That shit was getting real old, real fast.

“Let’s roll,” Rabbit said with a wicked grin, throwing me a wink. “Ready to get knocked off that throne, Riles? This is my year, I can feel it.”

I scoffed a laugh, shaking my head as I sidestepped both Beck and Jasper and made my way back to the Mustang. I was just opening my door when he caught up to me. I knew he would.

His hand closed over my bare upper arm, and I shivered—except this time it wasn’t from the cold.

“Don’t do this, Riley,” Beck demanded, his voice rough. “I’ve heard about this race. People have died in this fucking thing.”

“No shit, Beck.” I laughed with bitterness. “It’s called Widowmaker for a reason.” I spun around to face him, jerking my arm out of his grip. I shoved him sharply in the chest, forcing him back a step and creating some space between us. “The next time you touch me without permission, I’ll make you regret it.”

I slid into the Mustang before he could say anything more, but as I slammed the door shut I couldn’t help catching his murmured response.

“I already do.”

Despite my anger toward him, that small comment felt like it had just cracked my heart in two. Clenching my jaw, I swallowed past the tears that threatened in the face of Beck’s regret and revved my engine.

“See you at the finish line,” I snapped, giving Beck one last glare before taking my car over to join the other racers at the starting point.

Lucky for me, the racers and spectators at Widowmaker were anything but impressed by Beck and Jasper and their flashy cars. I had no idea where Evan and Dylan had ended up, but they were probably warned not to bother coming by.

This place did not like Delta heirs.

The thought made me snicker as I shifted gears and slammed my foot down a bit harder to increase the gap between me and Rabbit. He hadn’t been joking about those NOS upgrades, but all the power in the world was useless if you were a shitty driver.

Not that Rabbit was shit, but he didn’t have a patch on me, and he knew it.

The two of us flew over the finish line with a car length between us. We eased off the gas and let our cars slow down gently before circling back to where the cheering spectators waited. Rabbit pulled his car up beside me and rolled down his window as we crawled back toward the crowd, and I did the same.

“Still got it, eh, Butterfly?” He was just teasing, but that nickname had taken on a whole life of its own and I gritted my teeth.

“Never lost it, Rabbit,” I replied with a grim smile. “Clean race this time, or what I saw of it.”

He jerked his head in a nod. “Joe is drinking, so can’t have been any crashes.” He nodded ahead where the race organizer had an arm slung around a petite blonde, and a can of something in his other hand.

Rabbit and I had reached the cleared area for parking, and we cut our engines.

“Time to celebrate.” He grinned at me, then hopped out of his car and caught the little redhead who practically threw herself at him.

I unclicked my seatbelt and reached for the handle, but before I could grab it the door flew out of my grip and I was snatched out of the vehicle. Arms like steel pinned me between a hard body and the side of the Mustang, and I let out a small squeak of shock and protest.

“I swear to fuck, I want to lock you in a damn cage and never let you out,” Beck muttered into the side of my neck where his face was pressed. “Jasper is right, you drive like a fucking wet-dream, but you could have fucking died, Butterfly.”

The shock cleared a little and I struggled in his embrace, trying to free myself. All he did was tighten his grip further, and my anger flared. Shifting my weight, I crossed my fingers that my aim was true and brought my knee up. Hard.

Bullseye.

Beck immediately released me, groaning and clutching his junk as I side-stepped out of reach.

“What did I fucking tell you about touching me, Beck?” I snarled at him. “And no chick wants to be locked in a cage, you deranged psychopath.”

With a disgusted sneer, I left him cradling his family jewels while I snatched my jacket out of the Mustang and stalked across the abandoned lot to where Dante waited ... with Jasper.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” I snapped at Dante, barely sparing a cursory glance at Jasper. My winning mood was officially soured.

Dante heaved a sigh and exchanged a look with Jasper. Since when the fuck did Dante and Jasper know each other well enough to share looks?

“Riles, babe, I think—” Whatever Dante was about to say, I didn’t want to hear it.

“Nope.” I threw up a hand to cut off his words and shook my head. “You’re on my side or theirs. No middle ground.” Dante opened his mouth, and I knew he was going to argue, just based on the set of his jaw, so I glared at him harder. “Them or me, Dante.”

He held my gaze for a long time, like he was checking if I was serious or not.

“You, obviously,” he finally said on a long sigh. “Always you, Riles. But—”

My sharpened death glare made him think twice about whatever he was going to say, and he just shook his head instead.

“Can I say something?” Jasper asked, putting his hand in the air like we were in elementary school or some shit.

“No,” I snapped, grabbing Dante’s hand and stalking back toward the Mustang.

Beck was limping in our direction, his face drawn, but I breezed past him like he didn’t even exist.

“So much for a fun night out,” I snapped when Dante joined me in the car and I revved the engine. I could see that the other racers who’d just finished looked confused that I was leaving, but fuck them. I had zero desires to hang around those lying, traitorous bastards a second longer.

We drove in silence for a long time before Dante shifted in his seat to stare at me.

“What pissed you off more?” he asked. “The fact that they played you? Or that you fell in love with that asshole?”

My jaw dropped, and I shot Dante a glare. “I did not fall in love with him,” I spluttered my denial, but my cheeks heated and my stomach churned.

“Uh huh,” Dante murmured, then cranked the stereo and wound down his window. Apparently that’s all the conversation he was in the mood for.

Fucking fine by me. The last thing I wanted to do, was examine whether I was more pissed off at Beck for forcing me to kill a man, or the fact that he made me ... care.