Rebel Rider, page 20
I hold on for dear life, my body impaled by his thickness. I ride him as he fucks me, gyrating my hips in time with his movements so that I can take every last inch of him. I close my eyes and lean back with my arms flung around his neck, focusing completely on the sounds of his breathing, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the delicious feeling of fullness that he gives me.
Faster and faster he thrusts, deeper and deeper. His groans are guttural and loud—he presses his body harder against me, pinning me to the desk. His movements reach fever pitch, frantic powerful bursts of movement. I scream in wild abandon as he fucks me, the moment of my climax approaching. I try my hardest to stem the tide, to hold back the explosive orgasm I can feel building inside. And then, with one final plunging push, his whole body tenses, every muscle strained. He roars as he finishes, his cock tensed and diamond-hard, deep inside my pussy.
I give myself over to my own climax. I scream as I feel his cock pulse with his orgasm; his hot cum spurts into me, again and again. We cum together in an explosion of heat and power and lust. My body is wracked with each pulsing wave of my orgasm, until, with one last shudder, the two of us are spent.
It’s like the calm after the storm. Where there had been gasping and thrusting and sheer raw sexual energy, there is now only the sounds of our heavy breathing and delicious exhaustion.
For a minute or two neither of us move or speak. Aiden still holds me tightly, and his cock remains inside me, still hard, still huge. When I finally summon the energy, I lean into him and kiss him, relishing the salty taste of well-earned sweat on his upper lip.
Gently, he eases out of me, and when he puts me down into the chair on top of him, it’s all I can do to not to collapse.
“I love you too,” I whisper into his neck, hugging him tightly, kissing his skin as he groans and wraps his big arms around me.
“We’ll be alright,” he says. “Just you wait and see.”
I so desperately want to believe him.
But can I?
21
Aiden
She loves me.
Those three words, from those lips are really all I need in this world, and I know it. Years later, and we’ve finally said it them loud. There’s no taking it back now.
But, there’s more. I could leave it at this—that I love her, and that she loves me, and let the rest of it fade to the background. But I know that’s not true. I know I need to settle this shit with the racing circuit. Because I know without settling that, she’s not getting all of me. She never would, because part of me would always be wrapped up in that shit.
So I need to find a way to take down Jackson.
I’m determined to return to the race, to my circuit, and I decide to focus my energy, and all of my spare time either with Hailey, or focusing on exposing my arrogant nemesis for the piece of shit he really is.
I know he’s cheating. It was common knowledge on the circuit. But everyone was too scared to say anything. No one wanted to lose their jobs, and the whole business, from roadie to mechanic to senior management, were worried what would happen if Jackson’s billionaire father withdrew his considerable sponsorship from the multitude of businesses in his empire that were splashed all over the race-day billboards, and over half of the team’s bikes.
Still, I didn’t care about any of that. Sure, the race might have to downsize a little, but it would survive. I know it’s popular enough not to fold. Hell, with Jackson’s disgrace and my return, I’d bet ticket sales would soar overnight.
I decide that a good first call would be Buck, my old tour manager. I haven’t spoken to him since my forced retirement, but I know he hates Jackson as much as anyone else. I pick up my cell phone and say a silent prayer that he hasn’t changed his cell number before tapping the green call icon and lifting the cell to my ear.
After a second the line rings, and I let out the breath I suddenly realize I’ve been holding. My heart beats in my chest with excitement, and I can’t help but smile.
I’m really doing this. I’m gonna take him down. Your racing days are numbered, Jackson. Aiden Rush is coming for you.
Hell, if I can take down an entire biker gang, that little shit doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.
I’m determined, and when I put my mind to something, I know I can achieve anything. Plus, this time I have Hailey on my side. And we make a damn good team.
After an agonizing wait the call clicks, and a tired, possibly hung-over, yet surprised sounding voice answers.
“Aiden? Well, well, ain’t this a surprise. Off you disappear, driving off into the sunset like some kinda badass, never to be seen again. Then you call me out the blue. How you been, kid?”
“Good, man.” I nod. “Good. Got a lot to catch you up on actually, but I need your help.
Buck clears his throat. “Well what can I do you for?”
I glance out into the evening gloom from my position perched on my motel room bed. I know I need to be careful, here. I don’t wanna get stopped in my tracks before I’ve started.
“I need a favor, Buck,” I say simply, and he grunts at my words.
“Well, I’m guessing you ain’t calling for your old job back,” he continues wistfully. “‘Cause if you have, I can’t help ya. I ain’t working for the NMC no more. Got forced out by Jackson and his prick father, who thinks he runs the damn race now.”
Fuck. I didn’t know that. My brow deepens, my jaw tightening. Buck and bike racing go back decades. Hearing that he’s been kicked to the curb is bullshit.
“It’s not that. Well, not exactly. I’m looking to return to racing. And I don’t want to wait any longer. Let me ask you something off the record, first. Call it a return on all that prize money you made off me over the years.”
He scoffs, before chuckling a little.
“Alright kid. Shoot.”
“Hypothetically, what would happen if Jackson was to, say, be forced to leave the race. If he were to be exposed for what we both know he is. For his... unconventional modifications. If that was to happen, hypothetically of course, what do you think the chances are I’d be taken back on the circuit?”
There’s silence on the line for a moment as my old manager digests my words.
“Hell Aiden, they’d have you back in a heartbeat. Kickin’ you off the tour was the worst decision they ever made, despite Jackson’s father’s sponsorship. Ticket and merchandise sales are down, media coverage and TV ratings are at their lowest for years. The circuit has lost its spark. I mean they lost you.”
I smile, nodding.
“Well let’s hope that’s the case. So, here’s the favor. Well two, actually. First, I need someone still on the circuit who’ll do some digging for me. I’ll make it worth their while, of course. And second, you never spoke to me. This phone call never happened.”
Buck takes in a deep breath, holding it for a second before breathing out, his breath whistling between his teeth.
“All right. This one favor, and that’s it. I never spoke to you, and past this, I ain’t getting involved. I miss you kid, but right now, you’re still toxic to this industry, and I need a new gig. So, unless you’re back to racing and you want me back as your manager, this is it between us, got it?” he replies, voice low and conspiratorial.
I fist pump the air but keep my voice calm.
“Well, I got someone else in mind as my manager, Buck. But I might have something for you if everything works out. So, what’ve you got for me?”
He grunts, and I hear some rummaging of paper and a clink of a glass.
“Remember your old mechanic, Tom? Well, turns out he got forced to take a job on Jackson’s team. Didn’t want to, but his girlfriend had a baby and he needed the cash, even if it was a lot less than you were payin’ him. I reckon he’ll help you out, if you help him out. If you catch my drift.”
I nod. “I’m pretty good with drifts, Buck.”
An idea starts to form in my mind. Yeah, this could work. Maybe.
“Okay Buck. You got his number? Maybe I’ll give him a call.”
Buck gives me Tom’s cell number, and I promise I’ll call him if I ever have any work for him. Which I just might, one day in the near future.
After a quick thanks and goodbye, I hang up, eager to see where this lead goes.
My hands trembling with excitement, I tap in Tom’s number into my cell. I hesitate for a moment, considering my words, and going over the rough plan in my head once more before tapping the call button.
The phone rings for a second before a guy answers, and I recognize Tom’s voice. He sounds gruff and a little irritated at the interruption. I can hear a young baby crying in background, with a hushed female voice speaking in soothing tones.
“Yeah?” He says simply.
“Tom. It’s Aiden. Aiden Rush,” I reply. There’s silence on the line for a second.
“Tom?”
“Hooole-ee shit!” Tom crows. “Aiden fuckin’ Rush!” His swearing earns him a scolding from his girlfriend in the background, and he mutters an apology. “Well, this is a surprise, buddy,” he continues, more quietly. “What’s up? Hey, I heard you opened a car dealership?”
I frown. “Bike shop, actually. Listen, I’m looking for someone to help me out with something of a... sensitive nature. Any chance you could go somewhere a little more private?”
I hear the thump of boots against a tiled floor, and the click of a door being closed quietly.
“Alright. I’m listening. What is it?” He asks, curiosity in his tone.
I explain to Tom the whole plan. There’s no point keeping anything from him, if I want any chance of him helping me out. I just hope it doesn’t bite me in the ass.
I’ll need him to get some dirt on Jackson. Files, emails, photos, whatever, the more the better. Anything that proves he’s cheating, using unsafe, unsanctioned parts, and tweaking them illegally, to give him the edge. In return, well, I’m going to give Tom a shitload of cash, and a guaranteed job.
I tell him about the bike shop, how business is booming, and that I could use another pair of hands. Good money, more than he’s making now, with a nice ‘signing on’ bonus, in cash, for his help.
Then, when I’m back racing, he can manage the workshop side of the business, or I’ll take him on as part of my race mechanic crew.
After a moment of incredulous silence, Tom laughs. Loud and deep, as if he’s just heard the funniest joke of his life.
I frown, remaining silent. This isn’t some sort of joke, and I want him to know that.
“Shit, you’re serious, aren't you?” Tom chuckles. “You always were crazy, man,” he says absently. Another long moment of silence as he considers my words.
“Thing is, I had to take a pay cut working for that asshole just to keep a job. I’m barely making ends meet here. Can’t even buy my little girl all the nice stuff I want,” he sounds distant, his voice quiet. “Plus, I mean, it’s Jackson Kline. The guy is a fucking douchebag. You wouldn’t believe it, man. It’s like working for a fuckin’ spoiled little kid.”
“Trust me,” I growl. “I believe it.”
He sighs, and I can hear his feet tapping on tiled flooring as he starts to pace.
“Fuck it, Aiden. I’ll do it. One condition. If this all goes wrong, and I get my ass fired, that you’ll still have that job for me at your new place. Starting first thing the next damn day, bonus an’ all.”
His voice is matter of fact, and I like that. The man’s got a family he’s trying to take care of, and what I’m asking is risky. Plus, he’d be doing the dirty work.
His condition is more than fair.
“You got a deal, Tom. Done. You got my word. No matter what happens, I’ll keep my end of the bargain,” I say, grinning tightly. I’ve got my in.
“So how long you think it’ll take?”
Tom snorts a laugh.
“Not long at all. Jackson ain’t interested in the details. He just wants to win, that’s all he cares about. And he knows he’s safe ‘cause of his daddy’s money keeping the race afloat. No, he leaves all the boring details to the mechanics. It won’t be hard to get my hands on what you need. I just gotta do it careful, make sure no one notices. Couple of days, max.”
My heart leaps in my chest, and I thank Tom, telling him to call me if anything goes wrong, and give him the address of the bike shop, in case he gets fired on the spot and needs work the next day.
The deal is struck, and I can’t quite believe how well this has all gone, so far.
Now for the hard part. One final little piggy, one that needs to squeal. Time for phase three.
22
Aiden
I adjust my leather jacket, loosening the sleeves and tapping the small box Hailey has sewn into a hidden compartment in my inside left pocket. I run my fingers along the wire running from the box, up to my arm and underneath my t-shirt, where a small microphone is taped securely to my chest.
I turn the collar of my jacket up against the light rain sheeting down from behind me in the cool, western Pennsylvania evening air as I walk along the sidewalk towards a bar, boots thumping loud on the pavement.
Glancing around to check no one is in earshot, I kneel down suddenly and make a show of adjusting my boot laces, bringing my face a few inches from the microphone.
“Testing. Can you hear me?” I ask in a low voice.
A moment later my cell phone buzzes in the pocket of my jeans, and I stand to walk the rest of the short distance to the bar, where I can make out bright, cheerful lights shining through the gloom.
I pick up my cell and flick at the screen, before bringing it to my ear.
“How do I sound, Matt?”
Hailey’s dad wheezes a chuckle. “Got you’re loud and clear, Aiden. That little baby was worth the money. I’m even picking up the rain, as light as it is.”
There are other people who I could’ve involved in this. Hailey of course would’ve loved to be a part of it. Hunter or Carter would have also done a great job of running the other end of my wire. But when I went over to Hailey’s house to say finally say hi to Matt, and when I walked through that old front door of what used to be my home too?
Well, it was an easy favor to ask, once I told Matt the whole story. And man was he willing to help out if it would “put that little fucking prick in his place” as he put it.
So here we are, a few days later, ready to pull the trigger on this whole plan.
“I’ll pull up as close as I can to you, but even from here its good. You just might have to get him to talk loud, if its busy in there.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. The asshole loves the sound of his own voice, as you’re about to find out. Text me to confirm you got him loud and clear on the microphone. Oh, and Matt…”
I smile, tucking my face out of the wind.
“Thanks for helping with this. And I’m sorry it took me so long to—”
“Get off your ass and make my little girl smile like I’ve been waiting for you to do for years?”
I blink, my jaw dropping as his words about knock me on my ass.
“I, uh…” I shake my head, trying to un-stun myself. “I was going to say, ‘come by to say hello.’”
“I’ll take your apology for the first one first though.”
I smile, shaking my head. “That obvious was it?”
“Hugely. All I’m gonna say is, took ya long enough.”
I chuckle. “This the part where you warn me about what happens if I break her heart or treat her badly?”
“Nah,” Matt’s voice grates into the phone. “Son, you already know what I’ll do to you if either of those things come to pass.”
He’s right. But neither of those things are going to happen. Ever.
“You got this, Aiden. Good luck and go get him.”
With that, I hear the rev of an engine and the line goes dead. I look up. I’m at the entrance of the bar where Jackson has agreed to meet, on the pretense that my business is failing, and I’ve come to grovel for work.
Which was all bullshit, obviously. But he bought it, nonetheless, mainly because he wants to believe that it's true.
I take a moment to compose myself. Matt, who made an amazing recovery thanks to his new meds, and I have travelled across two states to come to the bar outside Pittsburg, near the current race location. This is where Jackson apparently likes to spend the majority of his evenings, especially after a race.
Luckily tonight he isn’t celebrating a victory. I knew he’d be unbearable as it is, let alone with the addition of gloating a race win on top of it. It’s gonna take all my willpower not to punch him again, even as it is.
I grit my teeth and swing the door open, and step into the bright, loud, and humid atmosphere of the garish bar.
There’re booths on either side of the entrance, lined up along a dark wooden walkway that leads to a huge, old fashioned bar. I remember the place from one of the races I won last year. It’d been a wild night. A night Jackson wasn’t invited to.
I got the feeling he was trying to send me a message, asking me to meet him here, or not at all.
There's a few loud figures seated in the center of the bar. In the middle of the group sits Jackson, looking around at his cronies as he tells a story, with his audience hanging on every word, laughing here and there.
I wince at the thought of what I know is about to come, and march confidently towards the group, my head held high, trying to keep the growing anger I feel from my eyes.
Even if he’s noticed my approach, Jackson ignores me, leaving me to stand there behind him. He glances over his shoulder at me, going back to his story for a second before swiveling around on his bar stool.
His eyes gleam with both mirth and malice as he studies me. His group of hangers-on and sycophants sneer at me. They all know who I am.
