Free Honeytrap by CRYSTAL GREEN

hugger . . .”
    Darwin caught the confusion on my face and Evie’s. “That’s the kind of paint Micah used on his Camaro. Hugger orange.”
    I had enough time to see that, yeah, the Camaro wasn’t red, it was something different than what I’d first thought. Then NASCAR raised her green bandana in the air, poising it there as shouts erupted from both sides of the road.
    My blood was burbling, keeping time with the growl of the engines. It never occurred to me that Micah might crash or lose control. Neither option seemed possible with a guy who had such arrogance.
    Damn, was it bad that this was such a turn on?
    As NASCAR looked from one driver to the other, I realized that she was giving Taggert and Micah the same expression—lust. Excitement.
    Groupie?
    After a final, thrilling pause, she shouted and chopped down the bandana, and both cars burned rubber, taking off down the road into the night. With a surge of energy, we all ran after them like we were going to catch up. Even if all we could see were taillights ahead, my heartbeat kept going, like it didn’t have sense enough to stop itself from chasing that car . . . and the guy inside it.
    When a squealing sound hit the air, everyone froze—especially when Taggert’s car swerved off the road just before the finish line taillights. Micah’s car veered, too, but he got it back on track as Taggert’s car angled downward past the shoulder, like it was in a shallow ditch or hole.
    There was a collective yell, and everyone started running again . . . until we heard the car horn in back of us.
    I took Evie by the arm and pulled her off the road as an unfamiliar pickup made its way toward the finish line.
    â€œJimmy’s mom!” someone yelled.
    Crap.
Jimmy’s mom was a former Marine—bad-ass and law-abiding.
    Deacon and Darwin were suddenly by our sides, leading us back toward our cars.
    â€œAct like this is nothing,” one of them said. “Just walk.”
    I looked over my shoulder to see what’d happened with Micah’s car. It seemed like he’d turned around and parked next to Taggert. Mrs. Holland’s pickup was right there, too, and she’d hopped out of it, going to the Impala like something might be wrong.
    I didn’t like walking away from this. Not that I was a superhero or anything, but I’d taken CPR courses for a lot of babysitting I’d done after school and on weekends. What if Taggert was hurt and I was walking away from the scene of an accident?
    Turning around, I started running toward the finish line.
    â€œShelby!” Evie yelled.
    But I heard her footsteps right behind me, even as everyone else was scooting to their cars and taking off.
    Marathons were shorter than the distance I had to go to reach the finish line, and when I got there, I was panting, my lungs on fire. I bent over and braced my hands on my thighs as I took in the scene: a Queensland heeler trotting around and sniffing the fence, while Taggert’s car tilted in a ditch as shallow as I’d suspected. He leaned against the Impala, which didn’t seem damaged. Still, he was pissed as hell while getting an earful from Mrs. Holland, who was tall, wiry, short-haired, and not just bad-ass, but pretty
damned
bad-ass.
    â€œDid you stop to think,” she was saying, “that there might be other people on the road besides you? You almost hit my dog, son.”
    Micah wasn’t exactly escaping a tongue-lashing, either, because Mrs. Holland shook a finger at him, too, while he stood with his hands tucked beneath his armpits, his face stoic.
    â€œI should turn y’all in,” she said.
    By now, the twins and Evie had caught up with me, along with Jimmy himself, and they hung back.
    Taggert shrugged. “So what? I missed hitting the dog.”
    â€œExcuse me?” Mrs. Holland said.
    Micah stepped in. “Ma’am, I’m sure he means to