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what she said earlier—he just informed her about the races. Still, she shouldn’t be in this position.
    Regardless, this girl ruined whatever negotiating room I had. “She’s got an ’05 Mustang GT. Original engine. I’m curious if my pieced-together Mustang can take hers. You get better betting when the cars are evenly matched. Let me do my shit and you do yours.”
    Eric stares at the angel before replying. “Fine, but the next time you decide you want a personal race, you talk to me first. Did you get a good look at that college boy? I could have made a couple grand off of him.”
    The boy wears slacks and a watch that costs more than I make in a year working at the auto shop. Eric shakes his head, clearly disgusted at the lost opportunity. “Your commission is twenty percent tonight as a signing bonus, but because I like you, I’ll give you fifteen every night after this. You’ll drive my cars, not your own. American-made can’t beat nitro.”
    “Tonight is a onetime deal.”
    Eric snorts. “Sure it is.”
    He turns, and I remember the question I should have asked before I accepted the deal. That damn angel shot this whole night to hell. “What happens if I lose?”
    From over his shoulder, Eric cracks his maniac smile. “My brother, I suggest you don’t lose.” He glances over to the GT and winks at me as if we’re friends. “You should get over Beth and make a move on that chick. Mustang Girl owes you for saving her car.”

Chapter 6
Rachel
    I GIVE THE GUY WHO introduced himself as Eric twenty dollars, and my legs hit the front bumper when I step back to keep a safe distance between us. He seriously creeps me out in a need-to-take-a-shower type of way.
    The other one, the guy they call Isaiah, doesn’t freak me out, though he should. Tattoos decorate his arms and two silver hoops hang in each ear. He turns from a black Mustang and pins me with his gaze. He reminds me of a high school version of Gavin’s friend Kyle, an Army Ranger. Well, minus the piercings. Isaiah shares the same rugged, strong build, dark hair buzzed close to his scalp and a five o’clock shadow lining his jaw. He’s a muscular thick. Like a jaguar.
    What I like about him is his eyes. They’re serious. Too serious. And they’re gray. Gray and mesmerizing.
    Not that I should be looking straight into his eyes, because when I do, he has no problem staring back. I don’t like people focusing on me, and I especially hate it when people I don’t know stare at me.
    Isaiah moves to my side and my heart skips a beat. Guys don’t stand this close to me. Ever. With a touch more gentle than I could have imagined coming from a guy like him, he shuts the hood of my car with a simple snap. His eyes rove from me to the street leading to the freeway.
    “You’re not safe here,” he says. His deep voice is like water running over a creek bed of smooth rocks. “You need to leave.”
    I glance at the different groups of people talking and laughing and betting. The way some of the guys ogle me propels me to cross my arms over my chest. Even with that small barrier of protection, I feel as if they still see parts of me no one has seen before.
    “I’ll leave after the race,” I say, not sure if following West’s friends to this place was officially the worst decision of my life or the best. My blood hums with anticipation. I want this race. I want to know what it feels like to push my car against another.
    “Last bets!” calls Eric as he eyes me and Isaiah. “Mount up!”
    Isaiah inclines his head to his shoulder as if trying to release tension. “Do you see the side street running parallel to the abandoned warehouse?”
    The two opposing parts of my personality, the girl who panics and the girl who loves speed, declare war and the result is a head rush. “Yes.”
    “Pull up to the first line of the white crosswalk. We’ll race a quarter mile to the stop sign. Then you leave and never come back.”
    He pivots on his heel and