Page 61 of Racing Dirty Trilogy Box Set

Nolan

The plane ride was smooth as we touch down at John F Kennedy Airport, a few hours later.

Powering my phone back on, it dings with several missed calls and text messages.

I shove it into the pocket of my jeans, not ready to check them yet.

I changed from my suit and tie to a pair of faded blue jeans, a black shirt, and black racing boots on the plane and make my way to the passenger terminal.

The white marble floors glisten as my boots tap against it.

Chatter from fellow passengers raise the hair on the back of my neck and my eyes scan everything and everyone passing me by.

My body is on high alert. Everything is bright and cheerful, the opposite of the way I'm feeling.

Not wanting to drive, I bypass the car rental area and step out into the bustling drop-off and pick-up zone.

The air is warm against my skin for mid-March.

Yellow taxis and shiny cars assault my vision in the bright sun and I put my aviator's on, blocking the shimmering light. Hitching my go-to bag over my shoulder I hail a cab. One switches the light off on top and races towards me, slamming on the brakes at the last second. I climb in the back seat, the hard plastic digging into my legs and back, and give the cabbie directions near the motel I’m staying at.

"First time in the Big Apple?" The cabbie asks me in a heavy Arabic accent.

"Something like that," I respond.

I take my phone out of my jeans pocket and scroll through the messages.

Most are from Ashton and Ashley. Not finding anything from Switch, I shut my phone off and jam it back into my pocket.

Running my fingers through my hair, I blow out an irritated breath.

My anxiety is picking up as we grow closer to Manhattan, the place where it all began.

Nolan 10 years ago (Age 15)

The music coming from the living room in our tiny apartment vibrates in my ears.

My mother is having another “party.” It’s her way of telling me to stay the fuck out of the way so she can get high and screw whoever brings her the drugs she craves.

I can’t take any more noises coming from outside my bedroom door, so I open my window and crawl out onto the rusty old fire escape.

The warm breeze drifting over my skin is a small reprieve from the stuffy apartment and I inhale a deep breath of the city air.

I sit on the cold metal for a moment thinking about how we ended up here.

My mother went into rehab and stayed sober for about four months before she met Marcus Angelo.

A well-known drug runner for the Corridore Rosso, an Italian gang.

She was working as a waitress in a seedy bar when he charmed the pants right off her and two months later, here we are in a rundown apartment building in the heart of Manhattan.

My mother slipped back into her old habits.

My grandfather disowned my mother when he discovered that she started using again. He tried getting me out, but the state kept siding with her. She’s never been arrested or in any legal trouble, so they made me stay with her.

I stand up from my spot on the fire escape and slide my way down the rickety old ladder.

I walk down the dark street and make my way to Times Square.

Peddlers and street performers are all over the place and the billboards are so bright, it’s hard to know how late it is.

I take a seat on one bench and watch the people go by.

There are so many types of people and cultures here in the City, it’s a sensory overload.

I watch as families stop and see what the street performers are doing.

One group catches my attention and I make my way over to them.

They’re doing a bunch of flips and dance moves to music drifting out of their boom box.

People are applauding and cheering them on, one kid goes around with a backpack and collects money from them.

A quick way to earn a buck in this expensive city.

I leave the bright lights and bustling area behind me and walk down a dark side street.

Yelling, horns honking, and police sirens fade in the distance as I make my way over to Little Italy.

It’s quite a distance from Times Square, but knowing my mother, she will never know I was gone and it will be a while before she’s done doing whatever she does.

There’s a group of teenagers dressed in black t-shirts, jeans, and red bandanas around their heads or biceps sitting on concrete steps of an apartment building. They’re eyeing me as I walk past them. One of them gets up and follows me.

“Hey kid, wait up,” he says, trying to draw my attention.

I keep walking with my head down, acting like I didn’t hear him when he falls in step next to me.

I slow my pace and look him over out of the corner of my eye, trying to assess what he wants.

I have no money on me and the only thing worth anything is my pocket watch my grandfather gave me.

That’s tucked deep in a secret spot in my blue jeans.

“Hey, I’ve seen you around before. You know it’s not safe to be out this late at night alone.” the guy says, standing in front of me.

I stop walking and raise my head to look him in the eye. He’s about three inches taller than me, maybe a year or two older, and has an air of authority about him. His dark skin and black hair standing out under the street light. His black eyes look me over and it appears he’s decided.

“What does it matter to you?” I ask. I look around to see it’s just the two of us and breathe a sigh of relief when it is.

“Hey kid, I know where you’re coming from. Broken home, no dad, mom a druggie. Am I right?”

I clench my fist at my side, anger brewing under the surface of my skin. I look at him dead in the eye before I speak.

“It doesn’t matter where I come from or what’s going on I’m not interested in anything you have to offer." My voice is full of rage and hate. I hate this city. I hate my mother. I hate my father.

“It does. You see we can help,” he gestures to the others. They’re now standing on the steps watching us.

“How?” He’s got me intrigued now.

“We are a family and that means something to us. Once you’re in and prove your loyalty to us, we have your back no matter what. Why don’t you come back and I’ll introduce you to the rest. What’s your name by the way?”

I look behind me at the other kids watching us. It would be nice to have someone to hang with. It’s been lonely being in a big city, surrounded by people but no one giving you any attention or acknowledging you exist.

“Nolan Sherwood,” I answer. I hold my hand out and he takes it and gives it a good handshake.

“Well, Nolan Sherwood, good to meet you. Mine is Switch. That’s what everyone calls me. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the rest.”

We walk back over to the other teenagers and they all watch me with caution as we approach.

“Everyone, this is Nolan Sherwood. Nolan, this is everyone,” Switch says.

Some give me a nod, others keep watching me like I’m some freak show, cautious b ut curious. I give them my best smile.

“Hey everyone.” I say. I put my hands in my pockets unsure on what to do next.

“C’mon Nolan, relax. We just hang out here when things get hard at home and we can’t stand to be around our family.” Switch says, throwing an arm around my shoulder.

I stiffen at his touch and he removes his arm immediately. I don’t like to be touched. I’ve always been that way since I was little, and I think it’s from lack of affection from my parents. They never showed me love or attention and when someone touches me, my reaction usually isn’t good.

A girl I didn’t notice before comes out from behind the other boys and makes her way over to me, a look of something in her hazel eyes I can’t quite place.

She stands close enough I can smell her raspberry body wash, but not touching me.

She has on a black tank top, black skin-tight jeans, and a red bandana around her left leg.

She has light skin, long blonde hair, and big hoop earrings.

Her face is covered with make-up, hiding a bruise I can faintly see under her right eye.

She pops her strawberry-flavored bubble gum before she speaks.

“Name’s Tatiana, but everyone calls me Wrath.” she says with a thick east coast accent. Her hazel eyes looking into my brown ones.

“Why do they call you Wrath?” I ask her.

She rolls her eyes before answering me. “Because if you piss me off you meet the ends of my fists. Wrath of fury. This bruise is nothing compared to what the other guy looks like.” Wrath answers pointing to her eye.

She doesn’t look like she could do some damage, but her knuckles are scarred and bruised.

She cracks them while watching me and I swallow a lump in my throat.

She’s hot and my teenage hormones kick in at her being so close, but not touching me.

Wraths’ soft body sneaks closer so we’re only a hair's breadth apart. She’s got me under a spell I can’t shake and frankly, I don’t want to right now.

“This is going to be so much fun,” Wrath says giving me a wink.

"Sir, we're here," the cabbie says, yanking me out of my memories.

"Thanks." I reach into my pocket and slide the money through the bulletproof glass separating me from the driver.

"Enjoy your stay," The driver says as I get out of his cab.

He flips on the light above his taxi and speeds away, into the bustling street of Mid-town.

My eyes search the surrounding area, making sure no one is following me before I walk.

Skyscrapers greet me as I make my way down the familiar streets of New York City.

People are milling around me with earbuds in, ignoring everything around them and drowning out the horns and sirens floating around them.

The tourists are easy to spot, stopping every few feet to snap a picture or pointing out massive skyscrapers in an expression of awe.

If they only recognize the dangers that lurk around the corner, they'd follow the people who grew up here and keep their heads down.

The tourists were easy prey for us when I was a teenager.

We'd get them to watch one way, while we'd pocket what cash they'd have in their wallets.

It was exhilarating and nerve wracking the first few times, but after doing it for a while, it became second nature.

The guilt eating away at my subconscious stayed tucked in the back of my mind until I finished the job.

Now, watching these kids approach the tourists, I have the desire to run over and shout to get away.

I know they're probably just like I was, lost and alone, but I still wish someone would have told me back in the day, how wrong it was and guide me in the right direction.

Exhaling a deep breath, I continue to walk down the busy sidewalk, leaving a part of my past behind me.

I'm here to save Xavier and Izzy, not tumble down the rabbit hole I once was in.

Approaching an intersection, I stop and wait to cross the street.

People all around me are doing the same, waiting for the signal to cross.

They're all like sheep, being herded and following directions.

A boy around eight years old, with brown shaggy hair and light brown eyes, captures my attention.

He's standing next to a girl who looks to be around fifteen.

She's tugging on his shirt, trying to make him follow her down the alley.

His familiar eyes connect with mine, a look of shock written all over his face.

The girl tugging on him follows his sight and she does a double take when she sees me standing away from the rest of the crowd.

Her golden blonde hair and familiar hazel eyes widen in surprise.

She whispers something to the little boy and nudges him away from me.

They take off at a fast pace down the alley, out of my sight.

Once the shock wears off, my feet are moving in their direction, eating up the pavement.

I turn down the alley they disappeared to and they're nowhere in sight.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and try to calm my racing heart. What the fuck was that about? Dialing Ashton, I strum my fingers against my jeans, keeping an eye out for the kids again. Pacing back and forth, I run a hand through my hair while I wait for Ashton to pick up.

"Nolan, fucker. You can't do that. Where are you?" Ashton says when he picks up the phone.

"Listen, I need you to run a check on a woman named Tatiana. Street name Wrath. That's all I know."

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on? Ashley is on her way here. She's pissed."

"No, not yet. I need you to run a full check and get back to me ASAP." I answer, hanging up the phone before he can reply.

I walk back out of the alley and cross the street. Fuck this waiting bullshit. Horns blare in my direction, but I'm done being a sheep. One menacing glare from me has the drivers laying off the horns and throwing their hands up in the air. That's right motherfuckers, I'm back and I'm out for blood.