Making a Mark: Track Domination, #5

By Megan Slayer

Opening eyes and hearts, one mark at a time.

 

The only thing Tate Blauser's ever wanted to do was race. Motor oil runs through his veins. His wild spirit has kept him from becoming a world class driver. He needs a miracle or he'll lose his ride with Big R.

 

Enter Kennedy Crowse. He's no pushover. The man handles tough drivers and tough submissives with ease. He sees the submissive side of Tate. With a little time, patience and care, the kid could be unstoppable. But there's one hitch—the rules at Big R forbid staff from dating.

 

Can these two find a balance between work and play or will bending the rules be the biggest mark on their lives?

 

This book has been re-edited for this re-issue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Megan Slayer
• Release date: Jun 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393166474

Megan Slayer

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and BDSM themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com. When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.

Book preview

Making a Mark

Track Domination, Book 5

By Megan Slayer

Making a Mark Copyright © 2020 Megan Slayer

Edited by Michele Paulin

Cover Art by WZDesigns

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Electronic Release: 2020

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

Dedication

For CD for the swift kick

To JPZ because making a mark can blow your mind

Opening eyes and hearts, one mark at a time.

The only thing Tate Blauser’s ever wanted to do was race. Motor oil runs through his veins. His wild spirit has kept him from becoming a world class driver. He needs a miracle or he’ll lose his ride with Big R.

Enter Kennedy Crowse. He’s no pushover. The man handles tough drivers and tough submissives with ease. He sees the submissive side of Tate. With a little time, patience and care, the kid could be unstoppable. But there’s one hitch—the rules at Big R forbid staff from dating.

Can these two find a balance between work and play or will bending the rules be the biggest mark on their lives?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

About the Author

Hot Laps

Chapter One

THAT IS A WHOLE FREAKING lot of red. Kennedy Crowse shook his head as he strode through the main building at Big R Racing. He’d worked for a couple different race teams in the past, but none of them embraced the color red the way Big R did. The crimson practically burned his eyes. He’d been brought in to replace Floyd Moore as the crew chief for Tate Blauser. Thank God. Kennedy had heard plenty of shit coming from Floyd during the races he’d listened to. The man didn’t know how to talk to his driver without demeaning him with a slew of derogatory terms.

He hurried through a set of doors at the back of the building, leading to the practice track. Not too many facilities had the space for an entire quarter mile practice track, but being built on a former airfield, Big R exceeded expectations.

The roar of an engine grabbed his attention. He gazed over the small asphalt track. The closer he got to the facility, the more he couldn’t wait to help the young driver. Tate Blauser. He’d read plenty of info on Tate and seen the kid on track during the last two races. Temper aside, the kid could drive. Unfortunately, the crew chief Big R had paired with Tate didn’t get the young man. Oil and water mixed better than those two. The engine stopped and was replaced by the sound of men shouting. Great.

Kennedy caught bits and pieces of the argument.

Nothing but a waste of time, one of the voices shouted. Stupid.

Christ. Kennedy wasn’t a fan of the crew chief—not if that’s how the guy talked to his driver. He saw a figure in a bright red fire suit hop into the truck and speed off. Must’ve been Tate, Kennedy mused. Another man, this one in jeans and a polo shirt threw a clipboard to the ground and shouted, Fucking idiot.

Are you the guy who’s gonna take over this shit? the man asked.

Kennedy glanced over his shoulder to make sure the man was talking to him. I believe.

Good luck. The kid is a brat.

How so? Kennedy folded his arms.

He can’t drive worth a shit. He doesn’t listen and has no respect. If you can handle that, you’re a better man than I am. The man ripped off his hat and forked his fingers into his thinning gray hair.

I don’t know. He seemed level-headed to me. Kennedy sized up the man. Despite being about the same height as Kennedy’s five-feet eleven, the guy stooped. He wiped his forehead often, and his face was twisted in a permanent scowl. Maybe, Tate wasn’t the issue.

He’s too busy checking out my ass, rather than driving. That’s how all those gays are—interested in tapping a hole, not doing their jobs. The man shook his head and replaced his cap. Can’t trust ‘em.

I don’t know. He’s behind the wheel of the truck and still going. He could’ve stood here and argued with you. You know those gays. He gritted his teeth. The asshole lumped everyone who wasn’t like him into the same pile. Kennedy took a deep breath then let it out slowly. If he were interested in doing what you say, he’d be mauling you right here in front of me, not driving.

Because I stopped him. Look. The guy turned his back to the track. You seem like a nice guy. Keep your guard up, and don’t let him give you crap. If you’re still with him in a year, you’ll deserve a sainthood.

Kennedy snorted. With Tate in a year? Oh how little the guy knew Kennedy. You’re being nice so I know not to let him jump me. Cool. He couldn’t help but bait the guy.

Exactly.

Kennedy sidestepped the man then stopped. You know, all gay people aren’t interested in tapping holes, as you put it. We’re hard workers and polite, too. If you give us a job, we’ll do it right and without question. You’ve underestimated Tate. That or you’re a prick and he’s decided not to put up with your shit. He grinned as the man paled. Have a nice day.

The guy’s eyes widened. We? Wait... You’re not one of them, too? Holy hell.

Hell isn’t holy, I don’t think. Kennedy picked up the clipboard on the bench outside the track. Don’t paint everyone with the same brush. You won’t like it when someone expects you to be something you’re not, too. He flipped through the pages. Are these the notes you’ve kept on Tate?

Who the fuck are you? the man snapped.

Kennedy Crowse. Who are you?

Floyd Moore. Floyd snorted. I’ve seen you. I had no idea you were gay. To see you interact on pit road, you’d never know you liked other guys. You don’t show it.

Kennedy gripped the clipboard in both hands. I don’t assume you’re an asshole because of the way you look or carry yourself, either. He turned his attention to Tate zooming around the track. I’ve got a driver to help. Thanks for your advice. I’ll use what’s useful.

He finally strode away from Floyd. What a jerk. Kennedy waited by the fence for Tate to pull onto pit road. Once the kid stopped, he opened the fence and made his way to the middle of the track. As he walked, he checked the times marked on the clipboard. Tate had talent. To be getting around the tight corners in the small time bracket wasn’t easy. The kid knew when to diamond the corners and when to rim ride.

Tate climbed out of the race vehicle but didn’t turn around. He ripped the helmet off his head. Floyd, if you give me shit, I’ll knock your block off. He whipped around and raised the helmet up over the truck. Oh. Sorry.

Yeah, I’m not Floyd.