Chapter Three
Nadia
After a little more encouragement, I slid on my leather jacket and hopped in the front seat of Deck’s Supra, forcing Abby to sit on my lap.
We drove far, where concrete turned to dirt and houses turned to trees, Greyveil Summit stalking us in the rearview.
Until we reach a stretch of land that has been paved smooth.
There’s no word for the feeling that overcomes me. Seeing the different tracks, the variety of cars, the neon lights, and even the fucking people. It’s like nostalgia mixed with ecstasy and a sharp twinge of pain.
Deck revs his engine for added flair, as if he needed it with his lime-green wrap and bold, iridescent decals.
Deck is all about the grandeur and putting on a show.
The crowd parts for us, the people from our crew tapping the car and becoming rowdier now that the life of the party, aka Deck, is here. The rest of the crowd, not so much.
There’s a distinct line that’s been drawn, each of the gangs keeping to their side.
Close, but not close enough. Each wanting to start trouble, but deciding against it.
Eventually, Deck finds a spot in the middle of the chaos to park and the two of them hop out.
Deck gave me clear instructions to stay put until he called for me.
“Alright, alright, alright, I need y’all to pipe down for a second. I got someone very special I want y’all to make some noise for.”
Fucking Deck. My eyes almost meet the back of my skull. Why does he insist on making a scene?
“She is LBC bred, a fucking menace on the track, the former Queen of the Daredevil-”
Wait, former? Who the fuck took my title?
“A legend who’s been gone for far too fucking long. LBC, make some noise for your very own: Nadia Slade!”
The noise reaches an insane decibel as I slide out of the car.
Immediately I’m met by the huge smiles on Deck and Abby’s faces, but also on everyone else.
People I’ve not seen in so long cheer for me, clap me on the back, dap me up, and some even teasingly bow as I make my way through.
The grin on my face is the most genuine one I’ve had in a long time.
My chest aches at the weight of this unadulterated joy, at the magnitude of this return, of how much it hurts that I’ve carried all this pain alone when there was a time when these people around me would have carried it for me.
I take up post on Deck’s left, my eyes catching Abby on his right. The look on her face says it all, matching exactly what I’m feeling.
“Let’s get these races going.” Deck whispered to us, leading us just a little up ahead. He daps up JC, the unofficial conductor of tonight’s debauchery.
“No fucking way I’m standing in front of a living legend right now. We got Nadia Slade in the fucking building!” He hollered, inciting more cheers from the people around him, before giving me a hug.
“How you been, JC?”
“Better now that I get to see your gorgeous face.” He pressed a kiss to my knuckles.
“Still a shameless flirt, I see.”
“I gotta lot of love to give. Not all of us can fall in love and knock up the same girl who pushed us off the playground swings, now can we, Deck?” He slaps Deck on the chest jokingly.
“How’s Isla, man? Send her my love, will you?”
“Will do.”
“How about we get this shit started, boss man?” Abby grinned.
“Ain’t gotta tell me twice. What’s up with you, Slade? Should I put you on the card?” JC turned to me.
“Not tonight, JC. Just here to kick back.”
“Gotchu. I’ll catch you three later. Save me a drink.” And with that, he was gone, probably to start announcing races.
The Track had a bit of everything. The main attractions were the actual track that ran the perimeter of the land and the drag strip in the center. Technically, it should belong to the LBC since, logistically, this was still our turf, but everyone was welcome here for some brutal competition.
“Who’s racing tonight?” I asked as the three of us made our way closer to the drag strip.
“From our side, we got Javi, Cy, and Dylan guaranteed to go. We don’t know who they’re going with. We have a couple more people on standby when needed.” Abby said.
“It’s packed tonight.”
“Yeah, well there’s been some gossip going around that someone’s gonna officially challenge for King of the Daredevil, so people are anxious. Next week will probably be the first qualifying race.” Deck replied.
In order to challenge to go up against the current Daredevil champion, one first needs to win two qualifying races- street and drag- before taking on both the reigning monarch and the Daredevil track itself.
I was the first reigning monarch. The first Queen of the Daredevil.
No one came before me, and few tried to challenge me after.
So, to know that not only does someone want my title, but someone already has it, is a knife to the chest.
“How many people have had the title since me, and who’s on the throne now?” Both Deck and Abby stop in their tracks, sharing a cautious look before turning to me. I cross my arms defensively, bracing myself for whatever’s coming.
“Only one person was insane enough,” Abby muttered.
“After you left, everything went stagnant. Everyone was walking on eggshells; no one had a clue how to proceed. Until…” He trailed off.
“Until the current king announced he was going for it, did it, and was crowned that same night. Everything just…resumed.” Abby finished.
“That was about three months after you left.”
A stinging sensation crawls up my spine.
The Daredevil track was nothing before me.
I was the one who cleared up the road to even make a track; no one else was bold enough.
Everyone called me mad for doing it, but I did it anyway.
I flew up that mountain like death was at my back, drifting through those tight curves, and then plunging back down it, and crossing the finish line.
It was my livelihood, my goddamn baby. And there was only one person spiteful enough to take it from me.
“Who’s the King now?”
The question fell from my lips just as the crowd parted behind Deck and Abigail, giving me front row seats to the spectacle before me. For a moment, time stopped.
Leaning back on the hood of a gorgeous silver ‘95 NSX was the ghost of a man who always haunted me.
Dressed in black jeans with chains hanging out of the pockets, a tighter-than-necessary black tee, and a signature leather jacket that I knew carried his patch on the back.
A snarling skull surrounded by smoke. The mark of his gang, the Phantoms.
Riven Devereaux has his legs spread like a king holding court. No one ignored him, and all are vying for his attention. Especially the girl on his left, a pink-haired thing in stilettos. She’s leaning into him to speak in his ear, and I don’t fail to notice his arm casually resting on her waist.
Then, it all comes rushing back. The noise, the lights, my friends exchanging worried looks before dousing me with an ice-cold dose of reality.
“Devereaux is.” Deck tells me softly, as if he senses my sanity wavering. Only a true friend would recognize when I’m about to snap, teetering that line, eager to fall.
Fucking. Fantastic.
Denying my impulses, I walk away, sticking to the LBC side of the turf. The only truly neutral area here is the track itself. It’s a long straight that breaks into a sharp turn, followed by a few more obstacles to keep things interesting.
“Races’ve already started. We’re missing the fun.” I threw a smirk at my friends, doing everything I could to keep my composure as we walked closer to the starting line. We got there just in time for Deck to give a freshie named Dylan a pep talk.
“Watch your turns. Last time, you were spinnin’ out of control and losing precious time overcorrecting yourself.
Keep ’em clean.” Deck’s hand rested on the top of the car, leaning down to look Dylan in the eye.
He’s a few years younger than us, probably just starting out with the whole street racer persona, so I’ll bet he’s nervous.
“Got it.” Dylan paused.
“Any advice, Nadia?” The question surprises me, but I don’t let him see that. Looking away from his opponent, a smug bastard feeling up every single woman flocking to his Civic Type R, I turn to Dylan and tell him what I know.
“You’re racing a Lotus Elise. Which is a beautiful car, but prone to snap oversteer. Don’t make sudden inputs and don’t lift off the throttle mid-corner. Don’t hit the brakes while turning either, and always. Pay. Attention.” He listened raptly, soaking up everything I said.
“He’s racing a Type R. I heard him say he just got it yesterday, so he hasn’t had any time to do anything really.
You’re already at an advantage because of the mods you’ve done, where his ride is completely stock.
Those tires will be dead when, or if, he can even cross the finish line.
I’m damn near certain his alignment is off too, meaning his mid-corner balance is screwed. ”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, as he’s letting off the brakes and pressing on the gas, he’s gonna lose some of that tautness and precision. It’s gonna cost him.” I cross my arms.
“And don’t even get me started on the cooling. By turn five, he’s gonna be heat-soaked. The
car’ll get so hot, he’ll lose power and have a good amount of turbo lag. Capitalize on that.”
By the end of my spiel, Dylan looks a little less nervous, a fire now in his eyes. He wants this win, and he wants it bad.
“Drivers to the starting line!” JC called on the megaphone, cutting through the noise. Deck claps Dylan’s shoulder.
“You got this, kid. You’re LBC. This is in your blood.” Deck encouraged. I give him a nod, and we back up, standing on the sidelines and watching Dylan pull up.
“I forgot just how much of a nerd you are for cars.” He laughs when I elbow his side.
“Fuck off. My superior knowledge is what’s gonna win that kid his race.”
“I hope so. It’s his first one.” I raise my brow.
“No shit?”