Full Throttle by Kirsten S. Blacketer
Blood, Sweat and Gears
very sensual contemporary romantic suspense novel
approx. 12000 words
Release Date: 08/15/2013
Cover art by Winterheart Design
In an attempt to locate his missing brother, Mitch challenges the infamous street racer, Sammy, to a quarter mile race. He knows the “faceless” racer was the last person to see his brother, Mike. When he is waylaid by the tantalizing minx, Sassy, his life gets infinitely more complicated. She is smoking hot. Trouble with a capitol ‘T’. But she is his ticket into Sammy’s world. Mitch finds himself wondering where her loyalties lie when she offers her assistance in exchange for his own. Should he trust her? Can he trust himself?
“She’s fast, but not fast enough,” Rick said, slamming the hood down. The smell of exhaust and grease thick in the air. “I told you that NoS valve wouldn’t hold. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to convince Sammy to race against this beast if she can barely pull a ten-second run.”
“She can do it.” Mitch struck the heel of his boot on the concrete. “I have faith in her. It’s not all about the car itself; it’s how you handle her.”
“If she blows up or wrecks, it’s on your head. I’m washing my hands of this bitch,” Rick said.
“Lottie’s not a bitch.” He stroked the car’s top. “She just needs the right touch.”
Rick rolled his eyes.
Every car Mitch owned had a name, a personality, and a specialty. Lottie could win a race against Sammy. The lime green and black 1970 Dodge Challenger was his personal favorite. She was sleek, fast, and dangerous.
“She can take any car you put next to her.” Mitch smoothed his hand over the curve of her fender, like a tender caress.
“You need to modernize your tastes, Mitch,” Rick said, wiping the grease from his callused hands. He tossed the rag onto the tool-littered workbench. Posters of fifties-style pinup girls stared down from the wall behind him. “Climb into the twenty-first century, man.” The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on Mitch. Rick ran a specialty shop, detailed and organized. He was the best in the business, always up to date on performance parts.
“I like my classics, thank you. They’re more reliable, and for the hundredth time, I’m not interested in a damned Mazda. Piece of shit rice burner.” The scowl on Rick’s face brought a grin to his own. “What time is the race tonight?”
Rick consulted his cell phone. “Sammy’s guy said it was starting at ten down by the warehouse. You sure you want to do this, Mitch?”
“I don’t have a choice. I have to find my brother,” he said. “The last time anyone saw Mike, he was racing against Sammy.” He picked up a chamois and applied it to Lottie’s hood. “That was over a month ago.”
“You’re going to shine the paint right off her. She’s ready.” The older man stepped closer and put his hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “I hope to God Mikey didn’t race Adele for pinks. She was your dad’s favorite.”
“I know. Dad told us a million times how long it took the two of you to restore that ’69 Barracuda. I wonder if Mike kept Dad’s initials under the door handle. He’d roll in his grave if Mike lost her title to some thug in a street race.”
“I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it.” Rick took the chamois from Mitch, tossed it into the toolbox, and let the lid drop. “You are the best driver I’ve ever seen. Now take that compliment and get your ass in gear.”
Mitch nodded, sliding into the driver’s seat. Lighting Lottie up, he put Rick’s garage in his rearview mirror. The thrill of anticipation and adrenaline slowly imbued his senses. Sammy would notice Lottie, and Mitch was ready to lose her if it meant finding his younger brother. I’m working on it, Mikey. He pictured his mother’s face, pinched with worry and fear when she showed him the missing person’s report. The cops did nothing. Mike was over twenty-one and just…gone, with no signs of foul play. If he didn’t win this race, he knew his brother was royally screwed.
Mitch kicked the Challenger into high gear, taking his aggression out on the muscle car. It sucked being the responsible son.