Chapter 9
Scarlett
I toy with the faux blade on one of my dangly guillotine earrings, lifting it up and then letting it drop.
Over and over, absently. I’m sitting on the roof of the Pantera, legs outstretched, one of my girls braiding my hair.
I’m a big ol’ deal out here on the track.
Viral videos? Official P-Trip racer? Talks with some big-time Hollywood hot shot?
I smile, waving the girl away when she finishes but offering her a little tickle of my fingers under her chin as a thank you.
“Oh, you’re a real cutie, aren’t you?” I tease, and the girl blushes, scurrying off to rejoin the fold.
I surreptitiously check the thigh holster that I put on earlier, feeling my weapon through the lump in my skirt for reassurance.
I keep expecting one of the guys to jack it out from under me. They’ve all got pretty thieves’ hands.
Widow scoffs in disgust from behind me, leaned up against the side of his purple Stingray. But he doesn’t say anything. My attention sharpens to a fine point, my eyes flicking over to look at him.
“You got a problem, Lawless?” I ask Widow, but he doesn’t look at me. He stands there with a pair of chains around his neck and stares through the chain-link fence toward the track.
“How about we make a deal? Every time you flirt with a girl, I flirt with one, too,” is his flippant reply. I roll my eyes.
“Nah, to make it fair, I’ll cut you this deal: flirt with as many boys as you want and we’ll call it even.” I stand up in my heels and Basti makes a sound of pure frustration when he sees me standing on the freshly detailed Pantera.
“Girl, please,” he grinds out, flapping his hands at me.
“Have some mercy on this poor devil, my God.” He holds out his arms and I put my hands on his shoulders, leaping into his embrace and throwing a nasty look over my shoulder.
Widow works his jaw but says nothing. He’s learning. They all will, given time.
“You shouldn’t have agreed to this stupid race,” Nisha warns me for the millionth time.
She’s right. I shouldn’t have. But it’s too late now.
Backing out is a bitch move, and I’d rather die.
I rub my hands together and grin. I’ve hated Prescott for a long time.
I still hate Prescott. I’ll probably hate Prescott even more tomorrow.
But today? I like this neighborhood.
“Has there ever been a Prescott girl who raced all her fuckboys at the same time?” I lift a brow as Nisha tugs on her gold hoop earrings and looks at the woods instead of my face. “We’re making history here, Nish.”
“History?” She laughs at me, her lips painted with shiny gold metallic. My girl is all dressed-up today for a reason methinks. “This is madness. They’re going to fuck you over, and then you’re going to be pissed. It won’t end well.”
We all pause as an early nineties minivan rumbles down the pothole-strewn road to park amongst the sea of classic cars.
Hype the Hacker hops out of the driver’s side, lime green boots splashing in the mud.
She’s dramatically chewing her gum, a hood thrown over her dark purple hair.
Her bangs match her shoes and her shirt says Fuck No, I Won’t Fix Your Computer.
“Sticky Fingers” by Ashnikko has just started playing on the many car radios that are stationed to KMZI 66.6.
Both Basti and I creeeeak our necks over to look at Nisha.
She’s stopped tugging on her gold hoop earrings, lips parted, eyes shining.
Before we can tease her about her new crush, she’s taking off in gold Chucks that used to belong to her dad.
Painted ‘em herself. Mud splashes around her legs as Nisha struts over to Hype in a pair of short-shorts and a whole lot of attitude. She towers over the new girl, but Hype doesn’t seem concerned, lifting brown eyes up to glare at her.
“Can I help you?” Hype demands, sucking on the straw of some froufrou pink drink.
Bubble tea or some shit? Middle-class crap.
I knew the moment I laid eyes on her that Hype was not from Prescott.
She reeks of Fuller High. She grumbles something in Korean, like an angry hacker gargoyle.
“There better be a car here for me to race tonight.”
“Yeah?” Nisha pops a hip, rests a fist on it, looks her crush up and down.
“You think our word isn’t good? This is Prescott, bitch.
Truth is currency.” Nisha sniffs in disgust and then scoffs a laugh, shifting her eyes to me and Basti.
We’re drooling over this interaction and Nisha hates it because she knows we’re going to tease her mercilessly later.
“We got a car for ya. Thing is, I want to challenge you to a race.”
Hype snorts and drops the drink from her lips, giving Nisha a dark look. If I hadn’t explicitly been told that they slept together, I’d never know. They both think they’re playing it super chill right now. It’s hilarious.
“You want to challenge me for what?” Hype responds, shoving her hood back. She’s a full fuckin’ foot shorter than Nisha, but she glares up at her like she’s a hundred feet tall. “Think you got something I want?”
“Be my fuckgirl,” Nisha declares, and the entire parking lot goes nuts. This is big news. My second-in-command acquiring a fuckgirl? This is huge. This is top tier Prescott goss. “If I win, you’ll be my fuckgirl. That’s what I want.”
Hype gapes at her, mouth hanging open. She says something like “aish, ssi-bal.” Bet that means ‘I am so fucked’. If it doesn’t, then she doesn’t know Nisha very well.
“And if I win?” Hype puts that straw back in her mouth and glares through a ring of dark eyeliner. “What do I get?”
Nisha bends low, gold hoops swaying.
“What do you want, cupcake?” she whispers, and Basti and I howl. This is gold. This is amazing.
Hype blushes and nearly drops her drink, using the straw to point at Nisha aggressively.
“I…five-grand.” Hype lifts her chin, and I shake my head in bemusement.
This bitch shook us down for seventy-five K before even delivering the information we asked for.
Now she wants to race for a measly five-thou?
Somebody on this track is pussy-whipped, and it’s not Nisha. “I want five-grand in cash if I win.”
“I’ll give you ten,” Nisha says with all the haughtiness that I’d expect from my right-hand chick. She waves the grand marshal over as Bastian and I exchange another look. Bohnes materializes out of the shadows to join the conversation. He smells like cardamom and nicotine and bullshit.
“Aw, isn’t that precious? Do you think we’ll be invited to the wedding of Han Ji-Ah and Nisha Webber anytime soon?” he muses as my best friend and her crush fill out the clipboard, scribbling down what they’re racing for and signing off on it.
Let’s be real here: Hype knows she’s going to get ass whooped by Nisha. This is an act of flirtation for real.
“No way she asked for a car to race just to end up in Miss Webber’s web,” Basti teases as Nisha comes back over to us, a single perfect brow raised in challenge. “Hype didn’t come here just for pussy—which she was already getting from you, mind. So what does she want?”
Widow moves in to join our circle, and I like that.
I like having him and Bohnes around my friends.
This needs to be our new normal, group hangs.
Alexei is keeping a low profile inside the Devil, sitting in the passenger seat with all the windows rolled down so he can listen in.
Whenever I look back at him, we end up staring weirdly at one another.
“She’ll race some Oak Valley snots for cash.
” Nisha shrugs. “Not that I give a shit. So long as she’s my fuckgirl and we have an understanding, Hype can milk trust fund money out of rich idiots all night long.
Hype isn’t the one I’m worried about.” Nisha bares her teeth at Widow and Bohnes.
“Dick-swinging bitch boys.” She spits at the ground near their feet, but Bohnes is unfazed. Widow is blatantly annoyed.
“You think we’re wrong about Kelly?” he demands, addressing Nisha directly. Widow plays with the chains draped around his neck, but absently, not like he’s threatening Nisha. I wouldn’t allow that. Ever.
“Obviously not, but Scarlett is the Queen for a reason. Sometimes, I question her judgment. Dating you, for example.” Nisha gestures at his person and scowls.
Now they’re both scowling at each other.
“But in the end, I choose to follow her for a reason. If she says Kelly is worth it, then I believe her.” Nisha takes off for her Lotus Elan, the car she fixed up with her dad, and heads for the starting line.
I am not surprised when she wipes the floor with Hype.
I am surprised to see Nisha storm over to Hype’s borrowed vehicle after, rip open the door, and French kiss her in front of the entire track. Everyone cheers because everyone knows everyone around here.
We might not have much in Prescott, but we find community at the track.
We find love.
We find family.
I look over at the sound of a fastback rolling into the parking lot, a straw between my lips, bubbly cherry cola on my tongue.
Joanne Kingston brought a cooler full of drinks tonight.
Smart thinking. My mind is honed like a blade, tuned in to the specific details of every vehicle that enters my territory, so this one catches my attention right away.
I’ve been waiting for it.
The new arrival is a ‘69. It’s a Shelby GT500. It’s blue with a white stripe.
It belongs to Ash.
The fun and games are over for me immediately, even if I was genuinely enjoying teasing Nisha about making out with Hype in front of everyone.
He’s here, and this is it. Tonight, Ash Kelly’s fate rests in my hands.
With his hoodie up and his mask on, Ash climbs out of the car in bright red sneakers.