‘Perfect.’ She grins mischievously, flashing a wad of cash between her fingers. ‘Because I want to make some money!’
I jerk my chin toward the trio of racers watching on. ‘What’s the buy-in?’
‘Two grand. They’re still looking for a fourth.’
I nod. Six grand isn’t something to turn my nose up at, but I’m so close to having enough to buy the old speedway. If I’m going to put an offer in by the end of the year, I need to win and I need to win big.
I scan the crowd for X. His real name is Xavier, but no one calls him that. He’s the official bookie, so I just look for the biggest circle of people waving cash in the air. That, and the smell of weed. X has always got a toke hanging from the corner of his mouth.
‘Over there.’ Monique points into the crowd.
X stands in the middle, collecting cash and taking names. He’s in a long-sleeved shirt and baggy jeans with a green bandana hanging from his back pocket. A cloud of smoke hovers around his face.
‘Going in the next race?’ Monique flashes a smile, a light smattering of freckles sneaking through her foundation.
I nod. Adrenaline percolates through my veins in a steady drip. This is what I’ve been waiting for.
‘I’m putting a grand down then.’ Monique smacks her hands together.
‘I’ll put in four grand.’ Doubling my bet from the last race.
Her eyes widen, brows furrowing in a question.
‘I want the speedway this year. It’s going to happen,’ I explain. ‘And when I win this, I’m another step closer.’
Her expression softens and she gives a single nod. ‘Let’s get this win then.’
I pull out a crumpled piece of paper from my back pocket. Scribbled in black ink on one side are the lettersIOU.
‘Just tell X I’ll owe him if I lose,’ I say, after unsuccessfully smoothing it out and pressing it into her palms.
Monique gives me a droll look before glancing at the crumpled paper. ‘Yeah, right. Like he’s gonna accept that. You look cute tonight, but you know X doesn’t let anything come between him and his money.’ She pauses for a moment. ‘I’ll put down six. I know you won’t lose.’ She winks and turns on her heel, but I reach for her wrist.
‘Wait, I have a better idea.’
She arches her brow and leans in. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Get some side bets going. It looks like there’s plenty of new blood tonight. It won’t be hard to convince them to bet against a girl. It’ll be good to have the extra rent money too.’
She flashes a bright smile. I know she’s missed this. We stopped hustling last year, when X became the official bookie, but I’m desperate and Monique can sell gas to a Tesla driver.
Her grin slips. ‘But will X get pissed off?’
‘He’ll let us,’ I assure her. ‘Just tell him it’s a one-off and we’ll give him a cut.’
‘Alright.’ She pulls me into another vice-like hug before turning toward X. ‘What time is it?’ she calls over her shoulder.
‘Hammer time.’ I take a deep breath, attempting to steady myself. Looking down, I give a nod to Chuckie. ‘Go with Monz,’ I command, and he rushes to follow her, his tail wagging.
Opening the door to the Mustang, I pause, unable to stop myself from admiring the sleek chassis. The car is a perfect mix of old-school American muscle and top-of-the-rangemechanics. No one would believe the power under its hood, but I know its potential, and I let loose a smile at the thought.
Sinking into the seat, the leather hugs me in a cool embrace. I get a waft of Jace’s cologne that’s seeped into the seatbelt and become one with the fibre. The smell transports me back; it’s bittersweet, but I still smile. With a twist of the key, the Mustang rumbles to life once more. A sheen of sweat prickles along my nape, making my hair stick. I take the black silk scrunchie from around the gearstick and tie my curls up in a high ponytail.
X motions for the racers to move to the freshly spray-painted starting line for the quarter-mile dash. He pauses and points at me before holding up all ten fingers with a stern look. Next to him, Monique wears a wide grin, giving me two thumbs up. X side-eyes her and she drops her hands, attempting to appear nonchalant. I bite back a laugh, giving him a nod in agreement to his silent negotiation of ten per cent.
Moving into first gear, I press the accelerator and ease off the clutch. White smoke curls in the air as my tyres burn into the asphalt. They spin, squeal and sizzle, warming up for a better grip on the straight.
Through the haze, I manoeuvre into the line-up. The warehouses on either side of the strip have been abandoned for years. The only light we have is from the moon and the headlights of other cars.
