6. Cassian
Cassian
My engine snaps at the air, ready to be released, as I crawl to the starting line.
A twin-turbocharged Dodge Viper waits for me, exhaust thudding like a bass line.
Its cherry-red paint job gleams under the streetlights.
I have no idea who I’m racing tonight, but Ledger assured me I can wipe the streets with this guy’s ass, and he hasn’t let me down yet.
He’s the best bookie in the city, so if he thinks so, I know I’ll be pocketing a thousand dollars at the end of this quarter mile.
Races are held every Friday and Saturday night in the city.
Ledger’s rules are simple: If you want in, you send a text.
He pairs you with someone, and if you’ve been racing as long as I have, he stacks the odds in your favor.
Ledger takes care of details like location, cops, and bets.
It’s much cleaner than doing it yourself, although Bash still occasionally talks me into that, too.
I press the accelerator to let my car warm up—and to let my opponent know he’s in for a fight.
I’m going to need that grand if I’m going to be off work for the next six weeks.
Adrenaline has my blood pumping hard through my veins.
If I’m completely honest, that’s why I do it.
The money’s nice, sure, but if I were a normal guy, I’d just get a side gig delivering pizzas or waiting tables.
If I did that, however, I’d miss out on the squeal of tires on asphalt as the flag waves and we leave the starting line behind in a cloud of exhaust.
I let the Viper pull ahead, give him the impression he’s got this thing in the bag. Ledger said the dude is an overeager prick living on Daddy’s money, with an ego twice as big as his bank account. That’s all I need to know.
Shifting gears, I coax my Mazda into giving me all she’s got.
She doesn’t disappoint. She wouldn’t, not after I installed an ECU reflash, turbochargers, and larger fuel injectors.
Her nose inches forward until I’m neck and neck with my opponent.
Coaxing just a bit more from the engine, I breeze past my opponent and the finish line.
The Mazda gives a pop as she decelerates, her way of stretching in victory. Circling the block, I head back to the starting line, the Viper hot on my heels. I should’ve asked Ledger to book me for two races tonight. After dinner with the group last night, I’ve been needing to let off steam.
A small crowd thrums with energy as I pull into the abandoned car park. Cars line both sides of the makeshift aisle, bonnets up so the owners can show off what they’ve got under them. Something electric hums through the air as people wait for the next race to start.
I need to find Ledger and collect my winnings, but a familiar dark gray GranTurismo on the other side of the lot catches my attention. It’s not as flashy as his Lamborghini was, but I’d recognize that car anywhere.
When I get over there, Bash is leaning against the side of the Maserati, arms folded over a T-shirt that looks like it’s been splattered with paint.
“Hey, man,” I say as I join him.
“You just finish?” he asks.
“Kicked a Viper’s ass.”
“That’s my boy.” A huge grin spreads across Bash’s face and only grows wider when Briar rounds the car, bag of crisps in hand. “And that’s my girl.” He pulls her in close for a kiss, and I drop my gaze to the ground.
I clear my throat and rub the back of my neck. “Hey, Briar,” I say, sounding as awkward as I feel. Their affection for each other was obvious at dinner last night, but I didn’t realize they were this serious. Bash doesn’t typically go out with a girl more than once or twice.
He lets her go, and she turns around, sheepish smile on her face. “Cassian! It’s so good to see you again.”
Before I have time to react, she wraps her arms around me.
I don’t know what else to do, so I hug her back.
Glancing up in time to see Bash glowering at me, I flip him off and hold his girlfriend just a little longer.
When he looks ready to murder me, I drop my arms with a smile that will definitely earn me a punch later.
“Where’s everyone?” I say, taking a look around. This area of the car park is mostly deserted. I expect to see Shep, at least, and maybe Marlowe. Neither of them race, but they both love to watch.
“No clue.” Bash shakes his head, then drops a kiss to Briar’s head. “But I gotta get over to the starting line. You ready, babe?”
“You’re riding with him?” I ask Briar. Most people race alone—it’s safer that way. Less distraction, for one thing, and less people injured if something goes wrong. Things don’t go wrong very often, but when they do—
“I want to see what all the fuss is about,” she says, grinning up at Bash.
“Your brother would kill you if he found out.” I keep my voice low, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention. If Slate knew that I let his baby sister ride in a street race, I’m not sure I’d live to see the end of the day.
Briar gives me a playful look. “That’s why he’s not going to find out.” She circles the car and slides into the passenger seat.
“Good luck,” I say to Bash, clasping his hand and bumping his shoulder in a quick hug.
As he moves to get in behind the wheel, something in the corner of my eye makes me turn. Vivienne is running toward us, dark hair flowing behind her. She’s wearing jeans and a cropped sweater, and her cheeks are flushed from exertion.
“Briar,” she calls, just as Bash slams his door. The Maserati peels out of the lot, drowning out Viv’s voice.
Suddenly, I understand why she’s here.
“Viv, don’t.” I place a palm on her stomach before she can slip past me, ignoring the way my pulse picks up speed at the feel of her bare skin. “Just let them be.”
She looks up at me with those forest-green eyes, and I teeter on their precipice, everything within me wanting to tip forward and drown in their abyss. “But she’s going—”
“Shhh,” I say, tugging her against me. “It’ll be okay.”
Her entire body trembles, and I rub her back, praying it slows her heart rate. After a few seconds, she begins to relax.
“It’s not going to happen again, okay?” I whisper into her ear.
“How do you know?” She gulps back a sob.
“He’s sober, Viv. I made sure.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “You promise?” Her hand is clutching my T-shirt like a lifeline.
“Yeah,” I say into her hair, which smells like oranges and sunshine and forbidden fruit. “I promise.”
When she pulls back, there are no tears on her face. The last time I saw her broken was the night of the accident. I would pay a million dollars to never watch her fall apart like that again. Nothing makes me feel more helpless than not being able to help her, but that’ll never stop me from trying.
It’s dangerous, this game we play, because she doesn’t belong to me, and she never will.