7. Dominic
7
DOMINIC
M y fist clenches tightly around my pen in a completely unusable hold around the plastic casing. Its tip stabs harshly into the paper sheet of my notebook, the black ink bleeding slowly onto its surface.
If I ever see him again…
Merely the thought of all the ways I want to hurt him makes my rage overload, and I can’t even piece together an end to the thought.
Staring a thousand yards forward at the front of the lecture hall, I glare down at Professor Bressler but not taking in a single thing the man says or does .
“Seriously, what is wrong with you?” Angelo asks as he sits by my side.
His words cut through the cloud of hate that blinded me to my surroundings. “What do you mean?” “You’re kidding?” He laughs. “You’ve gone all cold-blooded killer all of a sudden. What’s happened now?”
“It’s nothing,” I say through gritted teeth. “Just a dumb party last night.”
“You went to a party? Where the hell was my invite?”
“ I wasn’t even invited.”
“Is that what this is about? You didn’t get invited, and now you’re all pouty about it?”
“No. I crashed it.”
“Now I’m even more mad that you didn’t invite me! That would’ve been so fun.” “Can you just let me talk?” I hiss to shut him up. “He was there…”
“Who? Oh! Him, him? Your, uh, cousin, right?”
“He’s my stepbrother,” I correct.
“That’s not important. What did he do to get you all like this?” Angelo presses.
“He just…pissed me off, that’s it.”
Angelo kicks back in his seat and looks me up and down. “Right. I know what you need. You, my friend, need to run with a different kind of crowd. These college parties are too dull. You need to blow off some real steam. Get that blood pumping, you know?”
“How?”
“I have the perfect thing! Just what you need…” He pauses, purely for dramatic effect. “I’m getting you into a street race!”
I roll my eyes at him. “Great idea, but with what car?”
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Angelo flashes his own car keys at me. “Just don’t scratch her, okay?” He winks and tosses the keys at me.
I just barely manage to catch them with a soft rattle as they land in my palm. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m deadly serious. Trust me,” Angelo assures. “If you must know, I was getting myself ready for a race tonight, but I can clearly see that you need this more than me. So I’ll be a good friend and let you take my spot.”
“Alright, where is this race?” I ask. I must admit, the idea of it is tempting.
“Downtown at midnight. I’ll take you there, and then you can take the wheel.” He smirks and blows a tuft of his dark brown hair from his eyes.
I take a moment to think it over, feeling the weight of the keys in my hand. I like driving. I like speed. I like racing.
“Fine, I’m in.”
Back in my dorm, I grab what I need for tonight. I pull my jacket on, feeling the cool leather ripple over my shoulders as I pull it together and zip it up. I peek through the window out toward the parking lot, waiting for Angelo to pick me up in whatever car I’ll be pushing to its limits tonight. Nothing yet.
I feel the repetitive vibrations of my phone buzzing in my pocket. Pulling it out, I look down at the screen, expecting Angelo’s name to appear, but instead I find Gianni’s, my brother.
Accepting the call, I put the phone to my ear. “What do you want?” “Why can’t you just keep yourself in check for more than five minutes?” he immediately demands. “Seriously, are you doing this stuff on purpose? ”
“What are you talking about?” I play dumb.
“Don’t pull that with me. We both know that doesn’t work,” Gianni retorts. “You racing now? Do you know how stupid that is?”
“Relax. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” “Calm down,” I plead. “How did you even find out about that?”
“It’s my job to find out! Everything you do affects this family's reputation, good or bad, but you just can't seem to do anything good for us. You’re picking more fights, crashing parties, and now you’re street racing?”
“It’s just one night. To blow off some steam,” I assure him. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I do have something to worry about—my dumb brother getting himself into trouble,” Gianni curses. “Do you know how dangerous this is? Do you know who’s involved? How did you even get into this thing?”
“A friend gave me his spot. He’s told me everything’s legit.”
“Which friend? Who do you know that?—”
I cut him off. “Just somebody from class; he’s cool. He’s helping me out here, and I’ve got it handled.”
“I don’t care who this friend is. I don’t know him, so I don’t trust him. I want you out of this thing, now!”
“Do you know what? I do know him, and I’m going to this race. If you want me to stop, you’ll have to drag me out of that car yourself.” I end the call and slam my phone down on my desk.
I can handle myself. I don’t need Gianni constantly looking over my shoulder and telling me what to do. I hate it when he treats me like a kid. All it does is make me want to defy him even more. I want to race now more than ever before.
A blaring horn sounds from the parking lot below, roaring through my window and making my entire body feel like it’s shaking. Staring outside, I see Angelo leaning his head out the window of a seemingly brand-new, perfectly clean bright purple sports car.
I can’t wait to drive that thing.
Riding shotgun in Angelo’s car, I feel the roar of the engine all around me as the car careens down the Montcove streets. Screeching around corners, it barely dodges around the scarce nighttime traffic and races past stop signs and traffic lights.
“Can you even control this thing?” I ask Angelo, barely able to hear my own voice over the sound of the car.
“Why should I let you have all the fun tonight?” he calls back with an excited holler. “Just you wait til you’re behind the wheel.”
The dark gray shades of buildings around us blur together with the gleaming neon lights of the nearby signs and traffic lights to create a kaleidoscope of color as we fly past them in a flash.
The faint aroma of gasoline mingling with the warm air fills the car through my open window, creating an almost primal sense within me. This is intense, raw power. The power I can’t wait to have in my control.
“How much farther is it?” I yell over the engine’s growl.
Angelo grins. “You can’t wait, can you?” He chuckles to himself. “It’s just up here. We’re almost there.”
A smirk rides across my face.
Good.
Finally, I get to sit in the driver’s seat. I set the chair to the right position, letting my legs stretch out as they test the pedals. I wrap my hands around the steering wheel, feeling the leather grip onto my palms, and I hold onto it like a firm handshake.
Looking to my right, I see the row of other racers all set up in their cars as ready as I am. Each vehicle seems as expensive and intricate as the last, all of them boasting modded engines, spoilers, and racing-grade tires.
To my left, Angelo leans in through my window. “Alright, man, bets have been locked. I settled your entry money for you, so we’ll split what you win, but you owe me if you lose.” He pauses. “So just don’t lose.”
“Okay, don’t lose. Got it,” I reply, not taking my eyes away from the street ahead of me. “Anything else? ”
“The finish line is a quarter mile ahead of you, just in line with that stop sign,” Angelo relays to me. “Cops should be distracted across town, so we’re all good here.”
“Should be?”
“Well, nothing’s guaranteed. Just win this thing, alright?”
“Alright.”
Angelo steps back from his car, giving me time to get in the right headspace. I shoot my gaze down to the end of the street, focusing on the small red speck of the stop sign. That’s the target. That’s my goal.
A man wearing a large black hoodie covering most of his face steps out in front of the cars, holding his arm aloft in the air.
I hold tightly to the wheel with one hand, my other on the gearshift. Feeling the weight of the gas pedal beneath my foot as I test it over and over, I hear the aggressive purr of the engine roaring to life.
The others do the same, the revving sounds combining to create a harsh melody of machines.
My eyes hold steady on the hooded man, waiting for the moment he drops his hand. Waiting and waiting and waiting until his arm slices down through the air.
I slam down on the pedal, pushing it down into the floor of the footwell, as the tires screech against the asphalt. I wrench the gear stick from first gear and slam it into second.
Feeling the raw power of the screaming energy fall under my control, I push the car to its very limits. Fighting back against the g-force pinning me back in my seat, I try to calm my exhilaration and focus on the road ahead of me.
I throw the car up another gear.
Despite my rapid speed as the car hurtles down the street faster than I’ve ever gone before, time feels like it’s slowing to a stop. Mere milliseconds seem like minutes, allowing me to take in every single aspect of the race.
Another gear.
The other cars just barely keep pace with me, and I edge alongside another racer to stay in first place. The roar of the engine and spectators cheering and shouting surround me, and then I catch the flashing lights appearing in my rearview mirror .
Fifth gear now.
The rhythmic red and blue lights warn everyone of the chaos that is about to come.
Members of the crowd scatter in whatever direction they can, ducking into the side streets and alleys and jumping into cars and motorcycles they have at the ready before peeling off away from the scene.
Two of the other racers veer from the road and take off in another direction, while the rows of squad cars give chase behind us and struggle to catch up. Darting my eyes to the side, I see just one other car keeping up with me. Not too far from the finish line; I don’t want to give up now.
I shift into its sixth and final gear, laying my foot down hard on the pedal and not looking back. Determined to win, I keep accelerating as fast as I can, pushing the car as far as it will go.
Almost at the finish line; I can’t let up now. I have to win this. I don’t care what happens next. I don’t know if it’s the endorphins rushing to my brain or what, but I need to win.
I lose sight of the car by my side as the driver gives up and falls back behind me to disappear in another direction.
I’m going to win this.
My car screams past the stop sign, blasting past the finish line. I slam my foot on the brake, putting the car back down into fifth, and screech around the next corner.
I can’t see the cops, so they can’t see me.
Throwing the car back to its highest gear, I tear down the street, weaving past any cars that are in my way and ignoring any stop lights.
In the distance behind me, I catch sight of a single car just barely following after me, but it has no lights or sirens. I have to hope it’s not a squad car and is just some other racer or maybe even Angelo coming after me in another car.
I hit the brakes and slow the car to an almost complete stop, swinging around and pulling into an alleyway off of the street.
Pulling up close to the wall at the end of the alley, I yank the handbrake and turn off the ignition, killing any lights coming from the car. Shrouding myself in the darkness of the alley, I duck my head and pray that the cops won’t find me .
I fight against my own breathing as my heart is thumping out of my chest, and I beg them to settle.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Just relax.”
I do my best to take on a solid deep breath, barely letting it out of my lungs.
Slowly, I raise my head up and turn over my shoulder to check the coast is clear behind me. Nothing appears to be there, but suddenly, headlights flare on, blinding me from what’s just pulled into the alleyway.
I scan my surroundings, now that I can see better, thanks to my pursuer’s high beams. No matter where I look, there’s no other way out. No fence or wall I can climb. Not a single door or window on the tall buildings on either side of me.
I’m trapped in here. There’s no other way out than past that car.
Slowly, I reach for the handle of the car door, gently pushing it open. Creeping my leg out, I step my foot onto the ground beside me and stand up from the car.
Squinting my eyes, I am unable to make out anything behind the thick veil of light until the driver shuts them off. Their own door swings open, and a shadowed figure steps from the vehicle.