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“Whoo!” she cries, the music filling the car so loud I can’t think.

Racing around the bend, I hold the handle above the door, the car tilting as she dips to the inside of the track, and we speed head-to-head with the GTO on my right.

Dylan kicks it into third and then fourth, punches the gas, and I hit the back of the seat, my heart leaping into my throat.

I break into a laugh, the argument with Hawke forgotten. “Shit.”

She flashes me a smile, winds around the next bend, and keeps going, maxing it out in fifth.

A few raindrops hit the windshield, and I glance over at her to see if she’s going to stop.

But she doesn’t seem to notice, arm out in front of her, steel-rod straight as she holds the wheel, with the other hand gripping the stick. Her eyes zone in on the track like a laser.

“Hold on!” she shouts.

Huh?

I tighten my fingers around the handle, the next turn approaching, but instead of slowing her speed, she swerves down to the edge of the bowl as close to the inside as she can and surges forward.

My insides flip, my skin tingles, and everything feels like it did last night in the tunnel when I felt Hawke behind me.

“Dylan…” I gasp, but then I start laughing.

Rain starts pounding the car in heavy drops, the car next to us swerves behind, and Dylan smiles.

“I’m going to drift,” she laughs. “Watch this.”

“What?”

“When I tell you, rip the e-brake, okay?”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“Ready?”

“What?!” I dart my eyes down to the parking brake. What the hell? What is she doing?

“Do it!” she shouts.

I shake, panicking, but then I grab the brake with both hands and yank it up. She powers over to the left, the rear of her car spinning and we go gliding around the turn, kicking up the rain that has collected so far.

She screams, and something between a grunt of pain and a whimper escapes me, but I refuse to shut my eyes.

The other car speeds past, and I watch. “Dylan!”

“Oh, I don’t give a shit about winning,” she chuckles. “That was fun, and it’ll piss off my dad.”

She zooms ahead, picking up speed again, but headlights flash in front of us.

A car flies toward us, and I suck in a breath, Dylan pumping the brakes, skidding in the rain.

The headlights are coming right for us. What the hell is that?

Our car fishtails, I grab the dash, and we slide sideways, just stopping in front of the Mercedes blocking the track.

“What the hell?” Dylan gasps.

Sammy Phoung in her blue GTO are far past the obstruction, the tower and crowd far in the distance. We jump out of the Mustang, rain hitting my head, and get clear in case they try to ram us.

But then I recognize the vehicle. Mercedes. This one’s white, but I know whose it is. His black one was totaled at the park that night.

Hugo steps out, grinning, but then the other three doors open. I watch Nicholas, Axel, and two of Hugo’s other henchmen, Jonathan and Alejandro spill out.

“Shit,” I murmur. Hugo’s wearing the leather jacket he stole when he was seventeen. It has three interior pockets. Knife and brass knuckles, for sure.

A crowd runs toward us, and I take Dylan’s wrist, pushing her behind me.

Hawke stops at my side, and I’m sure Kade, and all of their friends are with them.

“Don’t call anyone yet,” Hawke says into a radio.

“Are you sure?” some guy asks.

Hawke ignores him, handing the radio off to someone.

We all stand there, Hugo and his crew coming to stand in front of his car while we inch in close to each other in front of Dylan’s.

“Hey, baby.” Hugo’s eyes gleam at me. “You hanging with Pirates now?”

I’m definitely not hanging with Pirates, but I feel all the eyes of Green Street on me like they’ve been betrayed as I stand surrounded by two Trents and a Caruthers.

“The girl I raised doesn’t need anyone to protect her,” he says, “and she doesn’t hide behind rich boys.”

Rain spills down my face, and I feel Hawke try to take my hand, but I pull it away.

Yeah, Green Street fed me. Weston is my home.

And not one neighbor protected me growing up. Once I was old enough, Hugo tried to turn me out. What makes them any better? They think they’re owed my loyalty?

Axel and Jonathan inch forward, pulling their hands out of their pockets, and I stop breathing for a moment before I realize they didn’t take out any weapons. Not yet.

But they do ball their fists, Axel eyeing Kade and Jonathan eyeing Hawke. They widen their stances, readying.

“They don’t want you.” Hugo steps closer to me, and Hawke tenses. “And where are you going to go when he forgets about you?”

He glances at Hawke and then back to me.