Slamming down through the gears, I hooked a sharp left turn, hugging the curb so tight that my wing mirror missed a post box by an inch. This new road was clearer than the main strip I’d been on, and I risked a glance in my mirrors.
I’d shaken a few of them, but that offensively bright Lambo, and Beck’s sexy fucking Bugatti were still holding their own.
“Fuck,” I cursed. Of course Jasper was keeping up. Hadn’t he told me that he always won that stupid rich kid race I’d run for him a few weeks ago? Even with his injuries, he was driving almost as good as me.
Almost.
I was better, though. He—and Beck—were just pushing me to try a bit harder.
“Brace yourself,” I murmured to Dante, my sharp gaze snagging onto my next move and my body reacting on instinct.
I jerked the steering wheel to the side—just slightly—and gritted my teeth as the Mustang mounted the curb and we sped toward the worksite on the side of the road. I knew the second Dante figured out what I was doing because he sucked in a sharp breath and sat up straighter in his seat.
“Riley...” He barely got the warning out before my wheels gripped the half completed ramp and shot us up like we were a toy car on a hot wheels track. A wordless shout tore from my best friend’s throat as we hit the top of the ramp and then...
Airborne.
It was only for a second, or less, but it was enough that when our wheels came down hard on the second level parking lot on the other side of the gap, my heart was pounding so hard it was practically jumping out of my shirt.
I wrestled control of my wheels again, fighting the steering wheel as we spun out, but in moments I was back in charge and shifting my gears smoothly to gun it out of there.
“Follow that, assholes,” I muttered, grinning wildly as I peered in my rearview mirror and spotted a distinctive black sports car sitting stationary at the top of the ramp.
Dante started laughing then. A slightly unhinged, hysterical kind of laughter. “Holy fucking shit, Riley. God, I’ve missed you, girl.”
I shot him a quick, manic grin as we peeled out of the parking garage and lost ourselves in the rabbit warren streets behind it. Beck and Jasper didn’t stand a fucking chance of following us now. Dante and I knew these streets like the backs of our hands, and now that they didn’t have us in their line of sight, they were screwed.
Confident that we’d lost them, I eased off the gas and merged back into the traffic of the main street leading us toward Widowmaker. That little exercise had been fun as shit, but it almost made us late. I could only thank the gods of muscle cars that we’d miraculously avoided police ... or did Beck and all his powerful connections have something to do with that?
“That was just a warm up,” I told Dante with a smirk. “I still need to thrash some wannabe drivers at the race.”
Dante grinned back at me, then whooped with excitement and turned the stereo up.
4
A cool breeze sent a shiver through me as I leaned against Dante’s Mustang and talked shit with Rabbit. I’d taken my jacket off to drive his Supra, but now that the adrenaline was wearing off I would need to hunt it out again.
“You okay?” Dante murmured, leaning in closer and peering down at me. The bruising on his face had lightened up to a yellowish green, and the shadows from the street lights hid the worst of it. Still, I’d heard him need to shrug off questions several times, blaming it on “business.”
“Yeah, just cold.” I gave him a smile, and he draped his arm over my shoulders, tugging me in close to the warmth of his body. “Thanks, heat bean.” I chuckled, wrapping my arms around his waist and snuggling tighter.
Rabbit barked a laugh, and I frowned at him in confusion. “About damn time,” he snickered, giving us a slightly sexual leer. “You’ve got the patience of a damn saint, my friend.” He clapped Dante on the shoulder then swaggered away to chat with someone who had their head under the hood of his tricked out Supra. It had been a dream to drive, that was for sure, but I actually preferred the Mustang.
“What was that about?” I asked Dante, peering up at him from where I was tucked into his chest.
He just shook his head, not meeting my eyes. “Nothing. You all good for this race? That bit of fancy driving you did earlier probably wore down the tread a bit.” He kicked one of the tires with his heel, but didn’t release me from his embrace. In fact, he shifted a bit so that both arms wrapped around me and held me a bit tighter. “How’s your wrist?”
I smiled at his concern. He was such a worry-wart sometimes. “I’m fine, my wrist is fine, the ’stang is fine. We’ll nail this, just like every other Widowmaker I’ve run in.”
Dante huffed. “Yeah, well that was when you were driving the butterfly.”
I cringed at the mention of my—I mean, Dante’s—car that I’d crashed. “I still owe you for that.”
“Nope,” he responded in a gruff voice. “She was always yours anyway. I had the papers put in your name years ago.”
My jaw dropped, and I stared up at him. “What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He rolled his eyes, but there was a smug smile on his lips. “Because you would have pitched a fit and demanded I change it back. But she was always your car, so it felt wrong having my name on the papers.” He shrugged, and his hands rubbed my upper arms. “You should get warmed up, the race starts in five.”
I nodded, but hugged him tighter for a moment. He’d done so much for me over the years, words couldn’t really express how much I appreciated our friendship. He hugged me back, kissing my head and pressing his face into my dark hair.
Then all of a sudden, he was gone.
“Beck, no!” I screamed in fury as he slammed Dante onto the hood of the Mustang and drew his fist back to punch him in the face. My voice froze him, but his thunderstorm gaze didn’t shift from Dante. “Sebastian Roman Beckett, if you don’t take your hands off Dante right this fucking second I will never forgive you for what you’ve done.” My voice was low, trembling with anger, and my fists clenched at my sides.
Beck lowered his fist, but didn’t let Dante go. “You’re saying there’s still a chance you will?”
Words failed me as my lips parted, but no sound came out. Beck’s stormy gaze captured mine and held me immobile. “Let him go, Beck,” I eventually said, ignoring his question. “Go back to Jefferson. You don’t belong here.”
He held my gaze for another heavy, tense moment. “Neither do you, Butterfly.”
I flinched at his use of my nickname.
“Just fuck off, Beck,” I whispered tiredly. “No one wants you here, least of all me.”
His jaw tightened and his body radiated tension. Slowly, he released Dante’s shirt from his iron grip and backed up a step. Call me psychic, but I guessed Dante’s intentions and darted forward to grab him by the collar of his jacket before he could launch himself at Beck. Not that I gave a shit if Beck’s face got messed up, but I’d seen that dangerous fuck in action. I stopped Dante to spare my friend any more injuries.
“Enough,” I snapped at Dante, flicking my death glare at Beck and Jasper. “Dante, we have a race. Let’s go.”