Chapter 5 #2
I’m careful not to let my emotions show on my face, but a wave of nausea climbs up the back of my throat. The twisted man in front of me doesn’t care either way, interlacing his fingers on the desk.
“You understand how important it is to keep him on our side?”
I’m good, but I’m not quite that good, and a muscle twitches in my jaw before I can leash the spike of anger that surges up inside me.
The corners of my father’s mouth lift, and he gestures around us, meaning the house.
“This property has the best security money can buy. The senator’s favor, and other powerful men like him, is partly what keeps your mother safe and comfortable.
You wouldn’t want something to jeopardize that, would you? ”
When I remain silently fuming, he rises from the chair and collects the cigar again, flicking the ash and puffing on the butt as he studies me through a thick cloud of smoke. He would make a good lead role in an Al Pacino movie.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “I’m not this horrible villain you make me out to be, son. Everything I’ve done, every sacrifice I’ve made, was for our family.” He points the cigar in my direction. “And one day, you’ll grow to see that. We’re flesh and blood, you and I.”
He rounds the desk and stops in front of me, the embers crackling as he brings the cigar to his lips and sucks on it before slowly blowing the smoke in my face.
“Don’t fuck with me, son.”
With a hard slap to my shoulder and a smug look I wish I could wipe off his fucking face, he exits the room, leaving me standing there for a few seconds longer while trying to calm down.
My body is shaking, and my hands are trembling.
I swear on my mother’s life, one of these days I’m going to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.
I don’t care what it fucking takes. I will be the last thing he ever sees.
Engines growl in the dark, one after the other, each rev bouncing off the concrete like thunder, while neon lights bleed over chrome hoods and polished rims, which paint the crowd in shades of toxic green and red.
We are parked by the racing line, watching tires leave scorched black signatures on the road as they squeal against the asphalt. The canary yellow color of Noah’s Lamborghini Aventador SVJ is obscenely bright, even in the dark.
“Our boy is up next after this race.” He tips his chin to Cash’s green Dodge Viper ACR rolling through the gathered crowds.
Cash is my twin and two minutes younger than me, a fact I’ll hold over his head for as long as we live.
I eye the black racing stripes on his car as one of the women he keeps on rotation leans over the window.
She presses her forearms to the frame and offers him a view of her cleavage, her generous tits practically spilling out of her red leather dress when she smiles at him.
My brother is a manwhore and always chasing tail.
Me? I am a bit more… selective, let’s say.
Noah whistles under his breath when a redhead walks by in a short skirt. “Damn. Check out the legs on her.”
Someone smashes a bottle behind us, spraying glass everywhere. Maverick glances over his shoulder before sparing the retreating woman a brief glance. “Who is Cash racing tonight?”
“Some loser from the Falls,” I reply, checking the time on my Rolex. It’s almost eight. I told her to be here.
Noah scoffs and kicks his leg up against the car at his back. He tips his bottleneck back and takes a large sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to remove the excess beer. “Guy’s probably still paying off the tires, and he thinks he’s got a shot?”
Maverick chuckles before crooking two fingers at a girl in a leather jacket, who’s weaving through bodies and taking last-minute bids. She notices him and makes her way over to us.
Maverick pulls a thick wad of cash from his pocket and holds it out to her between his middle finger and pointer. “The Honda Civic.”
Noah chokes on his beer. “You’re placing your bet on north side scum?” he asks, laughing once he finishes coughing up a lung.
Maverick winks at the girl and smirks as she walks off. “Everyone loves an underdog.”
“Nah, you just love throwing money away,” I murmur distractedly, glancing around the crowd. There’s no sign of her yet.
“Hey, handsome,” a brunette says when she and some friends join our group. I peel her small, wandering hand off me when she trails her manicured fingers up my chest with a sultry smile.
“Get off the shirt, it’s Versace. Don’t touch what you can’t afford.”
She pouts, but it does nothing to serve her cause… The girl has no class in her leopard skirt and sky-high stilettos. I’m not interested. If she wants dick, my twin is her best bet. I haven’t seen him turn down an offer for easy sex yet.
“I like your car.” Her nails graze my cock through my pants, and I grab her bony wrist before she embarrasses herself further.
“Touch me again, and I’ll break it.”
I release her wrist with a sneer, and she gasps as she staggers back. Tears wobble on her lashes, before she turns on her heels to find her next target.
Noah chuckles, his muscular arm draped over the shoulder of one of the other women, who’s fluttering her lashes at me. “You know, maybe it’ll help that shitty attitude of yours if you dip it once in a while.”
I suck on my front teeth, but then Maverick smacks my chest. “Cash is up,” he says.
Headlights cut through the haze as the racers creep toward the line. Cash’s Dodge Viper ACR is up against a silver Honda Civic, a classic underdog that’s cheap and endlessly modifiable. Maverick smirks at me, and I roll my eyes at his cocky expression.
Up ahead, the racers ease into position. Cash is one of the best racers to frequent this circuit, and anyone who goes up against him has a death wish. Or at least a wish to embarrass themselves.
A girl in frayed cutoffs, with her tanned ass hanging out, walks up to take her spot at the front.
When she raises the bandana in the air, her short crop top rides up to reveal the expanse of her lean stomach, and an almost secretive smile creeps over those red painted lips.
Engines rev and roar like snarling beasts eager to tear into flesh. She waits, her toned legs and slim waist bathed in headlights, before she drops the bandana to the ground. The tires spin, gripping for traction, and the cars speed past with a loud roar.
It’s all over in less than fifteen seconds.
Cash is the winner.
As he circles back, my friends throw playful barbs at each other, amused by the fact that Maverick just burned several grand on a race we all knew would go down this way, but he isn’t upset. Money isn’t an object when you’re from the Heights.
It’s my turn to race soon, so I get in my car and smooth my hands over the leather wheel while the rumbling engine purrs beneath me.
Cash pulls up beside us, fresh from the win, a massive grin on his face. He’s rolling his window down and bragging to the others how easily he crushed the competition.
Racing is in my blood, and nothing makes me feel more alive than pushing this baby to her limits. Not even sex comes close.
Noah rests his arm on my car roof and raps his knuckles on the window. I roll it down, and he leans in. “You’d better smoke their ass. I’ve put a hefty bet on you.”
“When have I ever lost a race?” I reply, only to get distracted when the crowd parts to reveal a certain blonde I haven’t been able to get out of my head since she pulled a gun on me.
My lips curve to the side. “Don’t worry,” I say, watching her search the crowds with her doe eyes. “I always win.”