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“No goodbyes. No what ifs. None of that. You go out there, you race, and you come home to me. You understand?” I tell him, fighting the emotion clawing up my throat.
“Alright,” he whispers, letting me have my way.
“You promise?” I ask, just because I need to hear him say it.
“Yeah, I promise. I’ll always come home to you, Princess.”
His bright blue eyes watch me, and I swallow hard, pushing away the gray clouds and refusing to dwell on the nervous energy filling the room.
Instead, I pull Bodhi toward me, pressing my lips to his fervently, and kiss him, silently praying it isn’t the last time.
Bodhi
The sides of the road are crowded with people to the point that I’m starting to question how any of our cars are going to fit at the starting line.
How did all of these people even manage to get up here? Obviously, I know they came the same way we did, but with this many people, the Castillos are sure to find out about it.
That is, if they aren’t the ones behind the race to begin with. It honestly wouldn’t surprise me. Though, I’m not sure how they’d benefit from it.
I pull up to the back of the group and cut the engine. Stepping out onto the hot asphalt, I scan the area until I find the coordinator. I pocket my keys and make my way up, eyeing every driver I pass behind the cover of my sunglasses.
Some of these guys I recognize. Some I’ve even raced with before. But out of everyone here, Mateo isn’t one of them.
I pay my entry, and he hands me a folded-up piece of fabric.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Pin it to the roof of your car so our drones can keep track of you. We’re broadcasting on our website. Scan this QR code and it’ll give you access,” he says, handing me a card.
“Don’t know that I’ll need this from inside the car,” I joke.
“Give to a friend if you have one here,” the guy shrugs. “Also, just know that we have medics on-site. Someone drove over the edge last week, so we’re just taking precautions. If anything happens, just continue the race.”
I nod before heading back toward my car. What would they say if they knew the truth? That the people who were responsible would probably be here today.
I snap a quick photo of the card and text it to Milo, telling him I’ll be car number 09 and to make sure to pass it along to Sander and Keaton.
After fastening the number to the roof, I climb back inside and begin scanning the crowd.
There’s no sign of Mateo or his guys, though it would be difficult to see any of them in this crowd.
Drawing in a deep breath, I slide the keys into the ignition and start the car. The rumble of the engine is like music to my ears. I feel the vibrations through the soles of my shoes as I rev the engine, watching as the crowd cheers.
It’s only when the bright orange Mitsubishi pulls up alongside me that I realize the cheering isn’t for me.
Mateo fucking Chavez.
I knew that fucker wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. He thinks he’s going to scare us into submission, but I’m not as easily scared as Keaton was. Not that I blame her one bit, but I’m far too fed up with this asshole to let him continue to threaten the people I love.
It’s time he learned that.
Someone approaches his car, securing the same type of banner to the roof of his car, only this one has the number 10 emblazoned on it.
Me: He’s here. Car #10.
Milo: We see him.
They must be watching the drone footage. It’s odd knowing that Sander is here watching all of this take place. An extremely illegal event where people are more than likely making bets on these drivers left and right.
