Page 92 of Baker

“You can. Go as fast or as slow as you want.”

“I don’t know how to drive a stick,” I said.

“You don’t have to. All you need to do is pull the paddles. The right is up a gear, and the left is down. I’ll instruct you.”

“I don’t want to hurt it. This thing’s got to be expensive. I mean, crap, it came with that handy little fire extinguisher.”

“It’s a car. I’m not worried. Drive it, please.” He looked at me with sad eyes. “It’s why we came.”

I decided what the hell. With his instructions, I drove the car around the track six times. Although I didn’t go as fast as he did, I went over a hundred and ten miles an hour, and I even passed the same red car that he passed a few times.

In the end, my hands were shaking, my head was spinning, and my pussy was soaked. It was a much different experience than the motorcycle, but equally satisfying. Maybe even more so, but for different reasons.

After the race, we parked the car by the buildings. I removed my helmet and held it in my hands. I felt powerful. Accomplished. Different. The smell of rubber and hot exhaust caused my nostrils to flare as the sound of the exhaust made funny noises from cooling down. I swung the helmet back and forth and admired the car.

“I’m glad I didn’t wreck it,” I said. “I’d probably have to work some overtime to pay for this little guy.”

“Two hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars’ worth,” he said with a laugh.

I stumbled against the building’s wall as he revealed the value. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. It’s worth a little more than that, now. Maybe three hundred grand. These go up in value as time passes, as long as you take care of ‘em.”

“You let me drive a three hundred-thousand-dollar car?”

He shrugged. “It’s a car.”

“An expensive one.”

“Did you have fun?”

I traced my finger over the top of my helmet and smiled. “I did.”

“All that matters.” He leaned toward me and kissed me. “Is that you had fun.”

Driving three-hundred-thousand-dollar cars wasn’t something I could ever get used to, but I had a feeling racing wasn’t the first – or the last – of the exciting things Baker was going to bring my way.

In fact, I was sure of it.

FORTY - Baker

“This motherfucker better be legit,” I said. “If he gives me the smallest idea that he’s not, we’re walking.”

Enough time had passed that it was safe to sell the gold on the black market. The man who was to give us pricing for it was a commodities trader that lived in Brentwood, an upscale neighborhood that adjoined Beverly Hills. Despite coming highly recommended by the Hells Angels local Sergeant-at-Arms, I didn’t trust the man.

Cash glanced over his right shoulder, and scoffed. “He’s as strong as they day is long.”

I coughed a laugh. “Did you just make that up?”

His eyes shifted to the road. “It rhymed. I was pretty proud of myself for making it up.”

“Been pretty proud of you too, lately.”

He changed lanes and then flipped his hair away from his eyes. “Why’s that?”

“You’ve been civil about Andy. I appreciate you giving us a little space, even if it is nothing more than a rest from your verbal assaults.”

He gave me a quick look. “A little verbal assault never hurt anyone.”