Chapter 9 #3
I hit the first turn and slam on the brakes, sending the Pantera into a spin.
As soon as I’m facing the correct direction, I’m off again.
Bohnes is the first to try and make contact with me.
I saw this coming, no big deal. I should cut off his dick for this one.
He swings the much bigger, much heavier Chevelle into the Pantera, but I hit the brakes hard a second time.
I’m still moving forward, can’t help the slide, but our cars are no longer side by side.
I feel a tap on my ass and check the rearview to see Widow in the Stingray.
Is he…is he trying to PIT maneuver me?! He lines up the center of his front tire with the back of the Pantera and then turns into me.
It’s not pretty with the icy track. I spin to face the opposite direction, sliding backward and hitting the dirt wall at the third corner of the track with an oof.
The impact is jarring, and the boys are whizzing past me in blurs of bright color. Black in front. Purple. Yellow. Blue. My jaw clenches and violent white rage swamps me. Underneath it all, the ice-cold bitch that lurks in the shadows. I take a deep breath.
I’m mired in deep, cold mud. Even without touching the gas, I know this is going to take me some time to work my way out of. Time is not something I have with the psycho brigade eating up the track.
Screw it.
I open the car door—a really stupid move and a great way to get killed. I climb out and open the trunk, pulling out a bag of kitty litter that Basti threw in here for me. Everything goes in Prescott, even this. I don’t care that the boys are approaching again.
If we’re playing chicken, the other party has to swerve first.
I will die to make a point.
I throw the contents of the bag on the muddy ground and hop back in, ignoring the rush of air and the smell of gasoline as the four of them pass me a second time.
Same order as before. Bohnes is winning.
Great. I leap back in the front seat and ease my way out of the corner, using my heeled feet to make mayhem on the pedals.
Viewing this from a completely neutral standpoint, I’m still okay. I can still win. But these are my fuckboys on the track, meaning they earned their places at my side. This is going to be an impossible win on gut and gas alone. I need to do my own scheming.
They’re in love with me, so if I put myself in harm’s way then maybe—
I pass the tight cluster of the boys’ cars only half a lap later, taking risks on the turns that they’re decidedly not taking.
That means they’re not going to try to outdrive me. Nah. I already knew that. I expected sabotage. I mean, come on. Widow pitted me. That’s a dangerous move, especially from someone like him. He risked us both for that.
I slow down once there’s some space between us, watching the boys in the rearview to see what they’re up to.
Alexei slows down dramatically, falling behind Ash. Widow, too. And Bohnes.
Either Ash doesn’t know what they’re up to or else him taking the lead is part of the plan. He changes tactics dramatically, pushing his car to the limit in an effort to pass me. I decide to let him.
He moves ahead and then we’re coming around again, and I see a scene of pure horror ahead of me.
Bohnes, Alexei, and Widow have turned their vehicles to create a blockade across the track. A wall of perpendicular metal muscle cars gleaming ahead of me. Ash is able to pass through a narrow gap before the other boys finalize their positions. Either that, or they let him in.
I ease onto the brake as carefully as I can, giving myself time to stop without going into another slide.
It’s not easy. I manage to stop just inches away from Alexei, catching his sharp gaze before I immediately go into reverse.
If these morons think their cheap tricks are going to work on me, they’ve made a gross miscalculation.
Fuckers. I put about a car-and-a-half of space between me and Widow (the middle car).
I imagine an invisible line running from my left knee to the center of his rear driver’s side tire.
That’s the spot for prepping this move. Knee to tire.
My brain makes the necessary calculations.
If you’re going to be violent, do it smartly.
“Bye, bye, Adrian,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes. I’m going to personally punish each and every one of them for this. Starting now.
Slow, calming breaths, Scarlett.
I keep the gear low for maximum torque, and then I ease forward and physically shove the Stingray out of my way. By lining up the frame of my car with his, I’ve kept the solid parts together. There’s no crumpling of metal, just an expert nudge.
Now Widow’s facing the wrong direction and I’m already observing my driveable territory, catching sight of Bohnes from the corner of my eye. I speed forward to clear the blockade and—
He’s coming at me fast.
“You fucking psycho!” I howl as Bohnes slams into my passenger door with the front bumper of the Chevelle, his tires spinning in the slushy mud as he tries to strong-arm the Devil to the edge of the track.
Their goal is to disqualify me. That’s what this is about.
I lose speed. I’m caught on the Chevelle, and I stop making any forward progress. The seatbelt digs into my chest like a blade and it’s hard to breathe. The radio crackles but never stops. I don’t recognize the song. And here I wanted to race tonight with this man’s seed inside of me.
My lips taste like ozonic adrenaline when I lick them.
Alexei drives up to join us, turning around so that the front of his L88 is positioned directly in front of the Pantera.
His eyes are on mine through the windshield as he runs the gas, knocking against his aluminum bumper against my steel one with a violent crunch.
Widow has already reversed so that his rear bumper and mine are touching.
With the edge of the track on my left, I’m blocked in on all sides but one.
Ash blows past the rest of us, and all I can think is: at least if they’re preoccupied with me, he can win.
Yeah. That’s right. I told him he could only beat me if there was an act of God.
The fuck do you call this then? Three faces of the devil is more like.
Are they in league with Ash somehow? But no.
Bohnes backs away with the Chevelle waffling dangerously back and forth.
He jets off, using the churned mud at the corners of the track as traction to slow down.
Then he explodes down the straights and catches very quickly up to Ash.
Of all the boys, I absolutely cannot let Bohnes win this.
Ash’s head on a pike.
I open the door again, trusting that Widow and Alexei are not dedicated enough to this plot to run me over.
This is so dangerous.
I’m a fucking idiot.
Ash flies by like a blue whiplash smudge as I stumble around the back of Alexei’s car, heels catching in the mud.
I’m headed for the empty expanse of track to the right of the Pantera when I hear Widow shouting at me to watch out.
Alexei’s hand snags my arm nearly hard enough to break it, dragging me back from the brink.
I was about two seconds away from leaping in front of the Chevelle to slow it down.
Bohnes would’ve swerved.
Alexei throws me into the passenger seat of his car, panting above me and as he bends down to grab my legs, intending on putting more than just my ass inside the vehicle.
I kick him in the face as hard as I can, blood splattering. He tries to grab for my ankle, but I pull that handy-dandy firearm from the holster that I strapped to my thigh. I point it at my own head. Not his head. My head. My finger is tense on the trigger and he knows it’s loaded.
We can’t look away from each other, not even with such a wild thrall of danger prickling the air around us.
“Try me, Alexei.” Just those three words.
He’s stone-faced, ignoring the blood pouring from his nose entirely.
He didn’t even cry out. Didn’t flinch. Pointing the gun at him wouldn’t have worked.
It wouldn’t have stopped him. But pointing it at myself?
Holy shit. The leash between him and me tightens, my hands on the reins and him in the collar.
Bam. I am my own magic weapon against these guys. They like me too much. My cheeks flush with pleasure despite the tense situation. I’m so hyped on adrenaline right now, drugged by it. Blissful. A challenge and threats to my life? What a night in Prescott, baby.
“Drop the gun, Scarlett.” Alexei steps back suddenly, gloved hands raised in surrender. He knows he could take the gun from me. Almost guaranteed he could. Won’t risk me for an almost though. “Before you accidentally shoot yourself or we get hit by a car.”
I ease around to the driver’s side and climb in, effectively stealing his ride. I lock the doors and then set the gun in my lap. I don’t exist outside of this race. Nothing else matters but for this. I have never needed to win on the track as badly as I do tonight.
Widow has now turned his car around and is pushing mine off the track. He slides the pair of vehicles through the mud, disqualifying both his car and mine.
What. the. fuck?! I’m seething now. These animals.
I have no clue how all this stacks in the rules of Prescott—we’ve never had a car go off the track and into disqualification territory without its driver—but I don’t care.
I’m back on the track, but I’m moving slow, taking the borrowed yellow Corvette to the inner circle of the icy mud ring we call the Prescott circuit. A circus for mad men and women, that’s what this is. As I’m driving, I roll the window down and I lean out like a fuckin’ gangster.
I let Ash pass by, but when Bohnes does, I shoot out his tire. I only have time to grab the back right rear, but it’s enough on this icy track to destabilize him. With a smirk, I drop back into the seat and get hot on his ass the way he does mine.