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You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you live in torment if you do not trust enough.

—Unknown—

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His sponsor was livid, to say the least, and so was he. Seriously, he had just lost to a chick in a costume who used cheap tactics to distract him! This was unbelievably humiliating. At the brand-new start of this racing season all the attention should have been on him and his projected victory alone!

"-son! Jackson! Jackson! Are you listening to me?" his superior demanded.

Storm narrowed his shades at his boss, an ill-tempered gray Mercedes-Benz. It is a pity the former president of the IGNTR Corporation had just retired and left his company in the tires of his son and heir: a brat, just a couple of years older than himself.

"That will be enough, Mr. Slate," his crew chief spoke up. The black truck drove in between the two. "This loss was unexpected and hard on all of us, especially Jack-"

"I think you mean my pocketbook, Ray!" Mr. Slate raged. "I've had several business deals lined up for today's victory and now two out of the three are reconsidering our contracts! This new yellow racer is distracting them!"

Jackson gritted his teeth. Ramirez.

"My lawyers have been trying to get in contact with Mr. Sterling for the past hour, but they are denied an audience with him because he's currently in a private conference with Tex of Dinoco! Don't you understand what this means?" his harsh eyes turned back towards Storm. "It seems you got yourself a rival, kid!" he spat with disdain.

A rival? That wanna-be-racer a rival to him? Jackson let out a low chuckle.

"You're laughing?" Mr. Slate demanded incredulous, his grill contorted with fury. "Just what-"

"Oh, there's no rivalry."

Jackson revved up his engine. The roaring sound emanating from him filled the entire pavilion. Letting everyone present not only hear his power but to feel it down into the smallest bolt in their body.

Looking a bit overwhelmed, Mr. Slate reversed back up a foot. "J-Just what are-"

"She just got lucky. She used underhanded tricks to get me off my line. I can promise you, sir, it won't happen again."

"Th-then you best get your hood out the clouds!" Mr. Slate retorted. "Stay focused! You must win the next race at the Indianapolis 300 in three weeks. Lose to the new girl there and I will reconsider your contract!"

Storm rolled his eyes at the empty threat. He was the best of the new generation. Slate would be a fool to drop him, but Jackson did agree with him on one thing: there will be no more losing to his girl.

"Do you understand?" Mr. Slate demanded after he finished his rant.

"Loud and clear," Jackson replied robotically. He turned his tires towards his trailer.

"Are we done?"

"We're done."

Storm turned away. He would not entertain him any longer. He left his sponsor's tent and rode out to return to his trailer. No one dared to stop him and the press was all busy with costume girl, the little cheat. He found his trailer already hooked up to Gale and ready to go. Good. He really didn't want to stay a moment longer. He opened the latch and backed right in.

No one could best his top speed. No one! He was a perfected machine born, bred for racing. That's why Ramirez was a trainer in the first place! Because she couldn't make the cut! And then that old grandpa car, McQueen filling her hood with lies… instead, he should have retired and gone quietly into the night like his fellow racers, but nooo. He just had to stick around like a love bug on his windshield.

Just wait till next time.

Next race he will put her in her place, and this time no tricks or schemes will work on him.

Jackson turned up his music to the highest level that it was practically deafening.

His hauler overrides his music system and turned the volume down. "Rough day, Storm?" she asked over the intercom.

"Just a bump in the road, Gale."

The oil in his engine burned even hotter as he let out an infuriated roar. He will show her whose boss next time.

He will get her back.

Storm's confidence was eroding faster than rust. He had won the Indianapolis 300, just barely, not that he would admit it. Ramirez was right on his tail the whole time. Even bypassed him in the second to last lap. Just what was she? She was so crafty and sleek, able to move her way through the pack so slick and smooth. It was only with desperate bursts of acceleration did he manage to cross the finish line first.

What if the next track wasn't as straight as this one? Curves and turns were not his specialty. However, the next track will be to Ramirez's advantage. Could he beat her? Wait, what was he thinking? Storm shook himself. When had he ever doubt his abilities?

As much as he hated to admit it that damn car has gotten into his head.

He glared down at Ramirez as she sat happily on the second-place podium, completely oblivious to him. It didn't matter to her that she didn't win. Like a kid at Disneyland without FastPass, she was just happy to be here. It made him sick.

Storm didn't even bother entertaining the press like he normally does. As soon as he had his trophy, he was off the stage and driving back to his trailer. Ray Reverham, his crew chief, was waiting for him to arrive at the door, looking so grim as if he came in second place instead of Ramirez.

"What?" Storm demanded, getting beyond annoyed.

This chief crew pursued his lips. "Just what was your strategy out there?" he asked. "I told you to cut inside. Why did you ignore me?"

"I always follow my line, Ray."

"Oh, that's nice," Ray replied with heavy sarcasm. "Just follow a line and hope your speed can land you every race!"

Storm felt his tank beginning to roll. "It works doesn't it?"

"Sure, kid. It did, but that was before Cruz Ramirez. She's a slick one. She doesn't follow a line. She curves with the track."

"So?" Storm narrowed his eyes. "Ramirez still came in second," he reminded him.

"Ramirez is a game changer. It's time to make it or break down."

Storm leveled him with a biting glare. "Ray, you didn't just go there," he snarled.

His crew chief was not backing down as he returned a glare of his own. "I rather go there now than for you to continue down a slippery slope!" He drove off without another word.

And boy did that slope continue to steepen and Storm was sliding down without the breaks: He had lost to her again.

The media were now calling her the "Queen of the East" since she had the leading wins in the Eastern State Speedways.

Storm sat alone with his thoughts in the darkness of his trailer, not wanting to see or hear anyone. His stereo completely silent. It was time to get his hood back in the game. He realized that he had no choice, Ray was right. He had to change tactics, but there was nothing wrong with him. It was Ramirez who was the problem.

The solution was simple: she had to go.

But he couldn't beat her down mentally or physically. That yielded rather poor results, but what else could he do? Her mind was set, her determination fierce, but there was still one area he could always exploit. If he couldn't break her will, then he will break her heart.

It was a low blow, but a low he was willing to swoop if it meant getting rid of Ramirez and kicking Lightning McQueen off the radar permanently, and then he'll be the King again. But how was he going to get her to like him much less to love him? Normally all he had to do was be himself and Porsches would throw themselves at his tires.

Storm's social skills were less to be desired, but even he knew there was no going forward until… ugh. Storm threw up a little in his mouth. He had to apologize.

"This better be worth it…" he grumbled to himself.

The dark racer stepped on his latch bar and rode out of his trailer. Dinoco's trailer was just three haulers down. All was quiet. Not even Dinoco's hauler was here yet. So Storm pulled in-between two other trailers and waited. It didn't take long. The yellow racer showed up in less than five minutes.

Cruz has just left the stage and all the press behind. She was rolling back to her trailer sluggishly. "Whoo-boy, this is tougher than I thought…" she muttered to herself. "… those reporters wouldn't have let me leave if it wasn't for Mr. McQueen distracting them."

'Yes, it is tough,' Storm mentally agreed with her. 'All the more reason for you to go.' He felt his oil rolling in his tank as he forced himself to greet her, "Ramirez," it came out a bit gruffer than he intended as he rode out from the shadows.

Cruz jerked to a stop. "S-Storm?" She stuttered, shocked to see him there.

He sent her a smirk. "In the metal."

"Just… just what were you doing here and… and near my trailer?" Cruz glanced around nervously, her eyes lingering on the wheels and bolts of her trailer.

Storm chuckled with amusement. "I didn't sabotage anything if that's what you mean."

Sure, he was a jerk, but not THAT much a jerk.

A dark blue car rode into the scene. "Hey Cruz, I finally got them off your-" his sentence fell dead on his lips when he spotted the black car. McQueen immediately gunned his engine. He sped forward and parked himself protectively in front of Ramirez. "Storm! What do you want?" he demanded harshly.

"What are you now, McQueen, her keeper?" Storm asked, somewhat annoyed. He had forgotten about her crew chief practically being her shadow. If he was to ever to fully gain Cruz's trust, then he will also have to get himself into Lightning's good graces. "Chill, gramps. I simply wanted to congratulate Cruz on her win today. That's all."

The retired racer and his pupil seemed shocked by his answer and then downright suspicious. "Really?" McQueen challenged.

"Really," Storm confirmed. He looked over McQueen's hood to look Cruz straight in the eyes. "You did well today."

"Um…" she blinked, looking more baffled than anything. "…thanks, I think?" she replied.

Okay. Now it's time to apologize.

"Cruz, listen. I wish to…" Storm hesitated. This was hard. In his mind, there was nothing to apologize about. "…you… you belong," he told her instead. A complete lie, but least that was better than apologizing.

Cruz frowned slightly from confusion. "Huh?"

Jackson huffed. This was getting annoying. Was she really this clueless?

"You belong on the tracks, alright? You're not a costume girl, you're a racer!" He turned to drive off without her response. There was only so much he could take in a day.

"Storm!" Cruz called after him.

Jackson hit the brakes and reversed, so he could see her over his side mirrors.

She gave him a half smile. "Good race?" she offered.

Storm decided to humor her, so he nodded. "Good race, but I'm winning the next one," he said and meant it.

A slow grin spread across her face. "Sure, you can try."

Her friendly jab irked Storm greatly, but he couldn't show it. Not when he had made so much progress in less than ten minutes. "Hmph," He drove away.

At least now the ice between them was now officially broken. Let's see how this progress…

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Next Chapter: Misplaced Hatred

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