“Holy shit, are you hurt?” Imogen asks, skidding to a stop next to me, her eyes wide.
Clayton stares blankly at me. “No. My pride, however, is crushed between the bumper and the bush. But thank you for being the only person to care.”
“How did you text me if you’re tied to the wheel, and why isn’t anyone helping?” I ask, scanning the area. I don’t even hear the sound of an engine close by.
“Well,” he drawls, a bite to his tone. “After your father ran me off the road for the tenth time, I tried calling for help. The bloke on road with us pulled up to help. That’s his kart. Your dad came back and snatched him so he couldn’t help. I tried calling and texting you to sort him out, but he doubled back and tried to pinch that too.”
I bend down to help with the knots, wondering how he kept still long enough for my dad to do this. There’s more than one knot.
His phone poking out of his overalls catches my eye. “He didn’t get your phone though. It’s there.”
“I panicked and blurted out about my dad. I’m next of kin, and if something happens, it’s me they’ll call.”
My shoulders drop with a light sigh. “I didn’t think of that. He would have taken it had you not said. He was just playing around though,” I lie, finally getting the knots undone.
I stand up, stepping back as he pulls himself out, flexing his fingers. “I need to get him back for this.”
“Of course you do. Most people react the same,” Imogen tells him, chuckling.
“Maybe that’s not the best idea,” I explain slowly, grimacing.
“She’s so right,” Imogen states. “Everyone gets drawn into the Carter shenanigans. It’s like a calling. However, it never ends well for anyone other than a Carter. Many men have tried, my friend.”
“You aren’t helping,” I mutter, yet I can’t help but nod in agreement as I point to her. “What she said.”
He holds Imogen’s gaze for a second, taking in her words, before turning to me, giving me a pointed gaze. “You told me that to get him to ease up or respect me, I need to play him at his own game. I’m going to do that. Two can play this game.”
“You don’t like games,” I remind him.
“This one I do. And I’m going to fucking crush it. I’m not going to be your boss, the guy who needs to run a successful business, or a son who doesn’t want to let his dying father down. Right now, I’m Clayton Cross, and I’m going to forget about all my responsibilities and be me. I’ll get payback.” He storms off, heading towards the dirt track.
“So… basically, you’re going to pull the stick out of your arse?”
“You’ll see. I’ll show him,” he yells back, glancing over his shoulder. His feet slip out from under him and he lands in the dirt.
Laughter spills out of me as I step over to him, bending down to pat his back. “Yes, you’ll definitely show him.”
He rolls over to his side, staring blankly up at me. “Hayden?”
“Uh huh,” I mumble as I reach for my phone in my pocket.
A squeal escapes me when he grabs my wrist, pulling me down next to him. Dirt cakes my mouth, and I gag, spitting out the dry, foul-tasting texture.
He did not just do that.
“You wanker!” I breathe out, my temples thumping. I reach in front of me, digging my fingers into the dirt, and grip a clump of slush.
I’m about to show him what payback looks like when the sound of footsteps splashing through puddles reaches us.
We tilt our heads up to the top of the bank, where a lad in his early twenties comes to a halt. He bends at the waist, his face red as he gasps for breath.
“T-thank God you’re okay. He took me by surprise, mate. He’s lost the plot, I swear. And he has my keys.”
Clayton crawls forward before pushing himself up. I follow, trying hard to get as much dirt off my face as possible, but it feels like I’m making it worse.
“I can’t get my kart out. Something has lodged its way around the wheel. I was trying to tell you before he took you.”
“I’ll call it in. You guys are our only group today, so Stevens will come pull it out for you,” he explains, as another kart pulls up behind ours.
Clayton grabs his helmet off his seat before following me up the bank to meet Jaxon.
Jaxon takes in the kart as he pulls his helmet off, running a hand over his tousled hair, making it messier.
“Fuck, man. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop to help. Maddox was up my arse.”
“Up your arse, huh? Did you enjoy it?” I tease, my lips twitching.
His hands briefly clench. “Remind me why I’ve not killed you yet.”
I hold up my finger. “One, because I’d bury you before you even touched me, and two, Lily loves me,” I smart.
“We have a bigger problem to deal with right now,” Clayton interrupts, stepping past me. “I’m going to get him back. You in, Jaxon?”
“Hey, that’s ours,” I yell when he jumps into the driver’s seat of our kart. I race after him, sliding into the passenger side.
He passes me my helmet and I hold Imogen’s out to her, grimacing when I’m reminded of our predicament. “Go jump in Jaxon’s.”
She rolls her eyes, snatching the helmet. “They always have all the fun.”
She’s not wrong.
When the engines roar to life, her eyes widen slightly before she jogs off, getting into the kart behind us.
“Wait! You can’t leave me here,” the guy working yells, his face ashen.
My back slams against the seat as he peels off, the wind and rain whipping around us.
I tilt my head to the side, watching his powerful frame maneuverer the kart with ease and practice. Each corner we take, his body moves with the kart. From years of seeing my uncle Malik race, I know a born rider when I see one. At some point, Clayton knew how to ride and excelled at it. It’s information I’m going to store for later.
Five minutes later, I’m slapping Clayton’s hand away. Each time we’ve hit a bump in the road, he’s placed his arm across my chest, pushing me back into my seat.
A clearing comes up ahead. It’s the widest part of the track we’ve been on. Maddox and my dad are struggling to push a kart out of a mud puddle, which is the better condition of the two karts. The other one with a black frame is on its side, half stuck a bush of shrubs.
Thinking Clayton will slow down when we reach them, I’m surprised when he doesn’t and instead presses his foot flat to the floor. I grin, pulling my phone out of my pocket and praising myself for getting a waterproof case.
I hit record as Dad lifts his head, smiling, but when his gaze lands on the mad man next to me, his smile drops. He stiffens, planting his feet apart, right up until the realisation hits him that Clayton isn’t stopping. He flinches, turning to the side at the waist to avoid us.
It’s too late. Clayton spins the wheel the second we reach them and breaks, causing dirt and puddles to splash into the air, hitting Dad head to toe. I glance behind us, still holding my camera out, as Dad stands there, unmoving for a moment, before all hell breaks loose. His body begins to shake as he yells out at us, punching the air and kicking at the ground.