SPEED RACER HAREM SYSTEM

Chapter 3: The Client's Wife

Jax stepped closer to the hydraulic lift where Coyote stood, his brows furrowing.

“Hey, what did he say? Why do you look like that?”

Coyote scoffed. “Look like what?”

Jax tilted his head, studying him. “Like someone just had their hopes and dreams crushed with a baseball bat.”

Coyote exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “Mr. Goldberg basically told me to move on from racing. No one in NASCAR wants anything to do with me.”

Saying it out loud made it feel real. Like a cold, hard fact settling into his bones.

Jax shook his head, his voice tight with conviction. “Sorry, bro. That witch finally got what she wanted—grinding your career to a halt.”

Coyote didn’t need to ask who he meant. He already knew.

He sighed. “Dude, you don’t know that. Evelyn is a lot of things, but I don’t think she’s capable of doing this to me.”

Jax let out a dry chuckle. “Yo, are you blind or just naïve? Which is it?”

Coyote opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Jax’s piercing blue eyes stopped him.

“That witch has hated you from the second Mr. Watkins brought you into that house,” Jax said, frustration edging his voice. “She made it clear with every damn thing she did to you. And you still think she wouldn’t try to ruin your career? Come on, man.”

Coyote clenched his jaw. Jax was right.

Evelyn’s hatred had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, manifesting in cold stares and cutting remarks. But what never made sense to him was why.

Why did she hate him so much?

He had never disrespected her. Never given her a reason to treat him like a bug that ought to be squashed.

Jax crossed his arms. “Answer me this—who stands to benefit? Scratch that, who’s already benefiting now that you are no longer racing?”

The answer came to Coyote before he could even think about it.

“Timothy.”

Jax grinned. “Bingo.”

Coyote exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “Doesn’t change anything. I’m still stuck in this auto shop, drowning in bills and debt. And according to Mr. Goldberg, my two options are to be an actor or a p**n star.”

Jax’s reaction was immediate.

“What?! You? A p**n star?!” He burst into laughter, clutching his stomach.

Coyote rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, and he was actually offended when I turned both down.”

Jax finally composed himself, wiping away a fake tear. “Don’t be so quick to reject those options, bro. Hear me out.”

Coyote gave him a wary look. “This should be good.”

Jax grinned. “Okay, so you’re not an actor. But you’re handsome enough that most women and some men would overlook your complete lack of talent.”

Coyote snorted. “Wow. Raw honesty. Love that for me.”

He yanked off his sweat-drenched tank top, the heat in the shop unbearable. His lean, ripped physique gleamed under the sunlight filtering in from the doors and windows, a Roman numeral ‘XII’ tattoo inked on the right side of his chest.

Jax gestured at him. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You’ve already got the look.”

Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, “And as for the p**n thing… honestly, it’d work in your favor. You’d get paid to fuck hot chicks, mostly. That’s a win in my book.”

Coyote smirked, but the second he actually pictured himself in a porno, he cringed.

Nope. Not happening.

“I don’t want any of that.” His voice was firm. “I just want to race. And I’ll do anything to feel that thrill again. Really—anything.”

Jax’s smirk faded, his posture stiffening.

“Yeah, there’s a race.” His tone was careful. “That’s all I am gonna tell you.”

Coyote’s eyes narrowed. “Dude, give me more details. I want in. I need the money.”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Please.”

Jax studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “No. It’s too dangerous. Like I’ve told you before, this isn’t NASCAR or any other motorsport, this is hardcore. A lot of movers and shakers in this city bet on these races, and there are no rules. You could die, my friend.”

Coyote opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, the shop’s front door swung open.

A woman stepped inside.

She wore a fitted blue top and black leggings that hugged her hourglass figure, her long black hair cascading down to her waist. Her presence immediately drew both Coyote and Jax’s attention.

Coyote’s gaze lingered on her face, pretty, but older than he’d first assumed. Late thirties, maybe.

Without another word, he broke away from Jax, grabbed a black shirt hanging on a wall and walked toward the entrance.

She was one of only five customers who had come through the door all day. Business was slow—painfully slow. The shop was barely staying afloat, thanks to the owner’s crippling gambling addiction.

Most people in town avoided this place, probably assuming Coyote’s boss would gamble with their cars.

Coyote couldn’t blame them. It is a strong possibility.

Still, it was the only auto shop that had been willing to hire him—no certificate, no experience, just a guy who knew his way around an engine.

As he slipped the shirt over his head and approached, he noticed the woman watching him—her brown eyes scanning him, lingering a little too long.

Coyote didn’t think much of it. He was oblivious to the attention.

He reached her and flashed a practiced smile—the one he always used on female customers to keep them at ease.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. How can I help you this lovely afternoon?”

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Her eyes remained fixed on him, searching his face.

Then, her brows furrowed. “You look very familiar, like I’ve seen your face somewhere. I just can’t place it right now.”

Coyote’s smile didn’t waver.

“I get that a lot, ma’am. I just have one of those faces, I guess.” He kept his tone light, hoping to steer the conversation away.

He wasn’t in the mood for another fan pitying or laughing at his downfall.

“So, what can I do for you?” He asked, gently redirecting.

She was about to respond when recognition suddenly struck her. Her eyes widened.

“You’re Coyote Watkins!”

Her voice carried a mix of surprise and disbelief. “I remember you now. What the hell are you doing in this dump?”

Coyote swallowed hard, keeping his expression neutral.

“I work here.”

Her face instantly shifted to pity.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I understand, ma’am.” He forced a polite smile.

“Stop calling me ma’am. A handsome man like you gets to call me by my name. Call me Katalina.” She smiled back, her tone softening.

“Okay, Katalina. How may I help you?”

Coyote kept his tone professional, but he could already sense the shift, especially as she caressed his arm.

She was flirting.

“I came to pick up my car. Your boss told me it would be ready today.”

She inched closer.

“Is it the Mercedes-AMG?” Coyote asked, gesturing toward the sleek vehicle parked nearby.

“Yes, that’s mine.” Katalina’s voice was smooth, and now just inches away from him.

“That’s a beautiful ride you’ve got, Katalina.”

Coyote started toward the car, deliberately putting space between them, but she closed the gap again.

“And what do you think of the owner?”

Her gaze locked onto his, something teasing in her expression.

Before he could respond, he felt her hand grab his dick.

Coyote froze.

His eyes darted to Katalina’s face, but she looked up at him with a smile and a wink.