Page 21 of Fueled Hate

Starting the car, the engine revs to life, and I shift into gear, steering onto the track, avoiding the water box as I inch to the starting line. Holding the clutch down, I shift into first gear, pressing the accelerator as the engine revs. It’s like riding a bike. Everything feels like it should. A Camaro pulls up on my right about four feet away. Revving the motor, I look forward to the dark track ahead and the flagger points to both of us, signaling to kill the engines.

“First over the line wins. Launch on my signal.” The flagger clicks the flashlight on in his hand, flashing the light before clicking it again and killing the light. “Keep it clean, fellas.” He points to both of us again, waiting for acknowledgement of the very simple rules. All drivers should be able to follow them—but they don’t.

Nodding in agreement, I keep my eyes forward, focused on the path in front of me. He signals for us to start our cars up and I do that, the STI rattling to life.

Conor McGregor said it best “Losers focus on winners. Winners focus on winning.” Don’t be the loser, Noah. Be the winner. Focus. Drive. Win.

Instinctively, my foot presses the gas pedal, revving the motor as the car vibrates beneath me. The long-ago conversation plays in my head again and again until I see the flashlight signal the start of the race.

Taking off, I don’t look for my challenger. I don’t care about his start. I only care about my finish.

Darkness surrounds the track, only the headlights provide a glimpse of the abandoned pavement with rubber markings covering the asphalt. I’ve raced on dirt, cement, gravel, all of it. But this place has a life of its own.

Crossing the finish line, I note my opponent finishes behind me. Two more wins, and I’ll be in the final race. The only race I’m here for. The only race that matters.

The second race runs much like the first. A Mustang to my left, launching with only my path in my tunnel vision as it becomes a blur, the finish line behind me as I see the Mustang come up short.

The next race is closer at the finish, but I cross the line first, sending me to the final race.

Pulling off the main track, I shut off the car, and step out. Parker shouts out wagers for the final race which starts in five minutes so bets close in two.

Leaning against my car, Bryce joins me, propping beside me as he says, “Damn, boy, that was solid.”

“Thanks.” I glance over at the ZR1 pulling up ten feet away.

Kyle steps out, lazily glancing over me. He moves next to Sadie, leaning over to whisper something in her ear.

Why? Why the fuck does she let him touch her when he was just kissing someone else right in front of her? I’m more than aware that my rage is showing on my face, and Kyle takes notice as he grins, walking over to me. I need to get my shit together. I know how to play mind games better than anyone—and I can’t let him, or her, get to me.

“I know you like watching, so you’re welcome to watch me take both my victory lap and my victory pussy tonight.”

“I doubt either would be a good show,” Bryce says as I remain silent.

Kyle looks over his shoulder glancing to Sadie who’s a few feet away, talking to Willow and Parker. “What’re the odds, Park?”

Parker disregards him, though Willow answers in the form of flipping Kyle the bird. I knew I liked her for a reason. Sadie should really take a cue from her friend.

“I don’t need to know the odds. I know the outcome,” I say to Kyle. Most of the crowd surrounding us were already focused on the conversation, but now others inched forward to enjoy the shit-talking. Only I’m not blowing smoke up his ass. I know the outcome, and it won’t be him taking a victory lap ever again on this track.

Kyle turns to look back to me, tilting his head. “Is that right? Well, if you’re so sure maybe we should up the stakes.”

“What do you have in mind?” Bryce asks, pulling the baiting move we’ve done a million times. Only, I don’t want his car. Not yet. Bryce continues, lying through his teeth. “I don’t have much cash on me, but maybe we could come to some arrangement.”

“How about we race for pinks?” Kyle says, giving my car a dismissive glance. “I’m sure I could part it out or something.”

“I don’t want your car.”

“What are you doing?” Bryce whispers as he leans over. I know I’m going off script, but this is a better mind game then taking his car. I’ll save that for later. Right now, I have my sights set elsewhere.

Kyle laughs, looking back to his ZR1. “Are you sure? It’s a much better ride than you’ll ever be able to get your hands on.” He shrugs his shoulders, egging on the crowd before asking, “So, you don’t want the car, and you don’t have the cash, then what are the terms?”

“Her.”

The grin drops off Kyle’s face as a gasp sounds from behind him. I’m guessing it’s courtesy of Willow or Sadie. The only ones who know exactly who I’m talking about. Kyle’s certainty has faded, yielding to his weakness, but he won’t give in that easy. “And what do I get if I win?”

“Fuck off. You are not seriously having this conversation right now,” Sadie interjects, moving in front of Kyle. He ignores her. Bull’s-eye.

“Name your terms,” I say as Sadie’s furious scowl turns to me.