Page 92 of Scarred Angel

A red flare streaks across my peripheral, joining the row of headlights cutting through the darkness. I shift into gear, and the street goes quiet except for the hum of motors.

This is it.

“You’ve got this,” I whisper.

I settle in, draw a deep breath, and let the sounds hit me. Engines rev all around me, rattling through my ribs until my pulse matches their rhythm. The air tastes like gasoline and melted rubber. And that familiar tingle of euphoria begins to crawl up my spine. I’ve waited weeks for this.

The starter’s arm drops, and the street explodes.

I slam the gas, and Poison Ivy launches. My tires scream, and smoke curls behind me as the other cars push and claw for the lead. A black Charger presses close on the left, a silver Skyline on the right, their engines shake my focus. But I keep my eyes forward and shift.

“Not today, Artie.”

The Skyline noses ahead for just a breath, but I swing wide on the first bend, my tires biting into the pavement. I cut in tight, stealing the inside and forcing him to ease off or risk taking paint off his bumper. The move bumps me into third, a Camaro and Balterra’s Hellcat still ahead.

“Fuck you and your girl, Balterra.”

His taillights flash, and his exhaust spits fire as he guns it down the straight. I match him, though, feeling Ivy’s power beneath me. I take the Camaro on the next curve, slipping in low, my front end inches from his quarter panel before I punch past him.

“Eat my fucking dust,” I say with a laugh, but quickly recover. “Head back in the game, Val.”

Because now it’s just me and that son of a bitch, Balterra.

We blow through the first lap. The city lights blur past us in a smear of gold and white. My focus narrows to the road and the space between us. He’s pushing hard, but I can tell he’s guarding his line, keeping me from the inside. That’s fine. Fucker can’t block me forever.

Just gotta get him vulnerable. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I’ll have my name back…just to forget it again while Maksim gives me a proper winner’s reward, face buried in the sheets and folded over the edge of his bed.

My mind starts to drift, but the fantasy doesn’t last.

The second lap chews at my leg. A dull reminder that maybe I might have benefited from another week in a cast and somephysical therapy. But there’s no time for regrets. I shift my weight, ignore it, and press harder.

A silver RX-7 creeps up in my mirror, trying to catch me while my thoughts are in disarray. I drop a gear and surge forward, leaving him behind before he gets the chance. Every nerve is on fire, every movement deliberate. I have to overtake Balterra.

He can’t win.

“Come on. I got this. Maksim is waiting.” Losing my car and my dignity in one night is too much of a gut punch.

Cursing behind clenched teeth, I take a sweeping right, letting the car drift just enough to keep momentum. Balterra’s close enough that I can see the faint reflection of my headlights on his rear bumper. I wait for him to slip, to take a turn too hot, but he’s disciplined.

“Fuck!”

The next stretch is my chance. My last one.

I pull up alongside him, and he glances at me through his open window and smiles.

Something in my chest tightens.

The road ahead curves into a blind, sharp left. I know this corner. I’ve taken it a hundred times. I start to brake…

Impact.

The Hellcat slams into my side, hard enough that the seatbelt bites into my shoulder. My wheel jerks, and my tires shriek as they lose grip. The back end whips out, spinning me sideways.

“No!” I fight it, steering into the slide, but the force is too much, and Ivy spins, the world breaking apart into streaks of headlights and shadows.

Metal kisses concrete with a sickening crunch as I slide. My teeth rattle, my leg screams, and the engine chokes before going silent. Through the spiderwebbed windshield, Balterra’s taillights glow red as they vanish into the dark.

Heat floods my face, and tears burn hot, spilling over before I can stop them.