Racing The Beast (Dirt Track Dogs #2) by P. Jameson Page B

on the track. And we all know she could smoke the whole team with barely any effort.”
    Diz crossed his arms over his chest. “That doesn’t mean she can spit mean dirt. It takes more than being fast. There’s got to be some showmanship in her craft, you know?”
    There was a beat of silence before they busted out a thunderous laugh.
    “What?” Diz asked, his face dead serious. “You know I’m right.”
    Surge snorted, his laugh growing louder and louder. “We’ll see.”
    Beast chuckled, watching the guys let loose. They hadn’t had this much fun in a while. He wished Blister was here for it. The dose of happiness was well needed and well deserved. It was their time. And they were going to grab onto it with both fists.
    When they calmed, Drake demanded in a low voice. “Fess up, Beast.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You’ve gone from mopey to light as a feather in a matter of two days. What gives?”
    “Yeah, what fucking gives?” Surge asked, eyeballing him over the grill.
    “I wouldn’t say light as a feather…”
    “Aw, cut the shit,” Diz whispered, a grin on his lips. “Is she yours?”
    Beast glanced over at Punk. She was staring with wide eyes at Annie. The woman was deep into a story, her hands flying everywhere and her head swiveling on her neck. It must be a good one. Punk looked like she was watching a train wreck.
    His mouth curled in a grin he couldn’t help. “Yeah, okay. She is. But things are complicated. She’s… I have to be careful.”
    “Ha! Yeah, you do. Has she taken you to the ground yet?” Surge asked.
    “No, asshole.”
    “Damn, that was fast,” Diz muttered. “Two of you found your intended mates in a matter of a couple weeks.” A slow grin spread his face, and he looked at Surge. “This is good news for us, dude.”
    Surge didn’t smile back. “Yeah, maybe.”
    Drake shook his head, frowning. “I don’t know what’s happening to us. It’s good. It’s wonderful. But Diz is right. This is fast.” He met each of their gazes. “We all solid still? Doing okay? How are the animals?”
    “I’m a fucking rock,” Diz assured him.
    “I’m good,” Surge added. “The fucking fern, not so much.”
    “Dude, seriously. What the fuck is with you poking inanimate objects?” Drake hissed. “Ella’s worried for you.”
    “ I don’t know . It’s my damn wolf, not me. Which one of you bastards told her anyway?”
    Diz threw up his hands. “Not me.”
    “I’m getting better,” Beast said, to change the subject. “But I’m worried about Blister.”
    “Where is he?” Drake asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    Surge and Diz both shrugged.
    Ella’s car rumbled to life, bringing everyone’s attention to the track. She zoomed down the straight and around the first curve, picking up speed.
    Punk stood to her crutches to get a better look. The grin on her face was priceless. Beast wanted to just stare at it, but if he was going to win that steak, he had to get a read on his competition.
    He dragged his gaze away from his mate and focused on the track. Ella was about to make her move. And move she did. She was going way too fast to take the corner. Suddenly, she mashed her brakes and jerked the wheel hard, sending her car into a spin. Dirt sprayed up showering the car as it circled twice before coming to a stop.
    Surge belted out a loud laugh, clapping his hands together. “Fuck, son! She just opened up a barrel of whoop-ass on ya, bro. You’re out .”
    “Shit,” Diz muttered.
    Drake shrugged, pretended it was no big deal to see his mate spin out on the track. But Beast knew better. She was playing, but it still wasn’t safe. He imagined Drake would keep her in a padded box high up on a shelf if she’d let him.
    She ran up to him and he kissed her hard on the lips, grabbing her ass unashamedly.
    Diz glared. “What do you even call that move?”
    She grinned. “Hurricane Ella.”
    “Pretty sure that was against the rules.”
    She shrugged. “You were