Page 202 of Vicious Temptation

It turns out, attempted murder qualifies.

My phone buzzes again, and I pull it out, expecting another string of texts. Instead, Thiago’s name appears on the screen.

Thiago: Hey, beautiful. We still on for tonight? Pizza? I’ll grab your favorite.

I stare at the message longer than I should.

Beautiful.

I’ve been called that my entire life, and it’s never meant much to me. Coming from him, the word does all kinds of dangerous shit to my insides, and I don’t even have anything witty to fire back.

Remi, you are so fucked.

Me: I’ll be there, Braga.

Just as I send it, another message pops up in the circuit group chat.

DBN: Black R35 at the line. Gotta be him.

TY345: Fifty grand and pinks? Whoever posted that either has a death wish or knows something we don’t.

I pull my hat lower over my eyes and ease toward the starting line, savoring the attention as heads turn toward me. People point, whisper, and crane their necks to get a better look through the tinted windows. Cameras come out and phones rise as curiosity spreads through the crowd.

Exactly what I wanted.

My mom’s Hellcat sits near the edge of the lot. She’s still behind the wheel and will likely follow close behind once the race starts.

The last thing I wanted was to drag her into this, but knowing she’s here doesn’t make me feel any less capable of handling it myself. If anything, I’m proud.

A red Dodge Charger pulls up beside me. The windows are down, the bass is pounding, and Rafe lounges in the driver’s seat, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and a smug grin on his face.

He took the bait, exactly as I knew he would. Too stupid to piece together what happened to his missing errand boy, but I can’t fault him too much for that. He has no idea who I am or what I’m capable of.

A man with a bullhorn steps into the middle of the street.

I check my phone one last time and see that Thiago still hasn’t replied. It’s probably better this way. I need my head in the game, and that man, all six foot six inches of him, is a massive distraction.

Around us, the crowd gradually falls silent.

I plant one hand on the wheel and rest the other on the shifter as adrenaline floods my veins. Any second now, Rafe is going to learn he fucked with the wrong girl.

The man raises the bullhorn.

“Fifty grand and pinks!” he shouts. “You know the rules. First to the bridge and back wins. No cops, no bullshit, and no excuses.”

The crowd erupts.

Rafe revs beside me, grinning like he’s already spent my money. I fucking love it. It’ll make what comes next that much sweeter.

The horn sounds, and I launch hard, my back slamming against the seat. Tires scream, the engine roars, and Furia disappears behind me in a blur.

“You got this,” I tell myself.

Rafe stays at my rear through the first stretch, his Charger snarling with every shift. I let him think he’s keeping up. I let him believe this is a race, even though I’ve known from the beginning exactly where it ends.

The bridge comes into view, and I ease off the accelerator just enough to let him pull alongside me. He glances over, and even though he can’t see me through the blacked-out windows, I smile.

Just before we reach the stretch I picked out earlier, I fall back to let him pass.