The Biker's Trap: Claiming The Mercer Racing Heiress

Being Stellan Mercer's daughter was supposed to be an advantage.

On the track, it was the one thing I couldn't outrun.

I slammed on the brakes as another car cut across my racing line, forcing me to swerve to avoid a collision. By the time I took my car into the pits, I was furious, sweating inside my racing suit, and in no mood to hear another lecture about how I needed to be more careful.

Unfortunately, Jax was waiting for me. The academy's golden boy had a two-point lead over me in the standings, and apparently, that was all the encouragement he needed to act like he owned the place.

"You lifted, Mercer," he said, a smug smile spreading across his face.

"Are you kidding me?" I fumed, my fists clenching by my side. "You almost had me killed."

"That's racing, princess." He leaned against a stack of tires, looking far too pleased with himself. "You can't expect everyone to move out of your way just because your daddy owns the team. He bought you the fastest engine on the grid. Maybe try using it."

There it was again. The same accusation dressed up as a compliment. I didn't know this was what everyone thought of me until he transferred to the academy six months after my nineteenth birthday.

You don't belong here. Your father bought you a place, and you're only pretending to be a racer.

I held his gaze. "My lap times are a tenth of a second behind yours, Jax. If you need to run people off the track to stay ahead of me, maybe you're the one who doesn't belong here."

His smile tightened, but he recovered quickly enough to look me over and invite me to an exclusive room at a club that evening.

Apparently, nearly taking me out on the track and insulting my talent wasn't enough; he also thought I'd be flattered by the chance to sleep with him.

I would rather drink battery acid.

He walked away, leaving me with my anger, my coffee-less afternoon, and the familiar suspicion that every man in my world saw the Mercer name before he ever bothered to see me.

And I was getting sick of it.

I was tired of being treated like I might break. The engineers watched me as though one bad maneuver would shatter me, while the guys in the academy seemed convinced I was there to decorate my father's garage. I could put in the same hours, hit the same corners, and post lap times close enough to Jax's to make him nervous, yet somehow my surname always became the story.

Maybe that was why going home never felt particularly appealing after a bad day.

My parents had the kind of relationship people wrote books about. More than twenty years together, and my father still looked at my mother as though he'd won the lottery simply by getting her to marry him. Stellan Mercer could have been running his multibillion-dollar empire after having retired from racing, but if Merritt needed him at her architectural firm, that was where he'd be.

They'd built their own little world around each other and me, and watching them grow old in that kind of love had ruined me for anything less.

With the championship race coming up, and a chance to finally break free from my father's shadow, I didn't want a man interested in my money, my connections, or the novelty of sleeping with a racing heiress. I wanted someone who could stand beside me without feeling threatened by me, someone who would challenge me on the track and still respect me when I beat him.

So far, the academy wasn't exactly overflowing with candidates.

"He's a prick."

I turned to find Chloe waiting near the back of the garage with one coffee cup and a juice box. As the daughter of one of our major sponsors, she had unrestricted access to the paddock, though she seemed far more interested in ignoring the rules than following them.

"He's an idiot," I added, taking the juice she offered.

"I don't see the difference." She shrugged, before studying me over the rim of her cup. "You look like you're about two seconds away from committing a felony."

"I'm tired of being treated like I'm made of glass. And I'm tired of guys like Jax thinking they own the track."

A slow smile spread across her face. It was the sort of smile that usually meant she had come up with an idea I was going to regret.

"Then stop wasting your life in this pathetic little bubble of yours," she said. "Cancel your plans tonight."

I frowned. "What plans? I don't have any plans made . . ."

"Exactly. You're coming with me to the south-side industrial park. My boyfriend's racing tonight."

I glanced toward the garage doors. "Your boyfriend races? When did that happen? Didn't you guys meet like two weeks ago?"

"Your point is?" She looked at me like I was crazy.

And frankly speaking, maybe I was. I knew I was all about 'love could find you in unexpected places', but going this fast in under two weeks was bizarre.

"Street races." Her grin widened. "No telemetry, no engineers, no daddy's money. Just street cars, drivers with something to prove, and pink slips on the line."

"Are you insane?"

"What? You're the one always rambling about what your parents have . . ."

"But not like this Chloe," I slapped a hand on my forehead. "Not like this."

"I don't know what you're so scared of. You don't have to stay and watch the race. A quick pop in and we will be out."

I should have said no. If my father discovered I'd gone anywhere near an underground race, he'd probably have me grounded until I was thirty.

The Mercer name might have opened doors for me, but it also came with enough rules to make even my breathing feel like a regulated activity.

Besides, I'd spent the entire afternoon being told what kind of driver I was supposed to be.

Maybe it was time to find out who I was without everyone watching.

"Pick me up at ten," I said.