10
“Is it always like this?” I keep close to Birdie as she weaves in and out of bodies.
It was her idea to bring me to the next race and I’m suddenly regretting saying yes out of pure curiosity.
I knew they raced, just not like this. Any time I went with Koa it was to a drag strip and not the chaos of a packed parking garage in downtown Phoenix.
It smells like cheap perfume, exhaust, and the music is so loud coming from more than one place that my ears sting.
She let me borrow an outfit of cargo pants and a pink top she’s never worn that rides up on my stomach and makes me feel too old to be around all these people.
“This is quiet,” she says over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you look hot and no one is going to touch you if you’re with me.”
Over the years of watching her grow up I never saw this version of her.
She’s always been a wild one, unchained by the burden of how others perceive her but she’s different now, almost like she enjoys their criticism.
It fuels her further than praise ever could.
She’s in a pair of leather hot pants and a crop top that’s more of just a bra, but it’s getting the attention of every person we pass by.
We break through the crowd and the guys are standing around Rafe's car talking to each other while Murphy taps away on his cellphone. They look up when they hear her boots and Riggs scowls.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me, clearly still sore as he shifts uncomfortably against the hood.
“Simmer,” Birdie flips him some attitude. “We’re done with that. If I’m in, Cress is in, full transparency.”
Riggs laughs, his face instantly twisting in hurt and I’m grateful for the pain that blossoms across his chest.
“Right,” he says, clearing his vision with his fingers and rubbing his nose roughly between his thumb and pointer. “Transparency. It’s the Death Loop today, and Ari, Gio and Lenon are racing which means you’re not.”
“Fuck you,” Birdie spits but it’s pretty clear that those names rattle her a bit.
“Gio’s driving that Dayton Scat Pack,” Murphy says, and her head whips around to find it in the crowd. Bright orange, obnoxious, and obviously a surprise.
“So what? I can outrace him even in that full stock piece of garbage,” she argues, brushing off the moment of doubt.
“Can you, while avoiding Lenon?” Riggs stands to his full height, towering over us and eying Birdie. There’s pieces I’m missing.
“Who’s Lenon?” I ask.
“A shit racer with a shittier build,” Birdie is quick.
“Full transparency, Bird.” Riggs mocks her.
“The summer before Koa died, Lenon interrupted one of our runs and almost got me killed because he’s a shit racer,” she repeats. “That was back then,” she goes toe to toe with him, “with distractions! This is me and the street.”
“You can’t deal with both of them at the same time.” Riggs puts his foot down on the matter. “I’m going to do it.”
“Are we going to have this argument every single race?” Birdie asks in a hushed snarl. Her dark hair is pulled up into a tight, slick ponytail and it shows off the frustrated tension in her jaw and throat. “I brought home twenty thousand dollars. I’m good enough.”
“It’s not about your skill, Bird.” Riggs stares at her with those intense blue eyes that used to win every single argument. “It’s about the variables. We have no idea who else is out there, waiting for us. The impound lot was a trap, what’s to say every race we run isn’t?”
“You can’t win.”
“Yes I can,” Riggs pushes.
“You’re hurt.”
That makes Riggs chuckle. “I can drive.”
“You’re trigger-shy,” she fights. “You have been since—”
“Say it.” Riggs steps forward. Birdie matches his aggressive behavior on flat feet, staring up at him like she’s towering over his height.
“Since you killed Koa.” Her tone is flat and harsh. “You barely drive now, and when you do it’s with a feather foot and your hand on the emergency brake,” Birdie snaps. “We need this money, not your fucking ill-placed need to protect us.”
“It’s my job, you’re my family.” He never raises his voice, and I’m not sure what’s worse, the lack of emotion or knowing exactly how they all feel about him.
Rafe stares at the back of his head and Murphy seems to find interest in everything but the argument.
“We don’t control anything out here on the road. We don’t know what they’ll do.”
“The call came from inside the house that night!” Birdie reminds him. “He was family too!”
“I’m racing Birdie,” he says again, clearly trying to brush off her accusations, true or not.
“Yeah, whatever.” Her bottom lip quivers, seconds away from a stream of angry tears but she plasters on that award winning smile and backs away from him into the crowd.
“Go get her, I need her riding shotgun,” Riggs says to Rafe without addressing the concern on his face.
“I’ll do it,” I say, startled by the sound of my own voice.
Murphy chokes on his own spit and brings his attention to me. “Are you sure?”
“Let Birdie cool down, take me.” I stare at Riggs and his jaw ticks. “Even if you get her to come back she’s not going to be helpful.”
“Cress has a point. Birdie will sabotage this race to prove a point,” Rafe says. “She’s done it before.”
I look at him confused.
“That’s a story for later.” Rafe laughs and the lines around his eyes crinkle. Always so soft and handsome. I nod, taking that answer and waiting for Riggs to break.
“Fine.”
I turn to the Mustang but Riggs shakes his head. “We’re using the R35,” he says and points to Rafe’s car. It’s new. I’ve never seen it before. Similar to Birdie’s Skyline but sleek and looks more modern with its black and lime green design. “It’s faster.”
“Don’t tell Birdie you said that. She’ll make you watch YouTube videos on the comparisons until you vomit,” Rafe chuckles, hesitating to hand over his keys. “Be nice to my babygirl.”
It takes me a second to realize that he’s referring to his car and I shake my head gently in disbelief.
“I’m going to crank on it and fuck both clutches,” Riggs jokes, offering him a smirk that feels so light hearted in comparison to everything going on.
Rafe looks terrified, clapping the keys into his palm with a concerned expression.
“Get in the car, Cress.” Riggs pops open the door for me and I slide between him and the frame to get into the passenger seat.
He smells like the garage, motor oil, gas and with the faintest entanglement of spice from the cologne he’s wearing. The bruises from his fight peek out from under the shirt he’s wearing, loose and hacked around the arms to make it a tank.
The door slams the second I’m situated and he stops to say something to Murphy before turning to Rafe. Murphy comes around the side and sticks his head through the window to pop the glove box.
“Just in case.” He points to the firearm inside and gives me a look. “Shotgun means protection. He’s an ass but he’s our ass.”
“I hear you,” I say, laying my hand on top of his to reassure him. “Your glasses are smudged.” I scrunch my nose up at him and he goes cross eyed in an attempt to spot the dirt.
“Back up, Murphy,” Riggs barks as he settles in the driver's seat.
The engine revs to life, and he takes a few steps back to stand with Rafe as the car slowly pulls up to the starting point. The crowd forms around the four cars, the atmosphere more electric than anything I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
Riggs looks at the cars down the line and over to me. “Put that on.” He nods to the harness style seatbelt hanging at my sides.
I clip it tight and before I can argue he reaches over and tugs on it roughly to make sure it’s secure. His hand brushes against mine and I try to ignore how warm it makes my skin.
“Here,” he says and I look at his hand. The foil wrapping shines up at me.
“Thank you.” I take it from him and leave the paper in the cup holder as I slip the gum between my teeth and look out the opposite window to hide my expression. I hate when he does that. He’s always been too good at it. Always a mile ahead of my thoughts.
“You ready?” he asks as Rafe wanders out to the middle of the track to give them the go ahead.
“No,” I answer honestly.
My answer doesn’t matter. The second the race starts, Riggs is gone. None of the hesitation that they expected from him can be found. It’s clear that he’s running on adrenaline but he’s locked into the pavement ahead of him and ignores the cars surging behind and beside him.
The obnoxious orange car rushes forward to our right and Riggs clocks the action with a quick glance before pushing the engine a little harder.
We hit the corner at a dangerous speed but he controls the car like it’s a part of him and the second we’ve straightened out he’s regaining speed and putting space between us and the other drivers.
“It’s been a long time since we did this,” he says over the sound of the motor.
“Focus,” I warn him, but the speed is making him bold and I watch as the old Riggs starts to appear.
“Oh, come on, Cress.” His voice is dark with adrenaline. “It’s just us here. No one else to hear you.” Those blue eyes flicker to me and catch the street lights, filling with sparks. “I know you want to yell at me, tell me what you really think.”
“Pay attention to the road,” I warn him.
“You never told him?” he asks and I curl my hand around the harness for stability as he forces the car faster. The gap between him and the other drivers grows with every second but he doesn’t need the speed, he’s out racing them at every turn. He’s trying to prove a point.
“Why would I?” I snap, knowing that this conversation shouldn’t be happening.
“Right. You had to protect the perfect little life you had.” Riggs groans, his body shifting with the car as he throws us into another impossibly sharp corner. My stomach and I are starting to understand why they call this the Death Loop.
“I loved Koa. What more do you want?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.
“I want you to be honest.” The sound of the engine grows as his speed fluctuates.
“Our life was perfect because Koa made sure it was!” I snap.
“You let him put you on that pedestal, Cress.” He never takes his eyes off the road or the mirror, rotating his attention from the road ahead of him to the road behind him.
“What happened to the girl that wanted to feel alive? Did you find her on hospital rotations and cooking him meals that he was always late to?”
“Fuck you, Riggs,” I grind out.
“They don’t know you can drive, do they? He never found out.” Riggs picks at the scab that is our unresolved past.
“No, and they won’t,” I remind him, and he gives me a pissed off smile in return.
“We spent too many hours in the front seat of the Mustang for you to disrespect that time without even batting an eye,” Riggs finally says.
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and try to ignore the image that creeps around in my memories. Fifteen years old, sitting in his lap in the driver’s seat while he taught me all the parts with practiced patience that he got from handling Koa.
Back when I wanted to fly.
Growing up across the street from Monroe, it was a natural progression to make friends with the kids inside. Koa was always a magnet, people just wanted to be around him because he was so loveable and warm. He made everyone feel like they had a place in his inner circle.
Riggs was the other side of the coin. Charming, but quiet, dangerously observant, and the only one who could say no to Koa. Ever. He rarely did but he knew he could if he wanted to. Being stuck between them was suffocating.
Koa was a hurricane.
Riggs was the shelter from the storm.
“That was a long time ago, Riggs. We were kids,” I remind him.
“No, that was before you chose him,” he corrects. “Blindly.”
“You make it sound so fucking easy,” I spit and his hands grip the wheel tighter. I sit up to get angry and he slams on the gas, forcing me back against the leather. “I wasn’t some pathetic idiot.”
“Could have fooled me.” Riggs’s jaw tightens.
“So what?” The venom seeps out and suddenly I don’t recognize my own voice. “You killed him over it?” I growl, wanting more answers than he can give and I know it.
“Yeah, Cress.” He continues to pick up speed, turning to look at me briefly. His next words are full of ice and they sting my skin when they leave his lips. “I killed Koa over you.”
The statement makes the air in the car too hot and I tear my eyes away from his.
“Now look at the mess we’re in.” I want to scream but I don’t. “Back where we started, poor and in trouble.”
Riggs laughs this time. “I don’t know, I sort of prefer being poor and in trouble. Beats a white picket fence and a loveless marriage.”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” I turn to look at him as he tears the car over the finish line. “And a murderer. I should never have come to you.”
“But you did,” Riggs says softly as the crowd forms around the car. He climbs from the driver's seat and leaves me sitting in the muffled sound of the celebrations.