sunlight still warmed the air. It had to be over ninety degrees.

“I know where your mess is buried.” My hands shook, and I clenched my fists.

The mess I’d made the day I’d had enough. Enough of the hands touching me. Enough of people looking at me and hurting me. Enough of being weak. My only regret was that I didn’t bury my father with them.

I had come a long way from that scared kid. I never wanted to be weak or surprised in any relationship or situation, and so I’d assumed absolute control over everything in my life.

But as much as I’d never wanted to feel like that unclean kid again, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dirt on my skin. I took two showers a day. I had someone clean my house twice a week. I always counteracted one shitty thing I said or did with two decent things, like volunteering or donating money, but I still felt unclean.

Nothing was clean enough.

“Well, you got me here.”

I raised my head at the sound of her voice and twisted around to see Juliet.

She stuck her hands in the pockets of her seriously faded, ripped, and tight jeans, and my chest filled with amusement at the sight of her loose black tank top that hung low in the back but showed off her belly button in the front. It had one of those “Keep Calm” logos, but instead it said “I will not keep calm. I will raise hell and break shit.”

My father was forgotten.

“I’m not a fan of this scene,” she admitted with a glint of humor in her eyes, “so if I’m still bored in an hour, Shane and Fallon promised me we could leave and go back to the carnival.”

“You think that’s more fun?” I challenged, sauntering over to her.

She nodded. “Oh, yes.”

I smiled, unable not to touch her anymore. Reaching out and taking her hand, I pulled her into me as I leaned back against the car.

“I’ve got a carnival ride for you.” I leaned into her lips. “Open all night,” I whispered, taking her lips in mine and wrapping my arms around her waist.

I heard her snort at my lame joke, but I was smiling, too.

She tasted like water. Every time I’d kissed her it had been like that. As if I was so thirsty I sucked in gulp after gulp, realizing how much my body needed this and how I felt soothed the more I drank.

I reached up and cupped her face with one hand, diving into her mouth and working my tongue around hers. Holding on to her, I molded her hips to mine and felt her moan against my lips. I slipped my hand inside her shirt under her arm, feeling the bare skin of her back. So smooth. Like cream.

“Jax,” she gasped, trying to pull away, “we’re in public.” I knew she didn’t want to stop, but she was embarrassed.

I normally would have been, too. I didn’t do PDAs, but with her? Hell yeah.

I looked down at her, not letting go. “I know. I just want to touch you all the time. Now that you’re letting me, it’s hard to stop.”

Her hair hung loose and smooth, straightened and parted in the middle. Her green eyes sparkled under dark eye shadow, and I was glad her lips were clear of lipstick. She had full light pink lips, and they were perfect the way they were.

She smirked happily. “Touch me all the time,” she repeated. “But we don’t get along.”

“We get along great.” I grinned. “As long as you don’t talk.” And I leaned down, snatching up her lips again.

She laughed and tried to push away from me, her back bending and her head falling back, but I held tight.

“Stop!” She giggled and squirmed as I kissed a trail up her neck. I loved seeing her giddy.

“Stop talking,” I scolded, still kissing her. “We get into trouble when you speak.” And I took her earlobe in my teeth, sucking hard, and she went limp.

“I feel like I’m falling,” she admitted through her breathlessness, standing up straight and taking my hands away. “But it feels good.”

I cocked my head and folded my arms over my chest. “Are we putting K.C. away so Juliet can come out to play?” I joked.