CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(95)

Helman slides onto the leather seat beside me and leers. "Now you are  going to find out if Sawyer can win you, sweetheart. If he loses, you  and I are going to have some fun."

I want to vomit. I shake my head. I hate being so damn scared I can't do  anything. I hated being bullied but this fear is a thousand times  worse.

Helman keeps grinning, as if he's very proud of himself. Every time he  looks at me, he smirks. Is he really going to just let me go?

We drive down a stretch of highway and pull off again. Trucks are there.  I see Sawyer, unloading his bike by the light of another truck's  headlights. I want to go to him, but Helman says, "Now don't you go  running off, sweetheart." He breathes his smoke and alcohol laced foul  breath in my face. His hand cups my butt. I jump away.

I don't think my heart can beat any faster. But I'm scared it's going to try to speed up and stop completely.

Sawyer's race is the first one. He coasts his gorgeous crimson bike to  the start line. In his black and scarlet leather, he looks dangerous.  His long legs stretch out to balance the bike. His visor is down so I  can't see his expression. All I see of him, to know that it is Sawyer,  is a bit of his sun-streaked blond hair peeking out of the back of the  helmet.         

     



 

Another bike moves into position; this one is purple and black.

I hear a man beside me mutter, "Fuck, that's Squid."

Squid? It doesn't take me long, from overhearing the sudden swell of  talk, to realize Squid is a legend in the east coast bike racing  circuit. He is a guy who ‘made good', and races in big, organized,  televised races. The guys around me are convinced Squid will win. The  odds against Sawyer are high.

Which means Helman will make a lot of money if Sawyer wins.

This is drag racing, I realize. The bike race is a straight distance of  about one quarter mile. The goal is maximum acceleration, obviously.  From what I overhear, it appears guys invest tens of thousands of  dollars to improve their bikes.

Helman drags me along while his henchmen inspect Squid's bike. In an  ice-cold tone, he says to Squid, "If you spray in the race, your body  will turn up in the woods about a week from now. All your skin melted  off with acid. Or the cops might discover your head, feet, and hands  have been removed. Just to make their job a little more interesting."

Squid postures, hands on his back waistband as though he is just itching  to draw a weapon. "I don't spray." He's only five-nine at the most and  he has a wiry build. His hair has been dyed a bright red.

"Spray what?" I mutter, after we move back to our vantage point to watch the race.

"It means using nitrous oxide," Helman explains.

"Oh." My brain computes that. "To do what? Burn the fuel faster? How much faster?"

Helman looks startled by my questions. "It increases power by as much as  a third. Sawyer always runs a clean race. If I want my boy to win, I  have to ensure the other guy isn't cheating."

His boy. The way he says that makes me want to barf. Does he expect me  to be grateful? He's looking at me as if he expects some kind of  reaction.

"Well, you checked his bike and you removed the tank," I say.

"Some riders have a tank in an obvious place, so they'll say, ‘You got  me. It's off.' But they'll have another one hidden. Say in the fuel  tank. If Squid uses it, I'll know. Then he'll pay to make up for … my  losses."

I pray to God Squid doesn't cheat. I want Sawyer to have a clean race-and win.

Muttering, Squid pulls on a helmet of dark purple and gold. He sits  astride his bike and takes it to the start. The two bikes creep the last  few inches to the line. Sawyer gets into position, laying his body  tight to the tank, his head low and eyes dipped behind the windshield  that's part of the streamlined fairing. The engines rev and the power of  them vibrates through my body.

My heart starts to accelerate like it's been primed with nitrous oxide.

Helman's hand cups my ass. I push it away.

"In about eight seconds," he leers, "you're going to find out if you live or die."

Green lights flash and the engines scream like they want to explode. The  bikes sear off the start line, shooting out into the dark like rockets.  The roar is deafening. Everything moves so slowly. I can see Sawyer  behind Squid, and my heart slaps my chest. Win. Win. Win.

I don't know how fast he's going, but I know there's almost no time for him to catch Squid.

Then Sawyer's bike starts to accelerate. I realize he's been increasing  his speed exponentially. Squid hammered right off the line, but Sawyer's  technique is smoother. I don't know the science behind it, but he's  catching Squid.

Then he's neck and neck with Squid, the scream of the two engines  piercing the night in one violent roar, like a blade slicing through  black silk. Screams and cheers explode, but I can't see the finish from  where I am-it's too far and too dark. I see a giant portable scoreboard  at the end of the track.

Please God. Please.

It lights up. It doesn't show the times, but flashes one name as the winner.

Sawyer Tremaine.

My legs almost collapse underneath me. Helman smirks at me. "One down.  Made a nice profit on that race. The next one is going to be my best  take ever. I expect to pull down almost half-a-mil."

I swallow hard. Sawyer won the first race. And he didn't crash.

I think of Jaxon, losing control and hitting the ground with that much speed. Oh God.

And the smirking, greedy pig beside me deliberately made Jaxon crash. I  am sure of it now-as sure as Sawyer is. This guy is pure evil.

Helman looks so happy I wish I had a gun so I could wipe the sick smirk  off his face. I've never felt such a yearning to hurt someone in my  life. It scares me.

And if I feel like this, how does Sawyer feel?

In the first race, I saw no sign that Sawyer's emotions hurt his ability to drive. Please, let that be true for the next race-

Suddenly I realize something.

At this point, Sawyer's odds will go down. It will be more likely he  could win the second race. Helman won't make much on this second race.  So why does he look so smug? Why does he think he's going to win so  much?

I don't think Helman is stupid. Cautiously I try to think this through.

People will bet on Sawyer this time. When Sawyer wins, the odds will  mean the payout won't be huge. Right now, the big money is to be made  betting against the guy who beat the famous Squid.

I remember what he said. My associates believe you will do anything to  win your lovely whore-in-distress. His associates believed Sawyer would  win. And they were right. So why would they now bet against Sawyer?

He knows Sawyer is highly motivated to win. Again, he may be evil, but  I'm sure he's not stupid. He's so damned confident he's going to make a  fortune …

If Sawyer had a crash, like Jaxon, he would obviously lose the race.  That's why Helman is grinning. He knows Sawyer is going to crash. And he  must be independently betting against Sawyer.

He has no intention of letting me go or letting Sawyer get out of  racing. It would be easier-and safer for him-if both Sawyer and I are  dead. He's planning to do the same thing to Sawyer that he did to Jaxon.  He must have fixed the bike somehow between races.

I've got to warn Sawyer. He could get the hell out of here-

Something hard jabs into my side. "You ain't going anywhere, whore,"  Helman mutters. In my panic, I started moving away from his side and he  saw me.

I don't have to look down to know he's drawn his gun and he is pressing  the muzzle against me. And he's going to watch me so I can't sneak away.

I should warn Sawyer, even if I get shot.

Another race runs, and the screaming of the engines makes me flinch, makes my ears buzz and all my nerve endings hurt.

Then I see Sawyer, sitting astride his bike, bringing it up to the line again.

Desperately, I look at him. His visor is up and he's watching me. His  mouth is a hard, grim line. His eyes look filled with pain. But he nods.  Mouths something. I can't make out what he's trying to tell me.

What I really need is for the cops to show up right now. Why can't  someone realize there's an illegal race going on and break it up? Like  now! How can nobody have heard all this noise?

Sawyer's opponent is at the line, and both men are in position, their bodies folded tight to their bikes.

No! I try to run toward Sawyer, not caring what happens to me. He sees  me and starts to straighten up on his bike, just as the green lights  flash. There's a burst of engine sound, a fog of exhaust fumes and the  crowd blocks my view.

No!

People move enough that I get a glimpse of the road. One bike is hurtling down it, toward the finish.

My heart thuds and I whip around to look at the start.

Sawyer's bike is there, lying on its side. He didn't leave the starting line. And he's not there!

"Bastard," snarls Helman. "What he gets to do first is watch you die."

This can't be happening. Through high school I got mocked for being too  smart. Doesn't seem to be a problem right now. I can't think of a way  out of this. I'm not big enough to overpower Helman and break free. I  can't see anything I can use as a weapon against him. Unless I were to  lift a gun from one of the guys around me, but I don't know who is  armed, and I don't even know how to fire a gun.