Page 27

HALLIE

N erves consume me as I slip into the parking lot.

I hold my breath. This car is so damn loud it’s like a beast waking up.

Hundreds of people are here. Every single one of them is watching.

Well, the blacked-out windows help.

She’s a stunning car—sharp edges, aggressive stance. But I’m nervous.

I tried the corners over and over last night. Some are so tight, they almost bite back.

I’m used to my Shelby. She’s not easy, but she’s powerful, wild but loyal. When I drive her, we become one.

Corners I used to lose the back end on? I’ve perfected them.

This? She’s different. Delicate but fierce.

For twenty thousand dollars, it’s worth a shot.

I ease her into the space next to Pete’s car and kill the engine.

That’s when the nerves flip to pure excitement—the roar of engines, the screech of tires.

I spot Pete and his man bun, leaning against the hood of a Bugatti, chatting with some tall guy.

I walk over, squeezing the keys in my hand.

“Nice ride!” the blond guy says.

“Uh, thanks,” I reply quietly, feeling small under their stares.

Pete turns toward me, worry carved deep into his face.

“Hey,” I say.

He nods, eyes flickering past me to the McLaren. Fingers brush his beard.

“If you stole that, return it before you end up dead, Hallie,” he says bluntly.

My heart stutters.

“Stole?”

I pause.

“Dead?” I can’t hide the shock from my tone.

“Are you shitting me? You don’t know who owns that monster?” Pete says.

Confusion hits me.

“Yeah. Conan?”

“Oh, holy fuck. Hallie. Seriously, leave him be. You’re way out of your depth on this one.”

I shake my head hard.

“He knows I have his car. He gave me it. Stop panicking.”

Pete rubs the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to will calm into existence.

“You sure you wanna race it? Seriously?”

My stomach flips.

“I mean, I’m slightly worried that if I scratch it up, I won’t be able to afford the paint job. But, other than that, I’m certain. How can I not race this thing?”

I glance back at the car, a slow smile spreading.

“Okay. Your funeral, I guess.”

“Why do you keep saying that? He’s my friend.”

I nervously twist my rings.

“Friend?” His tone is thick with surprise.

“Yeah. Friend.”

“You keep some interesting choices for friends, Hallie. Be careful.”

I swallow hard, the words heavy in my throat.

“Sure.”

Conan makes me feel safe. Why would I be scared of him?

Shit. Is he going to be mad if he finds out I’ve raced it? Or that I race at all?

Out of everyone, I think he’d get it.

The adrenaline. The quiet mind.

The danger.

“Look. He doesn’t know exactly that I’m racing her. So we can just keep that between us. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“For fuck’s sake, Hallie,” Pete hisses.

“You think all these people can keep quiet?”

I look around at the crowd—men and women, some circling the McLaren like sharks.

“Uh, yeah?”

I’ve never heard his name dropped at a race before.

“Whatever. Head over to the starting line, be careful with that thing. She isn’t a Shelby.”

“I know.”

Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t know cars.

I grew up surrounded by them. Helping Dad fix them up.

I’ve been racing for two damn years.

I’ve won a few. I’m not the best, but I keep up.

But in this car? I have a shot.

With a sharp breath, I push through the crowd, shoving people aside to reach my car.

“Damn. How many dicks you gotta suck to earn one of these?” a sleazy, tatted guy asks.

“Just the one.” I flip him off and slide behind the wheel, letting the engine roar alive.

“Be good for me, please,” I whisper as I shift into first and pull away.

Ten of us are in the race. I’m starting sixth.

But looking around? My car will piss all over theirs.

It all depends on the roads and my driving.

No distractions.

Except the fear still buzzing in my brain, Pete’s eyes when he mentioned Conan.

What am I missing?

The girls line up at the starting line, red flags waving like a challenge in the air.

My heart hammers as the cars around me rev, a beautiful, terrifying symphony.

The crowd counts down.

And go.

We launch down the first straight.

My car screams, hungry for more, but I hold back—I need more space first.

Fuck. This might be harder than I thought.