Faster Deeper (Take Me...#2) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) (5 page)

I feel my body stiffen as he sits down beside me at the bar.
I’m not about to tell the guy off—my job’s in PR, not causing PR problems for
our team. But his presence is somehow unsettling. He’s definitely not the
company I was looking forward to this evening.

“It’s criminal, a beautiful woman like you sitting by
yourself,” he says, eyes scanning the dance floor.

“I’m perfectly comfortable alone,” I tell him.

“You can’t mean that,” he says, “Don’t tell me that there’s
no man in your life? That the world is so cruel as to deprive at least one
lucky man of your love?”

“Would you cut it out with the smooth talk, or whatever the
hell that is?” I snap, “This whole Don Juan act is getting old, quick.”

“I’m only speaking my truth,” he says leaning toward me.
“And the truth is that, if you were my woman, you’d never be left to sip your
drinks alone.”

I stare at Marques, baffled by his forwardness. What is he
driving at, here? And why am I having so much trouble telling him to back off?
Those handsome features of his make it easy to ignore the noxious content of
his flowery speech. I avert my eyes from his, looking out onto the dance floor
for my brother and Bex.

But my eyes alight on someone else entirely.

Across the crowded club, Harrison Davies stands, surrounded
by his McClain posse. And the look in his eyes could kill. Our gazes lock, and
I understand what he must be seeing. Marques is practically on top of me, our
drinks set down between our rubbing elbows. I got so caught up in his whirlwind
of charm and insistence that I nearly lost my head.

“Let me show you how a real man takes care of his woman...”
Marques croons, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. Even from where I’m
sitting, I can see Harrison’s gorgeous features twist into a mask of outrage.
The color rises to his face, and he seems to grow ten inches taller. I’ve
scarcely opened my mouth to tell Marques where to shove it when Harrison
charges across the packed room.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Harrison’s upon us in a matter of seconds, furious eyes
locked on Rafael Marques’ sneering face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Marques?” Harrison
demands.

“I’m sorry,” Marques says, standing to face Harrison, “Were
you under the impression that this is any of your business?”

“She’s clearly not interested in you,” Harrison goes on, “So
why don’t you act like the gentleman you’re clearly not and back the fuck off,
yeah?”

Andy, Cora, Sara, and Shelby appear behind Harrison, peering
around his staggering form. I watch confusion cloud each of their faces as
Harrison places himself between me and Marques. This can’t become a spectacle.
It just can’t.

“Harrison,” I hiss, “Leave it, would you?”

“He’s the one who needs to leave,” Harrison spits, “It’s men
like him who give this sport a bad name.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Davies,” Marques laughs,
“You’re not exactly a boy scout, are you? Glass of whiskey for breakfast, as
many racing groupies as you can fit into an evening’s time, unsightly tattoos
and never a proper shave to be seen—”

“You don’t know me, Marques.”

“And you don’t know me,” he returns, “So why don’t
you
back the fuck off and leave me to my conquest? I was just about to get her nice
and liquored up.”

Without even thinking, I wrench my fist back and swing at
Marques’ smug face. Harrison’s arms wrap me up, holding me back from the chauvinist
pig. I swing wildly, aching to crack my fist against those pretty cheekbones of
Rafael’s but Harrison pulls me back just as my fist narrowly misses. How dare
he speak about me like that, and right in front of my face?

“Easy, Siena,” Harrison says, “Come on, he’s not worth it.”

“What the hell is going on here?” I hear Enzo’s voice call
out.

I look up and see that my brother, Bex, Rostov, and Landers
have returned for their drinks. It occurs to me what a strange scene this has
become. Five of F1’s top racers, a handful of puzzled teammates, and me at the
center. Boy, do I know how to make a scene or what?

“This asshole was terrorizing Siena,” Harrison growls,
nodding toward Marques.

“You were what?” Enzo says, rounding on the Spanish driver.

“Terrorizing is not the correct word,” he says coolly.

“No, harassing would be more apt,” I say, wrenching my arms
from Harrison’s grasp.

“You’d better get out of here,” Enzo warns Marques.

“Or what?” the other driver challenges, “You’ll sick Davies
on me?”

“I don’t know what the hell Davies has to do with this,”
Enzo says, “But trust me. I can cause quite enough trouble for you all on my
own.”

“Doubt it,” Marques sniffs, “But that’s adorable coming from
daddy's boy.”

“You really wanna fuck with me? You fuckin' Spic grease ball?”
Enzo says, stepping up to Marques.

Rostov and Landers each lay a hand on Enzo’s shoulders,
holding him back, as Marques jumps up and spouts off a verbal assault in
incomprehensible Spanish.

“Easy boys,” I say, “The five of you need to cool your
goddamn shit. You want a dozen gossip bloggers to get a hold of this little
powwow? You’ll be fielding schoolyard bullshit questions for the rest of the championship.”

“The lady is right,” Marques drawls, “I, for one, am bored
stiff of you all. Until we meet again, my friends.”

The Spanish driver saunters away, leaving the rest of us
alone to stare at each other, perplexed. Rostov and Landers make sure Enzo’s
not about to fly after Marques, Bex looks on anxiously, Enzo eyes Harrison and
me, and the McClain team is completely bemused. Well, except for Shelby, that
is. She, for one, looks downright tickled.

“Well,” Harrison says, breaking the supremely awkward
silence, “Glad that’s taken care of, at least.”

“What were you doing, swooping in like that?” Enzo asks
Harrison.

“It looked like Marques was giving Siena a hard time,”
Harrison answers.

“I’m sorry. Do you two...know each other?” Enzo asks icily.

I decide that a dash of truth might be in order, here. Might
as well cover our asses as best we can.

“We met in Barcelona,” I say quickly, “I hung out with the
McClain guys at a club there.”

“You never mentioned that,” Enzo says, his brows furrowing.

“You never asked,” I remind him.

“We PR types tend to run into each other a lot,” the red
headed Sara speaks up, taking a tentative step toward Enzo, batting her
eyelashes and smiling coyly. “I’ve actually been dying to meet you since we ran
into Siena. I’m a big fan.”

“You...are?” my brother asks, astonished by the confident
beauty.

“Oh, definitely,” the blonde haired Shelby interjects,
stepping around Sara, moving toward Enzo with swinging hips, “We’re all big
fans.”

“That’s...great,” Enzo says, his eyes locked on Shelby’s
curvy form.

A little rush of panicked anger runs through me as Shelby
locks her eyes on my brother. For all I know, she could be plotting my
professional and romantic downfall. Now she’s trying to get chummy with my
brother? This chick is hardcore.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” Andy says
loudly, throwing an arm around Cora, “But I could use a drink.”

“I second that,” Landers says.

I look around from face to face, trying to pinpoint the
moment when this night became truly bizarre. I was just hoping for a chance to
blow off some steam with my brother and Bex. But now Enzo and Harrison are
face-to-face, Bex is being courted by Rostov, and Shelby is sidling up to my
brother like nobody’s business. Not to mention that whole episode with Marques.
It’s all becoming a little bit too much for me.

“You guys go ahead,” I say, “I’m just going to get some
air.”

“I’ll come with you,” say Harrison and Enzo in unison. I
hold my breath as their eyes lock. There’s fire smoldering behind Enzo’s eyes
as he takes in his rival.

“Just because you happened to be here to intercept Marques,
doesn’t mean you’re suddenly my little sister’s protector,” Enzo says coldly.

“Well, someone has to be,” Harrison says, cocking an
eyebrow.

“What was that?” Enzo retorts, taking a step forward, “Are
you implying something, Davies?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Harrison says, “I’m saying
outright that you were too busy trying to score some tail to keep an eye on
Siena.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on Siena her whole life,” Enzo
spits, pulling me away from Harrison’s side, “I’ve always watched out for her,
and I always will.”

“Well. Bang-up job, buddy,” Harrison laughs meanly.

“What the hell is it to you, anyway?” Enzo asks, “I’m not
liking this sudden interest you seem to have in my family, Davies. What, are
you trying to get in good with me so I don’t beat your ass too badly in the
Grand Prix next week?”

“Oh, yes. That’s exactly it, mate,” Harrison drawls
sarcastically, “I’m so desperate to beat you that I’m picking off your
teammates, one by one.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Enzo says, “You don’t seem the
type to play fair.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Harrison says,
exasperated, “Are you just making shit up now?”

“Absolutely not,” Enzo says, placing himself between me and
Harrison, “You showing up for this season, without ever having shown your face
before in F1, was a dirty fucking trick, Davies. Everybody thinks so.”

“He’s got a point,” Rostov says.

“It’s true,” Landers agrees.

“So this grudge is about the fact that I didn’t come bearing
fruit baskets and warm wishes before jumping into the season?” Harrison laughs,
“Give me a break.”

“You don’t just come out of nowhere and try and take what’s
not rightfully yours,” Enzo says, “You haven't paid your dues.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it just seems like
good strategy.”

“And on what high ground do you think you’re standing,
Davies?” Enzo asks, “Because to the rest of us, you’re lower than dirt.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your opinions to heart,”
Harrison replies hotly, “I’m not really one for listening to egotistic
narcissists who’d rather score with groupies than look out for their own flesh
and blood.”

“Mind your own damn business, Davies,” Enzo snaps, “Siena is
mine to take care of, and certainly not yours to worry about.”

“Certainly not
anyone’s
,”
I cry, fed up with this little chest-pounding fiasco once and for all. “You
guys are absolutely incorrigible. Listen to yourselves, the both of you. All of
you. You think because you spend your lives speeding around in your little toy
cars that you have some kind of unearthly power over the rest of us? It’s
deluded. It’s pathetic. You’re just
men
.
And neither one of you has any place looking out for me, or telling me what’s
best. So why don’t you both back off, quit it with the pissing contests, and do
your goddamn job—which, last time I checked, was
racing
,
not constantly whipping it out to see whose is bigger.”

“Don’t talk to me like that in front of him,” Enzo hisses in
my ear, “I’m your brother. I
do
know what’s best for you.”

“Bullshit!” I exclaim, “You’re all a bunch of clueless
little boys, you know that? God. To think that people actually look up to you.
It’s laughable.”

“Why don’t we go get some air?” Harrison suggests, crossing
to me.

“I’m fine on my own,” I snap, “You all enjoy the rest of
your evening.”

I turn on my heel and storm away from the huddle of drivers
and teammates. I hear a murmur rise up as I make my exit. I’m sure my outburst
has most of them raising their eyebrows, but I couldn’t keep silent any longer.
Between Marques’ presumptuous advances, Harrison’s unthinking interference, and
Enzo’s posturing, I’ve had it with the theatrics for the night. All these
racers think they’re gods, masters of the universe. But I, for one, am through
letting their whims dictate my life.

Looking back over my shoulder, I see that the group has
fallen back into partying. Bex has gone off with Rostov once more, Landers and
Sara are chatting at the end of the bar, and Andy is dancing with Cora. I stop
in my tracks as I see Shelby’s crown of blonde curls bobbing right in front of
Enzo. She’s practically sitting on his lap. Her tactics don’t make any sense to
me. Is she actually interested in my brother, or is there something more
malicious behind her actions?

I feel a hand on my arm and whip around to find Harrison
standing beside me.

“Come on,” he says, tugging me toward him.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

“Taking you out of here so that we can have some privacy,”
he says.

“Are you crazy? There are people everywhere.”

“Really, Siena, I don’t really give a shit,” he says, “I
can’t let you storm out of here, furious with me. We need to figure a few
things out.”

“Not here. Just...come on.”

I shake him off my arm and whirl away, tears stinging my
eyes. For what it’s worth, he lets me make it out of the club before hurrying
right after me. I dart across the street, away from the snaking line of people
waiting to get into the club. Harrison stays right on my heels, following me by
a pace or two until I duck into a narrow alleyway. We slip into the shadows, finally
away from prying eyes. I lean back against the brick wall and cover my face
with my hands, biting back bitter tears.

“Hey,” Harrison says, his voice a quiet growl, “Siena, come
here...”

I collapse against him as he takes me in his arms. I’m
beyond the point of crying now, but my shoulders shake with frustrated anger.

“This is such bullshit,” I say through gritted teeth, “Look
at us! Hiding out in some alley like a couple of criminals.”

“I know. It’s fucking miserable,” Harrison says, cupping my
chin with his hand.