We tear down the strip, engines roaring. Warehouses and abandoned train tracks blur past. He’s still beside me, inching forward.
Fuck no.
I slam the pedal down and shift into the next gear, the sharp acceleration sucking me into the seat. Chris falls back, but notfar enough. There’s no time to relax yet. These races are over in seconds, but from behind the wheel, it feels like an eternity.
Adrenaline spikes as a group of idiots from the crowd spills too close to the track, shoving each other for a better view.
What the fuck are they doing?One of them stumbles straight into the lane.
He’s wide-eyed and frozen, clutching a metal can that slips from his hand and clatters across the pavement.
“Shit!” There’s no time to think. I jerk the wheel left, swerving to avoid the idiot. The car skids, tires screeching as the tail swings out. The backend fishtails, coming dangerously close to the chain-link fence. It all happens too fast to process.
For a split second, the car snaps sideways and I’m weightless. My grip slips on the wheel as lights flash across the dashboard. Everyone knows it only takes one small thing.
One mistake and it’s game over.
Chris seizes the opening and shoots ahead, his horn blaring in triumph. I bite down a curse and wrestle the wheel back under control. It doesn’t matter what it takes. I can’t let him win this race.
The car finally catches traction with a violent jolt and I gun it.
“Come on, come on,” I chant, watching the speedometer climb.
The distance between us closes inch by brutal inch. My heart pounds in my ears.
The fishtail cost me seconds, but not the race. There’s still a chance. I can make this work. I just have to keep my head clear and my mind on the prize. Chris is ahead now, his taillights flaring in the dark.
I drop my foot again, the engine snarling as I ease into the center of the lane. The gap tightens, inch by inch, until I’m riding Chris’s wake.
“Come on, baby. You can do this.”
The car stops shuddering once I get right behind him, close enough to ride his air.
Too fucking close.
I ease off the gas. My front bumper is a whisper from the rear of his car. Any closer and I’ll scratch the paintwork.
Not fucking happening today.
Chris knows what I’m doing. He’s trying to figure out which side I’ll take.
I stay right on him to force him to commit too early.
Let him guess.
I wait. And wait.
Timing is everything in a race. Any second now, he’ll make a choice that’ll decide the outcome.
“Come on, buddy,” I taunt as the hood drives dangerously close to his rear end. “Make a move.”
The second Chris shifts to block the left lane, I swing right and wrench the wheel.
I floor it, and the car surges forward, slingshotting me out of the pocket in a burst of acceleration. It’s a damn rush.
The moment punches me into the seat as I fly past Chris. There’s no time to think, because the finish line is in sight.
I’m so close to winning this thing.
