“Uncultured Brit.”
Christopher ignores me, turning up the volume and singing along.
“Fat bottomed girls you make the rockin’ world go ‘round.”
The guitar kicks in and so do our engines. Anticipation cracks and fizzles as Queen counts down the few remaining seconds on the red light.
Green flares and I drop the clutch.
Tires spinning, the screech of rubber against pavement hits the air as throttles are pressed and cars go barrelling forward. I jolt ahead, the weight of the Challenger gaining traction far faster than the lighter alternative.
Headlights bounce reckless off the two-lane highway, deadly turns lost and forgotten as I race from the Mustang picking up speed, the lone wolf who never seems too far behind.
My grip tightens as curve after curve whizzes by, the night sky nothing but a blur as Christopher chases me, chasing away the feeling of entrapment and offering me a glimpse of what life could be like.
In another place. Another time.
The blood I spent hours scrubbing from my skin gets caught on a wayward branch and lost in the darkness. The pain I’ve endured and the pain I’ve inflicted falls somewhere beneath the tires of Christopher’s car, crushed and flattened until it bears no weight on my conscience.
It’s a fleeting, temporary feeling that envelopes my being until I forget about the diseased soul hiding inside. The infectionthat’s left nothing but a rotten core, a shell of the person I used to be.
Christopher’s headlights glow brightly in my side mirror, a blinding beam of sunlight that paints a beautiful picture on the twisted road ahead.
Laughter breaks free from my chest as I cut him off, forcing his bumper tight behind mine as we go speeding into the valley. He catches me on the next turn, the silhouette of his middle finger casted through his window.
Birds screech and take flight as my cackle rings out over the valley, the heavy flap of their wings fanning the flames of freedom licking at my heels.
Buzzing with adrenaline, flushed with the risk of every turn, I feel alive for the first time in ages.
A girl who is finally free.
Chapter 36
CHRISTOPHER
There’s no way I’m winning this race.
Not fairly, and certainly not without the help of my nitrous system. Bit of a cheap shot, if I’m being honest, but Calista’s got a supercharger on that sexy fucking engine and there’s no way I’m beating her otherwise.
Cranking the steering wheel hard to the right, I just about graze her bumper as I pull ahead and round the last corner. My ride is better suited for taking corners at high speed but Calista’s got the straightaways locked and fucking loaded.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, darling.”
The bitter wind steals my voice before it gets the chance to hit the silhouette in the driver’s seat, but I swear I see those painted lips curve into a smile.
The road evens out, and just like that, we’re on the last mile. The final stretch of road that will lead one of us to victory.
A high-pitch whine fills the sky as Calista’s supercharger kicks in and she starts to pull away. It took me a bloody long time to bridge that gap and she’s making it look easy as fucking pie to hit the finish line.
It feels like second nature, reaching over and hitting the button that releases the nitrous oxide. Instead of pumping my engine full of supplemental air like the supercharger, the chemical reacts with the air inside, breaking free with the higher temperatures and kicking the engine into overdrive.
My gorgeous girl gets her second wind and we go charging forward, the jolt pressing me hard against my seatbelt as I bridge the distance with the hellcat.
Calista has her eyes focused on the road ahead, her painted nails gripping the steering wheel like it’s her favourite blade. Adrenaline gushes from every crevice as the streetlight comes into view, a red light blinking innocently as we go racing towards it.
Almost there.
We’re neck-and-neck, the front ends of our vehicles taking turns at pulling ahead. It’s a close race, but I don’t plan on losing.
