Page 28

My own eyes wide, my skin flushed so that even I could feel its heat, I stared at him.

Even knowing it wasn’t the OG Clyde, he patted the steering wheel with open fondness, then winked at me again. “Come on, woman. Time to kick some ass.”

He gave me a final kiss on the lips, then rapped his knuckles on the window, and when Brady cleared it, he opened his door.

Feeling as though a force of nature had swept through the car—as if he were a force to be reckoned with—and knowing I would follow him to the ends of the Earth and beyond, I opened my own door.

All at once, I realized music was thumping from the other end of the line of cars, and that several more had arrived since I’d last looked. A few sets of headlights illuminated bystanders—guys and a few smart girls wearing jeans and hoodies against the chill of early autumn, plus several not-so-smart girls in skimpy bodycon dresses and sky-high heels.

Layla walked over to me, nodding in their direction. “Sure, they look hot as fuck, but their tits have gotta be freezing off, am I right?”

I stuffed my hands into my own hoodie. “Totally glad we dressed for the weather.”

Layla smirked knowingly. “Your jeans look painted on, your eye makeup is motherfucking smoky hawt, you’re wearing fuck-me boots, and I’d bet the mother lode on you wearing matching lacy lingerie underneath it all.”

I laughed, feeling so much lighter than I had when we first left the house. “You know me too well.”

She shrugged. “Like you don’t know I’m rocking the same. Never know when a girl’s gonna get lucky around here.”

She scanned our surroundings. Beyond our guys, others were busy checking us out. Appearing pleased by the attention we were drawing, Layla fluffed her hair and waggled her brows at Reed Carter.

I laughed at her antics, drawing Griffin’s eyes just as Rich drove by slowly in the Aston Martin Valkyrie, a Slipstream Green that screamed of money. Before he passed us, he lowered his window and eyed Griffin.

“Ready to lose?”

Griffin chuffed. “Always trying for the clever lines and failing, aren’t you, Rich? I’m ready to put you in your place.”

“All right, then. Let’s go.”

With that, Rich rolled farther up the road and stopped to idle at the painted line. The county had tried to erase it several times over the last couple of years, but that never lasted.

Hunt, Brady, Layla, and I surrounded Griffin as he leaned against Clyde’s door. He stared back at us, his gaze heating on me before nodding.

“I’ll see you guys on the other side. Then, we’ll celebrate.”

Once more, his stare landed on me—and again heated.

Fuck yeah, we were going to celebrate.

“Give him hell,” I told Griff.

He tipped his head at me, then the others. “Enough for all of us.”

Before I was ready to say goodbye, or maybe good luck, he was inside the car, strapping on his seatbelt and revving the engine.

See you guys in less than five, he told us, rolling around the other cars to sidle up next to Rich at the starting line.

A girl in bodycon accepted a pair of flags from Tyler Houser, the organizer of these races. Born and raised in Ridgemore, and now in his late twenties, Tyler had never left town. We didn’t know him well, just enough to understand he ran several shady ventures, including taking bets at these drag races.

“Hold up,” I called out to both of them and hustled over.

Tyler turned fully my way with a question in the arch of his brows.

Across the few feet that still separated us, I called ahead, “I’ll take those flags.”

When I reached them, the girl hesitated, but Tyler didn’t, taking them from her to hand them to me.

“Thanks,” I said, handing him a bill. “And fifty on Griffin.”

His brows arched again. “Even against an Aston fucking Martin?”

“Even then. Especially fucking then. Griff’s gonna leave Rich’s ass in the dust.”

The finish line was a quarter mile out. Not long for cars going full-out, but long enough for a skilled driver to carve out a gap.

Tyler dipped his head to one side, scratching his pockmarked cheeks as he considered me, then pocketed the fifty as he nodded. “Shit, I guess I’ve seen the lot of you do crazier. Start it when you’re ready, Joss.”

While I’d been talking, Layla, Hunt, and Brady had drawn closer.

Layla pointed to the flags. “Since when do you wanna start the races?”

“Since I can’t wait for it to be over.” And because I wanted to have some part in this race, to feel like I was riding along with Griffin in some way.

The crowd around me quieted in anticipation. The music was turned down while Griff and Rich revved their engines.

I positioned myself between the two cars, my eyes on Griff for a moment I wanted to drag out forever, before I raised the red flags to either side of me.

You’ve got this, I told him.

You know I do, he answered.

Then I brought down both flags.

Griff was off a millisecond before Rich, who burned rubber as he pulled out.

I spun and held my breath against the smoke, watching the glow of taillights grow distant, knowing it would be over faster than seemed possible.

Brady, Hunt, and Layla joined me at the starting line.

“Looking tight,” Brady commented as Griff and Rich seemed to be pacing each other.

“Come on, Griff,” Layla urged though he wouldn’t hear her. “You can do it!”

“’Course he can,” Hunt said. “Griff’s the man.”

Griffin pulled ahead a few feet, and I laughed, suddenly buoyant.

He was going to do it. Of course he was.

Griffin could do anything—fucking anything—

A terrifying BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM clapped the night before rolling like thunder. The earth beneath our feet rattled—as Clyde erupted into a fireball.

Its back tires on fire, already smoking, the Aston Martin’s body visibly shuddered as it raced past the burning Mustang.

I knew I was screaming but couldn’t hear myself.

My ears were ringing.

My heart had stopped beating.

And the Mustang—with Griffin inside it—burned like a raging inferno.

Again, the Mustang exploded, the flames pushing higher, bigger, wider—deadlier.

My heart thudded back to beating, now too fast.

Pieces of Griffin’s car rained down from the sky to the ground with horrifying clatters that were muffled by the incessant ringing.

I might have still been screaming when I took off at a flat sprint—fuck-me heels be damned.

Layla, Brady, and Hunt ran beside me.

Toward our friend.

Toward the man I loved.

The man we all loved.

Even when it was obviously too late. We’d find Griffin’s beautiful body in charred, mangled pieces—a precise reflection of my heart.

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