Burned: A Stepbrother Romance Read Online Free PDF

saying, cars are a waste of money.”
    “And diamond rings are not?”
    “It’s not the same.”
    “They’re both about commitment. I know that much.”
    I wave it off. “You don’t commit to a car.”
    “No, you commit to the build, to the process. It’s not about the end result. It’s about the journey.”
    “You sound like Tony-bloody-Robbins.”
    “And you sound like you’re out of your depth. We’re here.”
    We pull into a dark industrial park. There is not a single soul around, just a couple of strays with opalescent eyes picking through the trash.
    We pull down between two buildings and emerge out into the next street lined with cars and people. There are no girls skanking around in thongs, no subwoofers booming, but this is a race meet alright.
    We pull to the side, Brock reversing into place next to a group of bikers.
    Before long a crowd has started to gather around the car. Brock gets out and pops the hood, moving to the passenger side and offering me his hand. “Come on. They’re not going to bite.”
    Reluctantly, I step out realizing I’m not wearing my wire tonight. This is the perfect place to pick up intel and I’ve let it slip away.
    I flinch as two cars go shrieking down the road in the thick billow of smoke. The acrid scent of burning rubber fills my nostrils, olfactory overload.
    I stay close to Brock, watching. “What are they racing for?”
    “Money mostly.”
    “They don’t race for slips here.” Good one, Maddy.
    “Why, you want to offer up Champers?”
    “Ha-de-ha-ha.”
    Two more cars pull up to an impromptu start line that looks like it’s been marked with chalk. A tall guy holds his hands up, signaling them to stop.
    I take in the cars. The one on the right looks similar to the car we’re driving tonight. With its giant spoiler it looks fast standing still. The car next it to it is a hatchback of some sort with mismatched wheels and half the paint flaking off. It doesn’t look like it could outrun a tractor.
    I point to the start line. “Bit of an unfair match-up, isn’t it?”
    “Wait and see.”
    The guy’s hands go down and the two cars take off, the hatch hooking up immediately, the car with the big spoiler lagging behind smoking the tires and fish-tailing down the road. To my amazement, the hatch wins comfortably.
    “See,” says Brock, “you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, and that goes double for cars. It’s all about power-to-weight.”
    “Huh?”
    “The hatch doesn’t have as much power as the car it went up against, but it’s been stripped out, lightened. It weighs nothing and thus doesn’t need as much power to get down to the finish line. You can have a car with all the engine in the world, but if it’s a heavy whale you’re never going to win a race.”
    “I see, and your car? What’s its power-to-weight like?” I’m surprised at the flirty way this comes out, the way my fingers hold the corners of Brock’s leather jacket, our faces close.
    “My car?”
    I trace a finger up his zip. “Yeah.”
    “She’s an American classic, the girl next door.”
    “Like me?”
    “Can you run a ten-second quarter?”
    “If I had decent runners.”
    Brock shakes his head. “You are one of a kind, Maddy Collins.”
    “Don’t you forget it.”
    We watch a few runs and decide to move on.
    No waves of patrol cars come to break things up. There are no wild chases or macho shows of bravado. It almost seems civilized.
    We pull out of the industrial area and go east.
    Brock takes a detour off the highway heading into the hills.
    “Where are we going?”
    “Sometimes you just drive, see where the road takes you.”
    “Sounds like a line from a movie.”
    “My life is a movie.”
    “A comedy, sure.”
    He gives me that look. “It’s time for a driving lesson.”
    “Driving lesson?”
    “Yeah, everyone has to experience being behind the wheel of a Skyline once in their lives.”
    “I am not getting behind the wheel of this thing.”
    He