SWNOVELS A Game of Hearts and Heists: Chapter 12
The next day, I meet the twins mid-morning as planned. I worried yesterday that they’d seen through me, that they didn’t believe what I was saying.
I tried to keep as close to the truth as I could. I do have a relative in the Borderlands who works for the Border Lord. What I didn’t add was that it was the Border Lord himself. They’d never trust me if I said that, and then I’d never get my journal off her. The fact I have a resident’s permit because he’s my father is beside the point. In all honesty, the only reason he let me out is because I’m talented. That was the truth. He sent me out to learn the world, build my skills independently without his support, to understand how hard it is to survive, and realise the enormity of what he’d done and had to fight for. So that one day, I could take over the reins from him as Border Lord. And the taxes bit is more or less true. I send money home. Okay, it’s not taxes, but it goes to my mother and brother. Father is tight, despite the accrued wealth. I suspect because he’s terrified of losing it all and having to live like we did after The Tearing.
I figure the closer I keep to the truth the better. The more lies I tell them, the more I have to keep track of, and I’m bound to fuck up at some point.
No. This is the easiest way. Tell as many truths as I can while avoiding answering the shit I need to keep quiet.
Scarlett and Stirling set a gruelling pace, marching across the city. I was sweating after the first ten minutes. I had a stitch after fifteen, and I wanted to be sick after twenty. They’re both tall and long legged, and I am most definitely neither of those things. The cobbled streets are killer on my ankles and it’s chilly, as if rain is singing somewhere in the distance. We’re at least three miles out from the centre of the city now, and I’ve no idea how much longer we have to go.
“Guys, for the sake of my dignity, could we slow the ever loving fuck down?” I moan.
Stirling cocks her head over her shoulder at me. I’m trailing at least ten feet behind them. “You’re aware we’re going to have to set this kind of pace through the Borderlands. Better to practice now, don’t you think?” But she’s grinning, a little twinkle in her eye.
“You’re a dick. And I’m hailing a carriage.” I’m puffing as I try to keep up with them.
“We can’t aff—” Stirling starts, but Scarlett digs her elbow in her ribs.
They can’t afford it? How badly were they ex-communicated from their legacy?
“Were you not allowed to keep your inheritances?” I say and immediately regret it. The words spilled out before I could stop them. I don’t mean to pry. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to answer that.”
Scarlett puts her hand up. “No. It’s fine. And if you must know, no. We were banished from all our properties, all our banks. The only coin we were allowed to keep was whatever was in our pockets. Which, given we are… were legacy magicians, meant we were still living at home. We hadn’t inherited anything, as our parents were still alive. We had barely enough coin for a room for a night.”
This makes me stop mid-stride. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” It makes me see her in a new light. They’d spent their whole lives with everything handed to them on a plate. I can’t imagine the culture shock of having it stripped away. I get why she fights hard for her territory. No wonder she hates me when her clients are all she has. How strange that she went from everything to nothing as I went from nothing to everything.
“We don’t need your pity. It is what it is. Five years we’ve lived like this, and we’ve done fine. But when we get the map and have our titles restored, our banks unfrozen, and our legacies returned, we won’t forget those who shunned us.”
“The carriage is on me,” I say.
Scarlett stiffens. “We don’t need your money, either. We can pay our way.”
Stirling places a hand on Scarlett’s arm.
“We’re a team, are we not?” I say.
Scarlett nods.
“Then we can all chip in and do our part. A carriage and perhaps even a pizza this evening is my shout.”
This, at least, makes Scarlett smile. “I haven’t had a pizza in years. It was my favourite.”
“We have a deal, then?” I ask.
“You and your deals, Poisoner. I’ll tell you what. We can go in a carriage today. We can eat pizza tonight. But from tomorrow, you start training with me. The whole team will.”
My face pales. Scarlett is super fit. I watched her working out near the Border the day I snuck in. She’ll probably work me to death or something horrific. As if she can read my mind, she says, “Don’t worry, we’ll go slow…” She leans close to my ear, so close her breath trickles down my neck. It’s warm against the chill of brewing rain in the air. “I only like to break you in the bedroom.”
I swallow down the images of Scarlett between my thighs, sat on my face. Her naked flesh.
“Enough. I told you. No fucking on mission,” Stirling says, rolling her eyes.
“Fine. Carriage and Pizza. Tomorrow we train.” I stick out my hand, but as she stretches out to meet me, I pull away.
“And I want my journal. Today. I want to look inside it.”
Scarlett’s jaw flexes. “Hail a carriage, Poisoner.”
I do, and half an hour later, we pull up to an enormous glass-fronted building. The car park is full of predominantly motorbikes, the odd car scattered between. The windows are equally filled with motorbikes, both stationary on the ground and hanging from the ceiling. To the right is a garage. Flaming wheels hang on racking, exhaust pipes with green smoke, chains and bits of cogs lay discarded on the ground.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“This is where we find Jacob Jones,” Scarlett says. “Notorious underground racer. Can drive, fly, operate any machine. And a dab hand at fixing them, too.”
“Right, and this is… what, a racetrack?” I ask.
“Bingo. Jacob is also deadly fast. Which is precisely why we need him on the team,” Stirling says, and hops out of the carriage.
I pay the driver, ask him to wait and get out. Outside, a group of unnaturally large magicians appears. Each one looks more buckled, broken and deranged than the last. One has what I can only describe as a spade for a face, the next has a black eye and a scar that cuts through his lip and gives it a ridge. The following two have shoulders as wide as the cars they’re standing in front of.
A considerably shorter man with salt and pepper hair, dressed in leather magician robes walks between the rows of bikes, a deep set of lines scouring through his forehead. “Can I help you?” he says to me, and then Stirling appears from behind the carriage.
“Stir, darling,” he says, his expression opening up and brightening. “What are you doing here?”
“Business Reece, I don’t suppose your main man is here?”
“But of course, he’s on the track now. You can watch his last race if you like. I’ll take you to the box.”
Stirling waves Scarlett and me over. “Super. Although I don’t know whether you’ll be as happy to see me when I tell you the favour I need.”
Reece frowns. “I think a favour is the least I can do for you after everything you’ve done for me.”
I glance at Scarlett, wanting to know what exactly Stirling had done. She leans down, her lips brushing my ear. It sends sparks of heat down my neck, and I have to close my eyes to keep control of myself. That’s the second time today. Remember, this is a game. I need to get my journal and to prevent her hurting my father, and then I can put all this behind me. We can go back to hating each other over territory.
“She helped negotiate the deal that got Reece this racetrack along with a string of others. If it weren’t for Stirling, he wouldn’t be where he is today.”
“That’s a good thing, no?” I mouth.
“It is, but, Stirling is about to ask for his best racer, and that means less income from sponsors and racers for the best part of a month. He won’t like it.”
“I see, a tricky negotiation for sure.”
“It is, but she’s the best deal maker I’ve ever met.” Scarlett glances at Stirling, whose arm is wrapped around Reece’s shoulder like they’re old pals, and I suppose they are. But what takes me by surprise is Scarlett’s demeanour. Her shoulders back, chest thrust out, a gleam in her eye as she stares at her sister. I remember watching Malachi do his first spell, I had the same expression in my eye then. I’m so used to seeing fury crease lines into Scarlett’s face, or the deep gaze that tells me she’s about to fuck me senseless, that I’d almost forgot she could have other emotions.
We enter the building and a rush of flutters curls inside my tummy, I’ve never been to a racetrack. My legs urge me on, the adrenaline pushing me towards the track. A fleeting thought runs through my mind, wondering what it would be like to drive around the track fuelled by engine and fire magic.
We entered the foyer, it’s spacious despite the quantity of bikes in here. It’s bright, too, the walls clean white. Photos of magicians in leathers holding helmets in front of bikes and racetracks. I don’t recognise most of them, save for a blonde woman who’s infamous for her antics on and off the track. I can’t remember her name now, but she dated one of my ex-girlfriend’s mates. I noticed her in passing at a few club nights and parties but never spoke to her. There are several tall glass cabinets filled with trophies that shimmer and have phosphorescent whorls flowing up from the goblets, a nod to the fire magic used in the bike engines no doubt. In the middle of the room is a receptionist. But she looks at Reece and waves us through.
Reece guides us up a set of stairs and into a suite that’s long and thin and stretches the entire length of the pit lane below. I rush to the stretch of window and peer down in the pit lane. It’s alive with mechanics and bikes and racers. There are technicians holding balls of fire, their hands lit with sparks, others wield burning cogs. The garage section is littered with spare parts, racking of tyres, exhaust pipes, handle bars, wires, tubes and fire boxes to hold fuel. The teams make the lane look like a rainbow where they all wear bright coloured uniforms.
“Woah,” I breathe. I peer at the racetrack and my stomach rolls, only this time the adrenaline has vanished, and a queasy nausea fills my gut. The track has a slight tilt and the way the motorbikes whizz around the corners, their riders knees grinding against the tarmac, it’s like ants jacked on speed and makes me want to hurl. I change my mind, racing is considerably less appealing.
Round and round they go, faster with each progressive lap. I try to keep up. The glass window must be thick because I can’t hear the engines. I stare in astonishment at the speed they ping, ping, ping down the track. Two bikes near each other as they curl around the bend. I gasp, wondering how the hell they didn’t collide. Then the bike numbered six veers around the other and accelerates. They’re so close I swear their thighs must be touching.
I stagger away from the window.
I can’t watch. My heart pounds in my chest, no wonder people get addicted to watching. I stumble over my ankle as I step, but Scarlett’s there. She grips my arm and waist. Her touch is firm, secure, safe as she hauls me standing.
“I. Umm. Thanks,” I say, brushing her off me.
“Have you never been to a race before?” she says.
“No, never. I’ve spent my life studying or working. This is… this is awesome but completely terrifying.” I’m grinning like an idiot.
Scarlett’s staring at me with a strange expression.
“What?” I glance behind me, wondering if someone walked in and rub my face in case I have something on it.
“Would you…” Scarlett starts and then hesitates. She pulls out a coin. It’s red on one side and gold on the other. I think there are words printed on it, but she’s twirling it between her fingers so fast I can’t make them out. She rolls it onto her thumb and then flings it up in the air. When it slams down on her fist, she covers it and then lifts her hand, and a deep grin spreads across her mouth.
“You know what. Fuck it. Come with me.” She grabs my hand and pulls me towards the stairs.
“Wait. What about Jacob and Reece?” I say.
“Jacob’s on the track, I saw him. Reece will be there when we get back. Stirling will need some time to negotiate, anyway.”
She hustles me down the stairs and towards the rear of the building. She pulls open a wide door and the roar of engines and cheering booms around us. I flatten my hands to my ears to dampen the noise.
“Holy shit,” I bellow.
And Scarlett is beaming. “Amazing right?”
“It really is.”
The air smells like hot tyres, smoke and leather. There’s a bowl next to the pit lane gate full of ear buds. Scarlett grabs two sets and hands one to me before putting her own set in.
“Come on,” she says and gestures for me to follow.
We walk down the tarmac lane. There are people everywhere. I love the race suits dotted with logos and badges over their chests and down their arms. People hold their hands out as they levitate tires and engine pieces. Another technician has a piece of silver piping hovering between his hands and tiny fire threads flowing from the middle of his palms as he solders it to another piece of metal someone else is holding.
This. Is. Incredible.
The motorbikes racing peel off the track and into the pit lane. Each one going to their respective teams. The clamour and rumble of exhausts and engines reverberates through my entire chest like thunder and drums. A bike pulls to a stop in front of us and the rider pulls off his helmet.
“Ms. Grey. What do I owe the pleasure?” The biker is tall. Much taller even than Scarlett, and she has to be approaching six foot. This guy dwarfs her. His hair is long, and the creamy coloured waves flop around his ears. His eyes are brown, but so light they almost match his hair. He has perfectly trimmed stubble around his chin and cheeks, as perfect as I suspect his ego thinks he is. I’ve dabbled with men, though I much prefer a woman’s body, a woman’s sex. But even I can admit, Jacob is extraordinary to look at.
“Stirling’s upstairs.”
His shoulders sink. “Well, that is less good news! That woman always gets what she wants. And what she wants, is rarely what I want.”
This makes Scarlett laugh, and to my surprise, it’s light and infectious and despite trying very hard not to, I smile in response.
“Isn’t that the truth. Do you mind?” She gestures at the bike.
He raises an eyebrow. “When was the last time you rode?”
“Get fucked Jones. You know I kicked your arse last time I was on the track.”
He grins, “In your dreams, Grey,” and hands the bike over. “Be careful, she’s pulling a little on the straights when you let the throttle out. Smith dropped some potent fire-catalysing combustion agent that he tweaked with magic into the engine pistons, but it’s made her a henny beast in the runs. We’re still working through the niggles.”
“Alright, I’ll be careful. Grab me two helmets?”
He nods and vanishes into the garage.
“Wait,” I say, having processed what she said. “What do you mean two helmets?”
Scarlett glimmers, a slow, delicious smile that expands across her lips like sunrise on the horizon. “I’m taking you for a ride.”
“Er. No.” My stomach instantly shrivels up, and I’m pretty sure the sour taste in my throat is vomit that is very ready to escape. “Definitely not.”
Jacob reappears, hands Scarlett a leather overall, then one to me and places two helmets on the ground.
“I am one hundred percent not getting on that bike.”
“You one hundred percent are,” Scarlett says.
“But we didn’t plan it. I haven’t researched the safety or thought it through. I can’t possibly get on that bike,” I say even as my body betrays me and I push one foot followed by the other into the leather suit.
“Sure looks that way too,” Jacob says chuckling.
I fire a glare at him. “I’m… I can’t get on. I’ll die.”
He helps velcro me into the suit and taps my shoulders. “You won’t die… probably.”
My eyes widen.
“Stop winding her up, Jones,” Scarlett says, nudging Jacob out the way. She finishes zipping up her leathers and checks mine. Tugging straps and zips. I try to ignore the pressure of her fingers tugging me closer to her.
“Live a little. Not everything needs to be precision perfect. We can do this. Just hold on to me. Okay?” She says and cups my cheeks. “As long as you hold on, you’ll be fine.”
I’m shaking. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or excitement or a bit of both. Definitely both. The fact she used the word “we” didn’t go unnoticed. The only we I’d ever thought of in relation to Scarlett was how much we hate each other. I let the word settle in my mind. Settle next to her name and this spontaneous death trap we’re about to ride.
“Do you trust me?” Scarlett says.
“Absolutely not.”
She erupts in laughter. “Good. Get on the fucking bike.”
She lifts me. Literally picks me up by the fucking waist like I weigh the same as a toddler and dumps me on the bike. Then she points to the pillion pedals and shoves my feet into place.
My eyes widen. “We… this… how the fuck is this happening. Are you even qualified to drive this… this machine? I don’t understand how this contraption works, I need to kno—”
“—One. It’s a motorbike. Two, I am a race champion. Three, you don’t need to know everything, sometimes you can flip a coin and take a chance. And four, put this in your ear. It’s an intercom. You’ll be able to speak to me.”
“Curse you more like it.”
“You’re a magician, not a witch. Don’t pretend you know how to hex me.”
“If I die, if you murder me on this track, be assured I will come back and haunt your sorry ass for the rest of time.” I take my current ear bud out and push the intercom in instead.
“You’re going to love it.”
I say nothing because I’m fairly sure if I open my mouth I’ll be sick. I pull the helmet on and the cacophony of noise in the pit lane drops to a low rumbling. Instead, it’s replaced with the thundering storm that is my heartbeat.
Scarlett flips my visor up to talk. She fiddles with the straps under my chin, her fingers warm where they brush against my neck. Then she’s slipping her own on. There’s a crackling in my ear and Scarlett’s voice appears.
“You know you’ll love it, and you can thank me after when you do.”
I glower at her, entirely unconvinced.
She checks my helmet one last time and then looks me dead in the eye. “You’re safe with me.”
I can only see her eyes through the gap in her visor. They’re pale, but this afternoon they sparkle. I haven’t seen her this excited before. I like it. It changes her whole face. Makes her warm instead of full of ice.
“I promise,” she says. I can’t see her mouth moving, but her expression tells me everything.
“Okay,” I say.
She gets on in front of me. Her arse shifts until it’s pressed right up against my thighs which suddenly feel very warm. She wriggles until she’s as close as she can be.
“Hold on,” she says and pulls my hands around her waist. Despite the tremors running through my body, her torso is thick, strong, like mountains and granite. She is utterly still beneath my fingertips and her assuredness, at least, gives me a little confidence and slowly my trembling ceases. That’s the second time she’s made me feel safe. I push that knowledge aside. It’s not something I want to acknowledge. This is a fun—
My whole body tightens and a scream rips from my lungs as Scarlett opens the throttle and the bike explodes down the pit lane.
“FUCCCCCCCCCKKKKK MEEEEEEEEEEEEE,” I squeal.
But I’m drowned out by Scarlett’s cackle. Between huffs of laughs, she spits out, “I told you this would be amazing. Now. Are you ready?”
We slow down as we reach a set of lights suspended above us.
“What? I thought that was it?” I stammer, my whole body shaking.
“Oh, Poisoner, no. We haven’t even started. When I curve around the bend, lean with me, okay?”
I nod. “If I’m going to die, you can at least call me by my name.”
“When we survive, I will. I promise.” She slips her hand over mine, her fingers looping in. “I promise you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She squeezes and then lets go, and where the imprint of her hand was is a cool patch.
“When the lights go green, I’ll go. We’re only going to do one lap as the racers will be on in a few minutes. I’ll take you off the track to a spectator patch at the end of the track.”
I lean against her and try to swallow the desert mouth that’s currently clawing the insides of my throat.
“THREE. TWO. ONE,” Scarlett says, and then the entire world vanishes in the shrill ringing of my scream, the rushing pressure of air around us, and the high pitch whine of the engine.
And Oh. My. God.
This is the best fucking three minutes of my life. I cling to Scarlett’s back as she shouts messages of encouragement down the intercom.
We curve around the bends, my knees pressing into her thighs as I hold on for dear life. My breasts push into her back and my arms tighten around her as we drop low to the floor. The hum and vibration of the tarmac skimming the plastic plates rattles through my knees.
The world streaks in the rush of wind against my overalls. The pressure from the gusts is surprising. Even though she’s taking the brunt of the force, I still have to use my muscles to stay in place.
And then we hit the straight and Scarlett gives the bike everything. She opens the gas and I swear I almost pee. I’m laughing and screaming. The track is zooming past and my heart is in my throat thumping to the rev of the engine. Then we’re slowing down and pulling into a slip road off the track and up towards tiered seating. She slows to a stop around the back. And holy shit I want to do it again.
Scarlett puts the bike on the kickstand and pulls the helmet off, her plait all static. But her face is beaming and bright, and fuck, I want to kiss her. I yank my helmet off and jump up and down, and then I don’t know what I’m thinking, but I leap into her arms. And Scarlett, bless her Assassin soul, catches me.
My legs lock around her back. My arms around her neck. Her eyes are totally focused on me, as if nothing else exists. It’s intoxicating. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is replaced with something deeper, hungrier. How dare she just take me on the bike like that, take my life in her hands at two hundred miles per hour.
“That was… I didn’t want to go on the bike,” I say, trying to add acid in my voice.
She holds my gaze, the intensity between us infinite, consuming. “Yes, you did.”
Yeah, I did.
“I didn’t want to be driven at speeds like that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“You don’t know me, Scarlett.”
She brushes a stray lock of curl away from my cheek. Such an intimate, soft movement. All the while, her eyes never leave mine.
“Yeah, Quinn, I do.”
“It was… it was incredible. Like you promised.”
Her mouth twitches, a whisper of a smile. And I realise she used my name. She’s never used my name. And, using my name is the second promise she’s kept. It breaks me. I can’t hold out any longer. I plunge my lips onto hers.
It’s not gentle, it’s not clean. It’s hard and messy and wanting. Heat billows between us, my hands sliding up the back of her head into her hair. I squeeze my fingers through her braid, just hard enough she hisses and then drives her mouth over mine. She walks me to the stand and pins me against the wall. The thud as my back meets wall echoes through my torso. My core slick and hot already, the throb of her energy consuming me. Her fingers dig into my thighs, the pressure reminding me how much she wants me. Wants to own me. Wants to make me moan.
And… despite everything, I want to let her. My body craves her like oxygen. Even though I shouldn’t, even though she knows she shouldn’t. We hate each other. Don’t we?
I pull away from her mouth, gasping for air; trace her neck, her jawline. My hands glide around her waist. I need her. Need her to take me until there is only us.
I’m ripping at her zips, the velcro, there are too many layers of fucking clothes. She lets me slide to the floor as she slips her hands to my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheek. A gentle caress for a moment that is anything but. The air between us is electric. Neither of us can rip the clothes quick enough.
Everywhere her lips meet my skin it tingles, as if she is the power and I am her spark. How is it she can drive me mad, terrify me with speed and still make me feel safe? And still, I hate her.
I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
Hate what she stands for. Her fucking legacy. Hate that she’s going after my father, her fucking ego. Hate that she can make me do things, try things, make me livid with rage.
But in this moment, the only thing I can think about is her mouth on my body. Her tongue sliding between my flesh, lapping at my core. I’m gasping, desperate to be naked, to let her have me. Who cares that we’re outside, that there are people on the track. I’ll fuck her while they watch, let them see me come undone.
I moan as she tugs off the upper overalls, pulls my bra straps down and plunges her mouth over my hard nipple. She kneels before me. Exactly where she should be, beneath me, submitting to me. Her crystal eyes meet mine, and the hunger in them makes my pussy slick. Her hands tug at my overalls and clothes.
“I…I… I want…” I’m panting.
“Ahem,” a restrained cough startles me out of the moment.
“Fuck.” I pull up my bra.
Scarlett drops her head, leaning against my waist. She lets go of my body and sighs a deep, breathy noise. “Stirling.”
“Sister,” Stirling says and takes a bite of an apple, her leg cocked back against the stand where she leans. Stirling, at least, doesn’t look at us. Which enables me to keep my dignity.
“Inconvenient time?” Stirling asks with the hint of laughter beneath her words.
“What. Do. You. Want?” Scarlett says, standing up. Her posture is rigid, her jaw stiff.
“Negotiations done. It’s time to get the rune specialist.”
Stirling pushes off the seating, Scarlett flicks the kickstand up and wheels the bike after her sister, and they leave me to pull myself together.
“Where did you get that apple?” Scarlett asks.
“Told you, I know a girl.”
Scarlett grumbles. Then, I swear, as they step out of earshot, I hear Stirling say, “Don’t do this. You’ll regret…”
But by the time I catch up to them, they’ve changed the subject, and I’m left wondering what exactly it is she’s going to regret and why I have a sinking feeling it’s me.