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“You sure? No one’s gonna go easy on you.”
I stepped around him. “I’m sure.”
Goatee shrugged. “Whatever. It’s your ass.” His voice dropped into that skeevy note guys assumed was alluring, but really made most women’s skin crawl. “And what a sweet ass it is.”
Willy stilled, but I gripped his arm and dragged him along. Goatee was just the money guy; he wasn’t the person we needed to see.
A girl in dirty, ripped jeans and a Halestorm t-shirt torn off at the waist was deep under the hood of a Supra. Finally, she stood. “No NOS?” she asked the guy in front of her. “If you use it during the race, you’re disqualified. We want our races to be entertaining, not some kind of dick-measuring competition over who has the most mods.”
“Cat…”
“Don’t wanna hear it. If you can’t win without it, go see Mankles now and get him to give you your money back. This shit is about skill.” The guy huffed and sat back in his car, and the woman—Cat, I guess—turned toward me. “You racing?”
I nodded.“Yeah, the 911 GT over there.”
“Any mods I need to know about?”
I looked over at Willy, but he shook his head. “She’s stock.”
Cat raised an eyebrow. “Care if I check?”
Willy shook his head again, leading her over to check out the engine, while I looked around at my competition. Other than the Supra, there was a Civic that looked like it was going to race, as well as a bright yellow Camaro and a sleek gunmetal Corvette. Most worrying was a Dodge Demon. Those fuckers were fast as hell, and if anyone was going to give me a run for my money with sheer horsepower, it was going to be that one. There were a bunch of other cars, the kind that you always saw at these kinds of gatherings, though I wasn’t sure which ones would race.
Finally, Willy appeared beside me and I watched Cat walk over to the Demon. Yeah, I’d check that bastard out too, purely to drool.
I looked up at the frowning face of my oldest friend. “Did it go okay?”
Willy nodded, but the frown didn’t leave his expression. “Are you sure about this?”
I nodded, not sure I could cough up the words. There was no other option but this. Leading him back to the car, I grabbed my gear. There was only twenty minutes until go time, and I needed to get my head in the race.
There was a hell of a lot more riding on this race than five grand.
TWO
TALLY
Suited up and sitting in Willy’s 911, I breathed a sigh of happiness at being back behind the wheel of anything. I revved the engine, feeling my muscles immediately relax. Being without a car for six months had been like being without a limb, but I’d left my team-issued sponsor car behind when they revoked my contract. I couldn’t justify buying another car with my savings, especially once I landed in San Francisco. There had been more important things to spend my money on than fast cars, especially since I needed a roof over my head.
We were lined up across the road after pulling names to determine our positions, and I breathed a sigh of relief to see the Demon wasn’t in the line-up. I could take the rest of these easy enough.
I was surprised to see a bike beside me, though. Seemed dangerous to race two wheels against four; the guy must’ve had a death wish. I lifted my helmeted head at him, and he nodded back.
Along with the bike guy, there were six other cars in the grid, which was a lot for a street race, but meant that the pot would be forty grand.
The fire suit and helmet were getting me some strange looks, but that had been the provision from Willy. I had no doubt he’d take back the keys, get me back my five grand and take me home, if I didn’t keep my word.
Goatee stood off to the side with a walkie-talkie to his ear, while a girl stood in front of us with a thong in her hand. It was lacy and pink, and I was fairly sure I’d get a UTI just thinking about wearing something like that. The taillights of the guy in front of me were beginning to burn my eyes, but I didn’t care. I was focused on that fucking pink ass floss like it was the last vestige of my freedom.
Finally, she raised her panties high, gave the drivers an exaggerated wink, then dropped it. The car in front of me burst off the line. Adrenaline burned through my veins as the bike beside me jetted between the front two cars, narrowly missing G-string Girl.
Now I saw how a bike could compete.
Focusing on the race, I went through my strategies. We would speed down the mostly unlit seaside highway for twenty-five miles, which should take roughly twelve minutes, given the sharp corners and thin, two-lane road. I kept pace, but didn’t try to make any serious moves yet. Let them jockey for position first; I’d just sit back and ride their slipstream. Happiness surged through my veins right on the tail of the adrenaline.
The darkness was all-encompassing, with only our headlights bouncing off the road reflectors, showing us the way. Another reason I didn’t want to be up front just yet.
Two cars up front got a little too close, and both ran off the road into the dunes on the right. Lucky for them, because fifteen seconds later, they would have been off the side of a cliff.
