Chapter 11 Lewis
You never said not to! She wants her car? She’ll have to win it back.”
It’s my fucking car, you ass wipe. Not a fucking poker chip.
That douche is right there within punching distance, and all I can do is stand here, listening to him jerk all over my Dodge, biting back on the urge to fuck him up. I feel like such a loser, standing here helplessly while some kid waves his dick in my face.
It’s tough. I’m used to handling my own shit, roping Adam in when I need a little backup.
This time, all I can do is trust Firebird to figure it out, and there’s no way she’ll be down for following this asshole’s rules.
I’ve been watching how she moves in these spaces from the moment we pulled into Brooklyn, and she’s right at home here.
In control. The way Emil mentioned her dad has tipped me off.
She’s somebody worth knowing here—or she was somebody, at any rate.
A million different questions are racing through my mind, but now’s not the time. I need to stay focused on Tyler, and the way he’s blatantly checking Amy out. Blatantly trolling me, too. Better hold on to your panties, dude, because Amy’s got this.
She’s gripping my arm, and though initially I just assume it’s to keep me in check, it suddenly dawns on me—she’s trying to calm herself down.
Why, though? Just fucking deck the guy, Hitman!
“Let’s go,” she drawls.
Uh… What? Go where?
Tyler curls his lip, flashing teeth I would just love to smash in right now.
“You win, you get your Dodge back. What do I get if I win?”
My knee in your face.
Amy shrugs off my arm and takes a step toward him. “A Firebird. You win a 1969 Pontiac Firebird.”
A jolt of surprise.
I’d been picturing a bloodbath—but this? My mind whirs. What the fuck is she even thinking?
“Sounds like you guys got yourselves a deal.” Emil claps his hands. “West loop. Now.”
The head honcho stalks off into the night, the blond girl trailing in his wake. I watch as Tyler mimes planting a bullet in Amy’s head before making a beeline for the Dodge, fist-pumping the air as he calls out to his buddies.
“Time to run!”
The crowd goes nuts, and I shut my eyes for a second, trying to make sense of what’s about to happen.
“What is going on here? Tell me you didn’t just gamble away my Dodge…
” I rub my eyelids. “I poured every single cent I owned into that car. It’s registered to me, for fuck’s sake.
How the hell have we ended up with some guy challenging you to a race to get it back?
Tell me this is just some bad dream—like, that asshat isn’t really gonna race my baby, is he? ”
I open my eyes.
She’s gone.
Amy’s nowhere to be seen.
I whip around to see her marching over to her car.
“Hey, I’m trying to have a conversation with you here!”
I sprint over to her, but just as I catch up, she’s ducking into her Firebird. I race around to the other side and fling open the passenger door. She wasn’t seriously about to just ditch me, was she?
“What the hell are you doing, Firebird?”
“Get out.”
Yeah. So, she was seriously about to just ditch me, then.
“You are not doing this.”
“Fine.” She kills the engine. “In that case, guess you better go kiss your Dodge goodbye.”
I shake my head. “There’s got to be another way.”
“How’s about you go sit on the sidewalk over there and think about it, while I deal with reality.”
“Why don’t we just beat him up? Pull some ninja shit on his ass and then make a break for it with the Dodge..?”
Amy sighs. “Lewis, get real. That’s basically like declaring war. Your car just got caught up in this whole situation you know nothing about, so just trust me—there is no other way. This race is our only shot.”
I’m scrambling for an alternative, but the truth is I have no idea how to deal with this kind of shit show. A race, though? A fucking race?
If Tyler slams my Dodge, it’s done for.
Without thinking, I snake my arm over Amy’s lap and grab the keys, pulling them out of the ignition and tossing them outside—or that was the plan, anyway.
Only problem is, I forgot to open the window.
The keys go tumbling to the ground, slipping somewhere between my seat and the door, which is good news for me—she’ll have to writhe around on top of me to look for them.
“Grow up, Conley.” She rolls her eyes at me, like she read my mind.
Suddenly, it hits me.
“Wait a minute. You bet your Pontiac—what do we do if he wins?”
“Wow, thank you so much for believing in me…”
She bet her fucking Pontiac!
I turn it over in my mind. She’s put her neck on the line. She’s taking a massive risk—for me.
I slide a hand down to scoop up the keys, keeping them pressed into my palm for a moment.
“Okay,” I start slowly, “if this really is our only option, then let’s do this. We can handle this run.”
“There is no ‘we,’ Conley. You’re not invited to the party.”
She lunges at me, but she forgets I’ve got pretty good reflexes. I dangle the keys out of her reach.
“Nuh-uh. That freak is racing my car? Yeah, I’m definitely invested, here.”
“Time for you to leave. Now.”
I sink deeper into my seat and meet her gaze. “That’s real polite of you, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ve played by your rules since we left, I’ve followed you around like a little puppy. I’m coming with you.”
“I don’t do copilots. Like, ever.”
“You won’t even know I’m here,” I protest.
“It’s dangerous.”
“I can handle it.”
“So what?” She snorts. “I’m just being practical, Lewis. If you get hurt, the Dodge isn’t the only thing that gets tanked. You can kiss basketball goodbye, too.”
She’s thought this through, and that surprises me, somehow. She makes a lot of sense, but still—I know what I want to do.
“Guess we’re down to praying to Baby Jesus, then.”
It’s just a flicker in her eyes, but I can sense the exact moment she gives in, and I’m glad she isn’t wasting any more time, because the crowd has suddenly parted, and right there in front of us is the starting line for the most batshit race ever.
I dangle the keys at her again.
“Just give me the keys, Conley! I swear, as soon as we get back to Sycamore Heights, I plan on injuring you in a hit-and-run.”
“Sounds good. If you win, I’ll even let you do it in the Dodge.”
“That’s exactly the kind of pep talk I need.” She tugs on her seat belt. “Buckle up. And get ready for a wild ride.”
“I’m a Campus Driver, you know…”
“Whatever you say, sweetie.”
She yanks off her beanie and throws her hair up in a ponytail while I strap myself in, giving my seatbelt two firm tugs for good measure.
“Grab the helmet from the back.” She nods.
“No, you should wear it.”
“Just put it on, Lewis.”
“I’m a gentleman,” I protest.
“Put the fucking helmet on your fucking head!”
I pretend to flinch. “Okay, okay! Jeez!”
I decide to let her win this one.
She revs the engine, taking a deep breath in as she grips the wheel.
My Dodge has appeared on the track to my right, and suddenly the seriousness of it all hits me with full force.
Seeing Tyler there in my seat, settling into the leather I worked with my own bare hands… My entire body is pulsing with rage.
“How long does the race take?” I ask her, flipping him the finger.
“Depends on him. Open the glove box and grab that CB radio.”
I follow her instructions, shooting Amy a sideways glance as I fumble in the compartment.
“Should I be worried? This is giving army vibes. What does it do?”
“It’s just backup, that’s all. Hand me the mic and make it so he can’t see what’s going on.”
I watch as she brings the mic to her lips.
“Hitman, here on the starting line. West loop. All clear—for now, anyway. Stay on standby. Over.”
A series of muffled barks come spitting out of the receiver, and I stare at her. Just when I think I’ve seen it all, Amy finds a new way to blow my freaking mind. Now what?
She drops the handset in my lap, and a yelp breaks out somewhere above me. I turn to look at the commotion. There’s a guy standing square in front of the two cars, a stereo propped on his shoulder. He cranks up the volume, grinding his hips, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.
“Who the hell is that?”
“That’d be the starter.”
“For real? Where are the half-naked girls? Disgrace, dude!”
“Mind shutting the hell up? You’re throwing me off.” Amy frowns.
She has a point. I’ve got a way of cracking jokes when I’m stressed—call it nervous energy.
The Dodge starts revving, and the Pontiac echoes in kind, Amy’s knuckles blanching as she grips and releases the steering wheel. I sneak a glance at her. She’s staring straight ahead, eyes unblinking.
I’m adjusting my helmet, when the starter guy lowers the stereo down in front of him, and my heart skips a beat.
Here we go. Here we fucking go.
I snap the strap into place, and my pulse is wild, my teeth chattering in my head, when suddenly he lifts the boom box over his head and adrenaline goes coursing through my body as Firebird slams her foot down on the accelerator.
The screeching tires are deafening, the crowd running wild, the night sky filling with shrieks and screams. The two cars go streaming down the track side by side, and I gnaw on my cheek as my Dodge drifts dangerously close to the Pontiac.
My eyes widen, locked so hard on my baby it feels like I’m about to bust a vein. Our wing mirrors are in brushing distance. One wrong move, and the Dodge is toast. I don’t care how this race ends, who wins, or what the stakes are—once we’re done here, that guy is history.
“Shit, watch out!”
“Shut up! I’m gonna let him pull ahead—quit your whining.”
“You get this is more important than actual life itself, right?”
I watch as the Dodge roars ahead of us, and my gut twists. Seeing this loser gain ground like that sickens me to my core, and Amy’s picking up on it loud and clear.
“Don’t worry. Let him think he’s winning, and he’ll ease up. These guys are all the same. Just when he’s relaxed… that’s when I’ll screw him hard.”
Interesting.