The guy bent at the waist and flashed me a grin through the open window. Recognition fell into place.
“The fuck?” I slammed on the brakes at the same time he tugged the door open and threw himself into my passenger seat.
“Colton?” I exclaimed, and did a double-take.
“Drive,” he demanded. NoHello.NoHey brother, how’s it going?JustDrive.
Hissing a curse, I planted a foot and accelerated down the street while my head reeled. “What the hell, man?”
I hadn’t seen Colt in years, and now he was in my car, chilling in the passenger seat as if we were still tight as fucking thieves.
“So… how’zit?” I asked, and stole another glance his way.
He adjusted his cap on his brow and chuckled. “I was about to ask you the same.”
I barked a laugh. “Heard the news, did you?”
A snigger came from the right—one that was deeper than when we were kids, but familiar all the same. “You do it?”
“The fuck you think, man? I’ve done some shady-ass shit over the years, but that?” I shook my head. “Na-ah. I saw him run down, Colton. I tried tosavehim.”
He reached for the overhead handle as I hooked a tight right through an intersection.
“No need to explain to me, Raf. I know how the media twist and warp things without giving a fuck about how it comes across to the outside world.”
I snorted. “Well, youdohave a knack of attracting attention. Only difference here is that I’m trying tonotdraw attention to myself.”
Colton’s snigger filled my car. “Don’t bullshit me, Raffie. You still thrive on the attention and atmosphere each race night brings. I can see it on your damn face. Once a racer, always a racer. It’s in our blood.”
“You and I lead very different lives now, Colt.” I laughed bitterly.
I wasn’t resentful of him hitting the big time; I was bitter that I had to keep my love of racing contained within the underground. Finding rare cars for my clients was a thrill in itself, but nothing compared to the one I got when behind the wheel.
As if proving the point, I weaved in and out of traffic at pace, then circled the block to head back in the direction we came from.
“There’s more at stake now, Colton,” I added, after a few drawn-out minutes.
“Always is,” he murmured, looking out of the passenger window.
“So, you think I did it?” I asked, referring to the hit and run last night. Not that it actually mattered, but still, I had to ask.
Colton glanced across and flashed me another lop-sided smirk. His green eyes danced with serious undertones. “Does it really matter what I think?”
“Fuck no, and yet, here I am askin’.”
I caught his shrug in my peripheral vision. “You’ve never given me a reason to mistrust you, so yeah, for what it’s worth, I believe you.”
The background music of the radio filled the extended silence as I mindlessly wove through the streets. All brainpower concentrated on trying to work out why, after a decade and a half, Colton Donavan was riding shot-gun in my black Nissan GT-R.
“So, since I’m suddenly playing chauffeur, where are we heading?”
Colton chuckled and waved a hand. “Just wherever. This won’t take long.”
My eyes narrowed on the road. “What won’t take long?”
His voice lost the humorous edge. “I have a business proposal.”
My sharp outburst of laughter sounded forced. “What the fuck kind of business proposal could you have for me? You and I are in different leagues now, brother.”