Alpha Billionaire Series
Billionaire and the Barista Chapter 4

NATHAN

"What crawled up your a*s?" I asked as I took my helmet off.

I rolled to a stop. Mitch stood in front of me like some kind of giant with arms akimbo, trying to look all badass. I could tell from the expression on his face that he was pissed for some reason. I could have just run right over him, like some kind of boney road bump. "You were supposed to bring your bike in before racing it again. Weren't you the one to say the timing felt like it was hiccupping around one-ten?"

I shook my head and shrugged him off. "It's fine."

"Don't tell me it's fine when someone is shoveling you off the pavement like so much ground beef. You want to race this pretty baby tonight; you are pulling into my shop right now." He pointed an angry finger at an impromptu setup he and a few guys had. They brought the tools, they tweaked the bikes, and they never charged a dime.

I could throw some Benjamins at him for taking care of the kids who could barely afford the rides they had. I had no problems affording a mechanic. Neither did a few of my buddies. Most of the guys here, and a few girls, had scaped every penny they had-sleeping on the streets to save rent money, going hungry instead of buying food- all so they could have a top-quality machine. And then there were a few of us who were basically slumming it. Our overly funded asses were here for the danger, the thrill, the easy girls. Not that rich girls weren't easy, they just required more expensive presents. We were here because it would piss our parents off, and it was fucking fun.

I rolled my Ducati to Mitch's little service bay and let him tinker with her.

"A hiccup in the timing isn't going to put me on the pavement," I complained.

"Probably not, but don't you think you owe it to Gabby to make sure that doesn't happen." He didn't look up.

"What does Gabriella have to do with any of this?" I tried to keep our relationship casual as far as anyone else was concerned.

"You shitting me?" His glare was hard enough to cut glass.

"What?" I looked at him.

Mitch pushed to his feet and was in my face in seconds. A few inches shorter, a few dozen pounds lighter and I was still wary of the man. I did not doubt that he fought dirty and that he would take me. I may have been bigger, but he had years of street experience I would never be able to duplicate, no matter how many hours I spent in a dojo learning martial arts.

"That little girl is so in love with you, that's what this has to do with this. I'm not doing any of this for you. She's had a hard f*****g life, and I'm doing this for her."

"So, you're in love with her?" I mouthed off.

"Don't be ignorant, it's not attractive, pretty boy," Mitch smirked.

I laughed. Truth was, I agreed with him, Gabriella had everything to do with it.

"I'm just fucking with you," I confessed. "She's more like your kid sister. I've seen how you are with her. Thanks, man."

"For what?" he grumbled, returning to my bike.

"For taking care of her, and by extension, looking after the bike."

"If you are going to be stupid enough to race through these streets, at least be smart about it. She should be good." He patted the front wheel.

I sat and started the bike. With a low rumble, I eased it back and slowly rolled over to where a group I recognized were hanging around drinking.

"Hey, you, bring that in here. Let me look at it before you get yourself killed," Mitch yelled at some other potential racer. His pitch was always the same, 'Let me fix your bike or you're gonna die.'

"Hey man." I fist-bumped the guys and accepted a swig of something sharp and brown from an unmarked glass bottle suspiciously shaped like Captain Morgan. It tasted suspiciously like Captain Morgan too.

A DJ, not some touring celebrity DJ, but a local kid with a beatbox and a mix table, played tunes. Girls dressed in skimpy minis and push-up bras danced on car hoods. It was a go-go bar for the fast and the stupid, complete with mechanics. This was my life, and it was like something out of a movie. Complete with the totally hot girl with the long glowing honey-colored hair, and a smile that inspired erections in the oldest of men, as my girlfriend. And I was going to have her alone tonight. All night.

And my parents wanted to pull the plug on all of this. It was time to go big before I went. I left my bike and found the bookie. He looked like bookies did in the movies from the sixties, a cigarette poised on his lip, hanging on by dried spit alone. He wore a tacky Hawaiian, one of those fedora things, that really wasn't a fedora, but smaller. I couldn't remember the name, I just knew that every time fashion shows called it a fedora, my mother would yell at the TV it wasn't a fedora. And then she would drop the name, something like a tribble. I couldn't remember. He was small, sweaty, and handling thick handfuls of money rolls.

I handed him a stack and placed a bet on myself to win for my second race. He raked me with weaselly assessment and huffed out what I think it was supposed to be a laugh. He took my money.

"I won't be seeing you later."

He didn't know what I rode. He didn't know jack-shit. Tonight, I would win, this was my going out in glory moment. And that's exactly what I was going to do.

I returned to my bike and got in the pack to the side. The first race was about to start. I wasn't going to be in the heat. This was always the new bees. The route was designed to distract the cops from the real races, it was long and convoluted. Only new bees went out in this heat because no one ever told them they were there for one job only, keeping the cops away from the rest of us.

Getting the race started was a production. The DJ changed the music. Someone picked a hot chick to wave the start flag. Engines throbbed, raring to go. She dropped the flag, and with a collective roar the bikers all took off. In true new bee form, a few spun out and dropped their bikes immediately, while other hotshots pulled a wheelie and sped off.

For a few brief seconds, it was almost silent after the racers left, and then the DJ dropped a beat, and we were back to the party. Occasionally the wail of a siren would lilt toward us on the breeze. We ignored the sirens, knowing that the distraction was out there. I saw Gabriella for a brief moment. My gut clenched. She was so fucking beautiful, and she was not going to like what I had to tell her. She twinkled her fingers at me, and I gave her a nod. Her eyes stayed locked with mine until my buddy slapped me on the shoulder.

I glanced over at him.

"Time to go," Rhys said.

"Right." When I looked back to where Gabriella had been, she was gone.

I slipped my helmet on and guided my bike over the starting area. She purred like the fine piece of equipment she was. We packed into the starting area, the hot chick dropped her starting flag, and with the roar of a thousand lions, we tore out of there. I slipped into a decent fourth place. I wanted to assess the other riders on this first race. I never tried to win my first time out of the gate. I raced fast and smart, and that meant getting to know who my competition was. On any given weekend it was a different group of hopefuls. We played tag as we slid through traffic, in and out between cars, busting through red lights. Traffic rules did not apply to us, and at the speeds we went, physics barely touched up.

I stayed in fourth the entire time, all the way across the finish line. The next heat I didn't hang back. We were out and jockeying for positions. I easily slid into fourth, hot on the tale of the guy in third. Only he didn't know that I was holding back. On the first turn, I opened up the throttle and passed him as if he was taking a walk, and not passing speeds of ninety miles an hour on city streets. As easy as it was to overtake the guy in third, I passed second place.

First place taunted me a bit. He really played with me, slowing enough to make me think I had him only to tear off and leave me in his dust. Well, I wasn't having that. This was my fucking race. The route took us on a stretch of 170. I cut behind a semi and passed him on the shoulder. When I appeared again, my bike was flying fast in front of the truck, cutting across the open lanes and cutting in front of the a*****e in the first place. I kept him on my bumper the entire time all the way back across the finish line. "Yeah!" I shouted as I pulled my helmet off. Girls kissed me, and I was pounded on the back with the pat of a thousand congratulations. Full of attitude from my win I swaggered over to the bookie who reluctantly handed me my winnings. It was an easy ten grand. Gabby came running and threw herself into my arms. Her lips crushed to mine, and she wrapped her legs over my hips. I grabbed her ass and held her tight, slowly spinning in a circle to redirect the momentum of her tackle.

"That was amazing!" she declared when we finally parted. I let go of her ass, and she slid down my body. It would have been a hell of a lot hotter, and I would have felt her against me if it hadn't been for the biking armor I wore under my clothes. I may be stupid enough to street race, but I was smart enough to gear up for minimum damage.

"I've missed you today, and then you go and fucking win. Nathan, you..." she trailed off and just looked at me.

I cupped her face in my hands and took her in. I couldn't do it; I couldn't leave her here.

"I have something I need to tell you," I said.

"It can wait. We have all night. I want to tell you something too." She seemed so perfect and happy at that moment. I only wish I had known then what I would learn in the following hour. Maybe I would have done a better job at memorizing her face.