Her Sloth (Her Sins #6)

Prologue

PLAYLIST: MEET YOU AT THE GRAVEYARD – CLEFFY

The motor of my Hellcat gurgles as we stand at the red light next to each other. I glance over to her through the passenger window.

“You will never beat me,” I shout over to her.

“Get used to seeing backlights,” she says, laughing. I haven’t seen her this alive.

“I will,” I say as I let my Hellcat roar.

“Yeah, that’s nothing,” she says, letting her modded 1972 Porsche roar. “No one beats my girl.”

I glance briefly at the sign counting down the seconds until it turns green.

“What’s the price I get?” I ask as the number turns to twenty-three.

“Whatever you want, because ain’t winning,” she says, grinning broadly.

I laugh with her as a gust of wind blows through the open windows, making her long blonde hair swirl. It’s a hot September night, and the road in front of us is as empty as Columbus Avenue gets at night.

I look at her for just another moment. Her blue eyes are so intense. She didn’t belong in my world, and yet she became everything I am.

Both our eyes flash to the counter.

And then the world turns silent.

It is this one nanosecond between the anticipation of what comes and the moment where the lights turn green, and nothing else exists. It’s the only moment everything in me is truly peaceful.

The light turns green.

My Hellcat roars as I press down the gas pedal.

She is not just any Hellcat.

She is an originally 700-hp Dodge Challenger beast powered by a supercharged 6.2-liter V8 with dual-bottle NOS that I reworked to a 1001hp monster.

But I also know not to underestimate Elise. She and her girl—that’s what she calls her Porsche—are a dangerous duo.

The sole exception is that she is young and inexperienced. I had to make my way on the streets after my mother left us and dad disappeared into getting food on the table.

I have raced them all and lost everything from nothing. I know my car better than anyone in the world.

Elise is hungry.

Hungry to prove herself, which makes her recklessly dangerous.

The acceleration presses me into the seat.

That feeling where the brain lags behind, and the pressure compresses the chest—I live for it.

My fingers close around the steering wheel as I pull her into the red before I shift. The roar echoes back to us through the buildings to our left and right.

El is in front of me; that Porsche has epic acceleration and is light as fuck, but I have NOS and am also a better driver.

I let her sniff the air of winning.

We shoot over the next traffic light that just turned red.

And then, just a second before we hit the quarter-mile, I press the little red NOS button, and my Hellcat shoots forward as the nitro kicks in.

I shoot over the next lights just a couple of inches in front of her.

We come to a halt at the next light.

“Told ya,” I say with a snigger.

“Fuck you,” she says and laughs.

“No one beats me on the quarter mile.”

She eyes me for a moment.

“Life at a quarter mile per hour,” she says.

“Exactly,” I say.

Sirens behind us.

“Get lost!” I shout at her.

We ignore the red lights; she turns left onto Broadway, while I stay on Columbus Avenue and speed my Hellcat up.

I see the Porsche’s taillights for just one moment before I focus on the road again. I have never loved anyone, but Elise is the one I’d ride or die for, from the very first moment, until forever.

I stare down at the graveyard, where all those people stand in their black dress-up to mourn someone they never really knew. A feeling that is close to burning down the world and crushing everyone in my way chews at my insides as the unforgiving Hawaiian sun burns down on me.

The people who didn’t even know her, who leached off her name and backed her into a corner. A father who took everything from her to push her into a life that was never hers.

Those people—none of them meant anything to her. We were her family. The escape. Until her father took everything.

Murderous rage consumes me by now.

I turn away, glancing at the sky. She isn’t here anymore anyway; it’s just the empty shell of a body. The last piece of her.

I send a prayer to her in the sky.

I will forever love you, my angel.

Back in Manhattan, I sit in my Hellcat and drive off.

I drive, but the feeling doesn’t go away.

It chews on my insides, ripping my last moral from me.

Like steered by an external force, I turn onto Columbus Avenue.

The light at the corner of Broadway turns red.

The memory of her drivin’ away flashes through my mind.

That last look. That last laugh. The backlight of the Porsche. The Porsche she crashed into the building because she was too young. The crash that made her father control her and pull her away from us. Away from her safe space into his claws.

Someone honks—my eyes flash to the light; it’s green. I drive away.

Leaving behind the memory of the only person who was a sister from another mister. My only real family. Chosen family, and the only one I ever trusted. The one person. The one love.

Tears want to fight their way onto my cheeks, but I don’t let them. I don’t cry.

So I swallow down whatever my body wanted to feel and speed my car out of the city onto the highway.

I speed it as recklessly as I can, because I need the silence in my mind. I need the silence that comes when there is nothing between me and death but a bit of metal.

I am daring you, God.