Dirty Ride (Dirt Track Dogs: The Second Lap Book 1) Read online

  Rider Daley wasn’t always a bad boy, but now he lives up to his name, taking comfort with a new lady every night. It’s not the best remedy for his lonely heart, but it’s a hell of a lot better than getting attached to someone who won’t stick around. Because when Rider falls for love, he falls hard. And he’s not falling for that again. But when a certain sexy-as-sin fox shifter hooks her sweet little claws in his heart, Rider wonders if she can offer him the lifetime guarantee he’s been looking for.

  Sinful Sally wasn’t always a bad girl, but now she lives up to her name. Goal: to be the raunchiest, dirtiest, most touched vixen in Cedar Valley. It’s the only way to keep from enduring the cruelest of mating rituals. If sullying herself—while having a swell time, she might add—is the way to keep the fox hounds at bay, then that’s what she’ll do. And not regret a minute of it, since fairytales aren’t for girls like her anyway. Until a sexy, dominant human catches her attention. This one doesn’t look at her like she’s dirty. He looks at her like she’s worthy. And that makes all the difference to her beaten down heart. Now Sally wonders if she can have her fairytale ending after all.

  Dirty Ride

  By P. Jameson

  Dirty Ride

  Copyright © 2017 by P. Jameson

  First electronic publication: March 2017

  United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, redistributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database, without prior written permission from the author, with the exception of brief quotations contained in critical reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this work may be scanned, uploaded, or otherwise distributed via the internet or any other means, including electronic or print without the author’s written permission.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design/Formatting: Agent X

  P. Jameson

  www.pjamesonbooks.com

  Other books by P. Jameson

  Firecats (Alley Cats)

  All is Bright (Book 1)

  Ouachita Mountain Shifters

  A Mate’s Wish (Holiday Prequel)

  Deliciously Mated (Book 1)

  Ouachita Mated (Book 2)

  Merrily Mated (Book 3)

  Secretly Mated (Book 4)

  Shadow Mated (Book 5)

  Brother Bear Mated (Book 6)

  Brave Bear Mated (Book 7)

  Sunshine Mated (Book 8)

  Dirt Track Dogs

  Racing the Alpha (Book 1)

  Racing the Beast (Book 2)

  Racing Home (Book 3)

  Racing Hard (Book 4)

  Racing Destiny (Book 5)

  Home for the Holidays (Book 6)

  Dirt Track Dogs: The Second Lap

  Dirty Looks (Book 1)

  Dirty Ride (Book 2)

  Ozark Mountain Shifters

  A Mate’s Denial (Book 1)

  A Mate’s Sacrifice (Book 2)

  A Mate’s Revenge (Book 3)

  A Mate’s Submission (Book 4)

  Sci-fi Fantasy Romance

  Starwalker (Amazon)

  Breaking the Skin (Amazon)

  Chapter One

  “Mmm. Mmm. Mmmmm.” Sally Davis hummed in appreciation as the fine, fine male specimen pushed through the door of Red Cap Bar & Grill looking like sex on a stick she wanted to lick. He’d be candy apple flavored. Because he always smelled like apples. Even under all that grime and grease he was covered in sometimes.

  Not tonight though. Tonight he was scrubbed clean. Jeans that were the perfect amount of holey, and a fresh white t-shirt under that leather jacket.

  Her inner vixen purred. “Will you look at that, ladies. Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Three heads turned for the door. Barb, Seraphina, and Ragan. The fourth stayed focused on her drink. Lexington was taken. Like, lay you out on a table and bang you to New Zealand and back taken. She had zero point zero interest in anyone other than her human mate, Aaron.

  As it should be. But still, it was taking some getting used to.

  “Who? Rider?” Ragan asked, skeptically.

  “Yeah, Rider. You gotta admit, he’s the hottest male in town.”

  Her girls stayed silent.

  “I’m not the only who thinks so, right? Right? He’s an easy ten on the Dick-ter scale.”

  “I dunno,” Seraphina murmured as her gaze found another male. “You sure there isn’t an eleven out there somewhere?”

  “I told you, peach. No such thing as an eleven.”

  But her hopeful gaze remained glued to Hot Rod Turner, the county’s local radio DJ, where he stood over by the juke box. He wore a Van Halen t-shirt with the arms cut off, a backwards ballcap, and on his feet… camo Converse sneakers. The man never wore the same Converse twice. Sally would bet on it. He was scruffy, but he always had a grin and he was down to party.

  Still. He wasn’t hot like Rider was.

  “They all suck,” Barb groused uncharacteristically. “Alllll the males in this town. The only reason I even stick around is because of you bitches.”

  “Not true,” Ragan argued. “You stick around for Mac too.” Mac, the man who’d taught them everything they knew about motocross. “And Old Man Hubbard. And the dogs. And all those little young everybody around here has.”

  “Yeah.” Sally nodded. “You just mad because you can’t get a two word conversation out of Adam.” The guy wasn’t the friendliest, and Barb had taken a liking to him. He stood chatting with Rod, still in his work uniform, complete with an oval name patch above the breast pocket.

  Uniforms could be hot.

  Leather jackets and smirky brown eyes were hotter.

  “And because Rod won’t play your song on the radio.”

  Barb pouted. “He says it’s not classic rock. How much more classic can you get than Proud to be an American? Huh? You tell me that.”

  Lexington tipped her beer bottle up for a gulp before answering. “I think he takes issue with the whole ‘rock’ part of classic rock.”

  Barb frowned harder and Sally kept waiting for her trademark stupid-happy grin to show up. Barb was an optimist’s optimist. She bright-sided the hell outta life. But lately, she wasn’t quite pulling off the happy-go-lucky feel.

  “Proud to be an American is totally… like, totally… a rock song.”

  “It’s not,” Lexington said flatly.

  “It is. Watch.”

  Barb kicked back her chair and stepped onto the seat. The song that was playing on the old juke box in the corner came to a twangy halt and the slow, proud riffs of a new song started. Barb cleared her throat extra loudly and found Hot Rod Turner across the room where he nursed a Heineken.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Sally muttered, looking around the bar to see what kind of damage this might do to her reputation. But naw. It was kind of already in the shitter. And they’d only been in Cedar Valley a couple months.

  She smiled to herself.

  Sinful Sally worked fast. Got around good.

  That’s right, Sally girl. Make ‘em talk, her inner fox purred.

  People talking was exactly what she wanted. No male fox shifter would fight, as they liked to do, for a defiled female. Which meant no suitors would come sniffing for her. Which meant no one would die trying to earn the rights to her.

  Unfortunately, it also meant she’d never have anything deeper than physical with a man. She’d never have what Lexington and her mate Aaron had. T
rue love, beautiful and real and sweeter than a cherry cordial. There would be no soul-mate connection. No young for her to bear. No family besides her girls and their brand new pack family, the Dirt Track Dogs.

  She’d be alone forever.

  The familiar ache of loneliness rolled up from her chest to clamp around her throat. It was a vicious chokehold. One she experienced more and more these days.

  She’d never wanted this life. She used to twirl around in fucking princess dresses and dream of a fairytale mating. She would have a strapping, handsome prince who would sweep her off her feet. They’d have three kits, each a year apart. Two boys and a girl, if her wishes came true. And they’d live happily ever after.

  It was only what every girl deserved.

  But her dreams came crashing down when her best friend, Ragan, was thrust into a fierce battle for her freedom. Five hounds sniffed her out. More than any other female in the history of their small skulk. Five males wanted to claim her. Five males fought to the death for her, as was their custom. Funny how no one told Sally about that ritual when she was gushing about her fairytale happily-ever-after.

  Bastards.

  The meanest motherfucker won Ragan even though her fox had chosen another, and she was given over to him, her protests ignored.

  Sally closed her eyes remembering the sound of Ragan’s horrified screams as the asshole dragged her off to his den. She was barely of age. Barely more than a young, with a body more buxom than her years. She was with young in a matter of days and the horror that followed, was what banded the vixens together and led them to Cedar Valley and the Dirt Track Dogs seeking a safe haven.

  Found it, they had.

  Safety. It was a nice fucking change. But it wasn’t enough to convince Sally she was truly safe from a claiming. From being a pawn in some male’s macho quest. From being the cause of useless murder to determine who was the best male to have her. It was brutish and archaic and she’d rather fuck every male on earth once than risk being tied to one who only wanted to own her.

  Her choice to be as dirty as possible meant she couldn’t have love. Well, fine. It was worth it to have a clean conscience. To have no one’s blood on her hands. To keep the hounds away. To be free.

  The loneliness was worth it, even if she could never let things get farther than a one night stand.

  But…

  She glanced around the bar, taking inventory.

  …she’d have to go slow through the guys in Cedar Valley. It was a small town.

  Barb belting out the end of the first verse of the famous Lee Greenwood song brought her attention back around.

  The wiry vixen had one hand pressed to her chest just above her glittery pink tube top as she stared down a smirking Rod and sang, “and you can’t take that awaaaaaaay. Because I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free…”

  Sally slid a little lower in her chair, but to her surprise, Seraphina, the sweetest and quietest of the vixens, kicked her own chair back and climbed up next to Barb. “And I won’t forget the men who died, who gave that right to me,” she sang, looping her arm around Barb’s neck and narrowing her gaze at Rod.

  “What the hell is happening here?” Sally hissed.

  “And I’ll gladly stand up—next to you, and defend her still today…”

  Ragan and Lexington raised their drinks to the two crooning vixens, and one of them was humming loudly. Barb raised an expectant eyebrow at Sally.

  “Aw, hell no.” Sally shook her head. “I’m not doing this.” She glared at Lexington who was sneaky chuckling. “You started this. You argued with her.”

  “There ain’t no doubt I love this laaaaaaand. God bless the USAAAAAA!”

  The bar erupted in cheering even though there was still a whole verse left of the song.

  “See!” Barb hollered over at Rod.

  Sexy, sinful Rider had joined him. He leaned against the wall, one leg pulled up cooler than fucking James Dean.

  “That rocked, Hot Bod Turner. In fact, it fucking rocked. It rocked so much I’d say it even rolled. And you know what they say, if it rocks and it rolls...” Barb shrugged, splaying her hands and tipping her head sassily to one side to swivel her shoulders. “… then it’s a rock song, baby.”

  The Red Cap patrons, all in differing states of drunkenness, cheered again.

  Rod shook his head, a genuine laugh rolling from his throat. When the noise died down, he drawled, “It’s Rod. Hot Rod Turner. And… not playin’ it, princess. You can croon all ya want, but that song right there? It ain’t getting played on my classic rock radio station. No. Naw. And hell naw.”

  Sally’s attention was on Rider though. He nodded his head in agreement, dark hair falling slightly over his haunted eyes, and tapped the neck of his beer bottle to Rod’s as if it sealed the words, like some king’s insignia.

  Barb frowned hard. She didn’t like to lose. None of them did. That went for on the race track and in every single matter of life in general.

  “I’ll race ya for it,” she called across the growing din of everyone getting back to their drinks. But her clear sharp voice, cut through it, bringing everything back to silence.

  She had their attention. There was nothing Cedar Valley citizens loved more than a good race. On the dirt track, mostly, but they’d cheer their asses off for a three-legged foot race just as hard as they would at the speedway.

  “Race me?” Rod chuckled as if Barb was off her rocker, but Sally could see she’d snagged him. What blue-blooded small-town guy could turn away a throw-down like that.

  Barb nodded, still standing on her chair, hands ringing her hips at the waist of her low-slung jeans. “On the dirt, you and me. I win, you play this insanely wonderful song on the morning show on the day of my choosing.”

  His lazy smirk took up his entire face as he found his boys. They’d all joined him and Rider. Aaron, Lexington’s mate, who’s laughing gaze hadn’t left her once. And brooding Adam, who was studiously ignoring Barb.

  That man was a mystery. He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t play. Someday, someone was going to have to bust up all his concrete walls and make him smile. Sally would call that event the Smilepocalypse because it would also be the day the world ended.

  Poor Barb.

  “And if I win?” Rod countered.

  Barb considered his question. “You win, you name it. Whatever you want. Month supply of Annie’s cheesecake? Drinks for a year? Your call.”

  He narrowed his eyes, rolling his tongue over his front teeth in contemplation before seeming to come to a decision. He’d probably go for the cheesecake. Annie’s cheesecake was orgasmic.

  “I don’t race bikes,” Rod muttered dismissively. “And you don’t race cars. Sorry, babe.”

  Seraphina scowled and jumped down from her chair, bringing her drink to her lips and chugging it down. Sally noticed the hint of fox eyes in her gaze. Huh. The vixen was close to turning. Interesting since out of all of them, she had the tightest control of her animal.

  The sound of disappointment flickered through the room in a wave of, “aww.”

  But Barb wasn’t so easily deterred. “Someone can race in your proxy.”

  “My proxy?”

  “Sure, why not. How about Sally? She’s on your side in this matter anyway. She’s damn near anti-American if you ask me. Anti-good music at the very least.”

  The hell?

  Sally frowned. “Am not. I’m wearing American flag panties right this very moment. It’s a stars and stripes paradise down there. And I got dressed to Alanis Morissette. Fuck you very much.”

  Barb raised her eyebrows in appreciation.

  “Yeah. So there.”

  “Alanis Morissette is Canadian though.”

  “And damn good music. So move along, bitch.”

  When Sally looked away, her gaze tangled with Rider’s fiery hot one.

  Well hello there, desire. Nice to meet you.

  Fucking hell. The way his eyes were eating her up mad
e her go instantly molten between her legs. His gaze melded to her body like it wanted to become one with it, sliding over every curve and valley. And when he reached her hips and stayed there, something made her slide lower in her chair and spread her knees. Like the wanton woman she was.

  You want to see them, don’t you? My panties. And what’s underneath. You want to have your own personal little fourth of July with little Sally. Don’t you?

  She licked her lips, images of him cradled in the valley of her thighs making her skin flush even hotter.

  “I stand corrected,” Barb quipped, reminding Sally she and Rider weren’t alone and splashing cold water all over her horny vibe. “But she still doesn’t like my song. So what do you say, Hot Shot Turner, DJ of Cedar Valley’s favorite morning show. Let Sally race in your place?”

  “How do I know she won’t lose on purpose?”

  Sally’s gaze snapped away from Rider and leveled on Rod.

  “Don’t make me hurt your face. I never lose on purpose.”

  She stood and strolled over to stand right in front of the human.

  “In fact, I never lose… I only run out of gas and laps.” The wild Dirt Track Dog named Surge taught her that one. Sure, the werewolf was half a fry short of a pancake, but he said things that got a person thinking. She considered him her Smartass Mentor. “And tricks.” She added the last part as a nod to her motocross days, and smiled to herself.

  Damn, she was a fine smartass apprentice.

  The place filled with hollow ohhhhhs and damns and did-she-justs as the throw-down landed right where it belonged… at Hot Rod’s feet.

  He glanced at Rider since he was the closest. And yeah, Sally was so aware of his nearness she was practically vibrating.

  Rider tipped his head, a you’re in trouble smirk playing at his lips. “Gotta do it, man. Can’t let that challenge go unanswered. How will you ever show your face around here again?”

  “Aw, shiiiit,” Rod cursed, and knowing chuckles rose from the patrons listening. “Fine, fine. We race. Tomorrow night at dusk.”