Page 13 of Furious (The Six Six Six Rule #2)

Wanna Bet?

CHANCE

A fter I surrender my phone, Cal explains the rules.

“We added some extra distance from last week’s track, so there are a few curves and it isn’t just a straight line.

We all start from the same position and the winner is the first bike that crosses the finish line.

It’s gonna be over pretty quickly, it’s just a five-mile stretch.

The rest of the rules are that there are no rules.

You can cut in front of others to get in the way and overtake them.

If your bike veers off the asphalt, you’re out.

Every participant has to pay a fee of a hundred bucks.

If you don’t finish the race, you owe two hundred as a penalty.

You’re not allowed to bet on the race for obvious reasons.

We don’t want you to lose on purpose now, do we?

Dave is taking notice of the bets and has the odds. ”

This sounds even worse than I thought. “Why should I be charged to race when I was challenged to do so? I thought this was just a double or nothing from last week.”

Cal’s shrewd expression doesn’t promise anything good.

“You’re charged because we’re taking a risk by organizing this and bringing equipment like lights and stuff to mark the racetrack.

” He points to a number of empty barrels spread out at regular intervals on the stretch of abandoned road.

“This shit will also have to be removed every week, so we keep this little venture from becoming public knowledge.”

“Your brother never said anything about a fee. I didn’t bring any cash.” I challenge him.

“I’m not worried about that. You’re gonna lose anyway, so you’re gonna have to pay for your bet. We know where you live.”

I’m gonna teach this motherfucker a lesson he’s never going to forget.

“Hey Cal,” Dave comes over with a notepad in his hand. “We need to change Chance and Lev’s odds. We were assuming they would race the bikes we provided, but it looks like they brought their own.”

Cal looks at our bikes for the first time. “Yeah. What’s up, you didn’t trust me to give you a fair shake?”

I point out his Beamer. “If I remember right, that’s the bike you used to race in the Supreme Bikes League, right? You’d cross the finish line even before the old beat up motorcycles Dave gave us last week could start.”

He barks out a laugh. “I guess I’ll have to beat you fair and square, huh? Cool, victory will be even sweeter.”

I swear to God, this asshole has the biggest ego in the state.

Lev hates him just as much as I do. “You know what, Fox? All I hear is talk. Let’s see what you can do on the track. Maybe you won’t be so chatty after you finish behind us, like you always did.”

“Let’s go.”

He sounds very sure of himself. That raises all sorts of red flags in my mind.

As we take our spot at the starting line, I lean to talk to Lev. “Who are we racing against? I don’t know half of these people.”

He looks around. “You’re right. I recognize two guys from Fox’s old team and one guy goes to our school. He’s on the football team. I’m not sure who the others are, but I think we should watch each other’s backs. You know how Fox rolls.”

He’s right, but I’m confident about my skills and my MTT 420-RR is one of the fastest bikes in the world. Cal’s BMW S1000 RR has a lower top speed.

Obviously, the top speed isn’t the only factor in winning a race. Here we have no mechanics, no spare tires, no safety barriers. Anything could go wrong, even with a short five mile stretch.

I’m also sure that Cal knows the track like the back of his own hand at this point. Probably the other racers, too.

I assumed that we would race the same distance as last week, so I didn’t bother coming out here to check it out. Fuck it.

I can handle a curve or two. I vaguely remember this road from when we came out here with the Boy Scouts looking for old arrowheads. There are a couple of curves a couple of miles down from here, before coming into view of the old gas station.

Lev knows that too, so I focus on starting my bike and waiting for the start signal.

The noise of the engines covers every other sound around us; from the noises of the woods to the excited chatter of the people who came to bet on the race.

The only thing louder than our motorcycle engines is the beating of my heart that’s thumping loud in my ears.

Angela steps in front of us.

She unties a scarf that was tied around her neck. “Go on the drop. Ready, steady…”

She drops the scarf.

As I peel off my spot, I see something in the corner of my eye. Another bike just flanked me, taking off hot and fast on my side.

The first stretch of road is straight and flat and if I want to win this race, I need to go at maximum speed now.

Everything is a blur as I leave the majority of the other bikes behind me.

I shift my body forward, making myself as aerodynamic as possible, leaning into the speed and the open road.

That bike, though, is keeping up with me. I’m aware of its presence because of the unique noise of its engine. I would recognize a Ducati anywhere. They have a loud, deep, throaty sound due to its L-twin engines.

Who the fuck is racing a Ducati in Star Cove? I’m pretty sure that if Fox had one of those at his disposal, he would be riding it. So this must be one of his friends, possibly someone with money, because these babies don’t come cheap.

Curiosity has the best of me and I turn my head to steal a glance at the person riding the all black Ducati.

The rider is dressed in all black leather, and a matching helmet that covers his entire face.

There isn’t much to see, other than the guy is about to take over and I can’t let that happen.

He isn’t even the only one who could take this race from me. Lev has caught up with me in his Damon Hypersoft and I see Cal’s Beamer right behind me in my mirror.

There’s a curve coming up in the road and I can’t afford to slow down if I want to win. The road will become narrower, which means not enough room for all of us. It’s either go faster, or get left behind.

Of course there’s a third alternative, which is to get thrown off the track if you get in the way, but that would be a fuck up of epic proportions.

I’m so distracted by the Ducati that I don’t see Cal advancing and attempting to get between me and Lev.

“Get away, fucker!” I yell, even though I doubt the piece of shit can hear me with the noises of all our engines roaring in the night.

I open the throttle with the intention of getting away from him, but he doesn’t give up.

We’re just about to come into view of the curve where the road narrows considerably and then expands again.

I look at either side of me. Lev and the Ducati are still there, keeping up with me, determined to be the first to negotiate the curve.

Fox is up my ass, edging in with every passing second. He doesn’t take any notice of the fact that there is no room for him and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to push his way in.

There’s nothing more reckless and more dangerous than overtaking when the road narrows; that’s why I know it’s exactly what Fox is going to do.

The only way to prevent him from causing a crash is to accelerate and get ahead of the curve.

My mind is made up and my wrist is ready to open the throttle, but something flashes in front of my eyes.

The road narrows before widening again, like a funnel. A bike.

It takes me a second to realize that the bike I see veering off the road and crashing against the barrels that mark the makeshift racetrack at the curve isn’t really there.

That the sirens of the ambulance rushing over to help the rider lying down on the tarmac are only in my head.

My eyes search frantically for my brother, and the first thing I was taught when I learned how to ride is to keep your eyes on the road. If you look at an obstacle ahead of you, you’re going to hit it.

Fox takes that opportunity to pass me, chasing the Ducati that is now leading the race.

If I hit those barrels at the side of the road, I’m gonna get hurt and fuck up my bike.

So I swerve, letting my bike go off the road.

The bumpier terrain and the tall grass slow me down and cushion my fall.

Luckily I’m expecting the impact, so I fall the way I was taught, protecting the weakest parts of my body.

The clash between my body and the ground still knocks the wind out of me and it takes me a second to catch my breath.

Fuck. I could have won that race, but first I got distracted by that Ducati that seemed to materialize out of nowhere; then when Cal tried to overtake me, I don’t know what the fuck happened.

Or at least I think I do, but I’m too weirded out to even try to make sense of it.

The grass crackles and rustles, alerting me that someone is coming toward me.

“Chance,” I hear Lev’s voice before I see his boots. “Are you ok?”

I grab the hand he offers. “I’m good.” I reassure him as he pulls me up, back on my feet.

“What happened there?” he asks. “You had a solid lead, well, you and the Ducati. Did Fox hit you?”

I take my helmet off, shaking my head. I still feel confused.

“No, he didn’t hit me. I thought I was going to get away, but then something distracted me.

Maybe a bug flying in front of my face. I don’t know.

I lost control, and I didn’t want to ram into the Ducati or cause a pile up if I fell on the tarmac. ”

Lev’s eyes go down to my helmet. “Hmm. A bug? It must have been one lucky motherfucker if it didn’t end up splattered all over your visor. Your helmet’s clean.”

I know he doesn’t believe me. Maybe I should tell him about that weird flashback, but I don’t want to. As long as I ignore it, I can pretend everything is ok. “I’m fine. My bike is fine. But what the fuck are you doing here? Did you win?”

He shrugs. “No, I didn’t win. I came to check on you. I have no idea who won. The Ducati was first on the curve and Cal was right behind it.”