Page 22 of The Consequence of You (Heathley Academy #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CALLIE

A sher’s been firing questions at me since we left the gallery, and I haven’t answered any of them.

I’m conscious I owe him an explanation, especially when he effectively rescued me from one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had, without me even having to ask.

Not only that, but his presence when Nico handed me back Mama’s bracelet might have been the only thing that stopped me falling apart in a very public place.

Asher found Rossi outside the gallery and told him he’d drive me home before ushering me into his car. Too distracted to argue with him or even notice the route he drove wasn’t, in fact, to my home at all. It’s not until I get out of his car that I realise we’re in a small unfamiliar garage.

“Where are we?” He doesn’t answer and instead leads me into another car. “Asher? ”

He opens the passenger door and signals for me to get in. “So, you’re allowed to ask me questions, but I can’t ask you anything?”

He cocks his brow and offers me a wry smile. “Do you think I haven’t noticed whenever I ask you something you don’t want to tell me, you just answer with another question? Or you change the subject?”

He’s not wrong.

“Maybe you should stop asking me things I don’t want to tell you then.” I offer him a weak smile; the fight having left me. “Where are we going?”

Asher reverses out of the garage, and after a few hundred metres of driving, he turns to me.

“You’ll see. It’s not far now.” I must be mad.

That’s the only explanation for why I’m here right now.

After what happened last night in the limo, I decided it would be okay to fool around with him as long as nothing else happened.

But in the art gallery, when he came to my rescue?

That felt like more than just fooling around.

It felt a little like friendship. And the dangerous thing about friendship is it can lead to other feelings.

Shoving the thought from my mind, I remind myself that will never happen with Asher.

We carry on driving in silence.

Eventually, he pulls off the main road, down a narrow winding lane. We continue in relative darkness until we reach a large clearing in the trees. It’s full of cars, with people milling about everywhere. There are temporary lights set up, people drinking beer and shots, dancing and music playing.

As we drive further into the field, the crowd moves apart, and people nudge each other, whistling and pointing when they see Asher’s car. Asher pulls what I thought was a hat down over his face. It turns out to be a black ski mask. He tosses me a matching one.

“Put this on.”

I’m too curious to find out what this is to refuse, so I do it without question. I cover my face and tuck in my hair.

We pull up next to a flashy red car. The driver is a young guy with a closely shaved head and a tattoo winding up his neck. He turns and winks at us before making a gesture of slicing his throat and pointing at both of us in turn.

The guy revs his engine loudly, and Asher laughs before leaning over me and checking my seatbelt. That’s when it dawns on me.

This is a race.

It’s a goddamn car race.

“Let me out, Asher.”

My demand falls on deaf ears. He just revs back at the guy in the other car and mimes shooting a gun at him.

A pretty girl wearing denim shorts and a handkerchief-style cropped top that barely contains her boobs, waves a starting flag as if this whole situation isn’t utterly crazy.

“Asher?” Turns out being ignored is frustrating.

I probably have a maximum of five seconds to get out of his car, but something pins me to my seat. Something inexplicable and seriously reckless has me staying exactly where I am.

It’s common knowledge that my mother died in a car accident. And yet Asher’s brought me here. Just like our conversation yesterday, he tests me in a way no one else does.

He twists in his seat and looks me dead in the eye, his forest green orbs taking me in, searching my dark irises for permission. Adrenaline skitters through my veins, my heart pounds, and I feel something inside me stir. Something I haven’t felt for a very long time. Nervousness? Fear?

Excitement?

Before I can properly identify it, a horn sounds, and we’re off.

We leave the clearing and pull into another winding lane, barely wide enough for two cars in places.

Asher has his foot flat down, and we’re already a nose ahead.

The red car is gaining on us quickly though, and he overtakes us on the first bend.

Instead of crying out in frustration like I expect, Asher howls and laughs maniacally.

For the next few minutes, it’s our car playing catch up.

We whip round the next corner, and despite my seatbelt, I find myself pressed against the car door. I grip the sides of the seat next to me and close my eyes .

What the fuck was I thinking?

Seconds tick by, and I remind myself that people recognised him when we arrived, even with his mask on.

I think about his confidence as he traded taunts with the other driver.

It’s clearly not the first time he’s done this.

There were no marks on his car, no dints.

Have I ever seen him at school hurt or injured?

No. Asher is as good at this as everything else he does.

He has this under control.

I force myself to relax. I let myself feel the speed, the precision and skill with which he handles the car.

After the next bend, I open my eyes. The road is dark and lit only by Asher’s headlights.

Other than the car we’re racing, we’ve not passed another vehicle.

I can only presume this is private land.

“My mother was killed in a car accident, you know?” I raise my voice so it can be heard over the rumbling engine. My accusation is clear. What he’s doing is both dangerous, and insensitive. He shrugs, his focus on the road unwavering.

“I know.”

“You didn’t stop to think that this could be triggering for me?”

“Is it?” he shouts over the roar of the engine. When I don’t answer, he continues. “You’re enjoying it, right? It’s making you feel alive, isn’t it?”

Like always, when he asks me something I don’t want to answer, I ignore him.

I roll down the window and put my head out, feeling the wind whip past me. Tugging off the mask, I throw it into the footwell. He’s right, it’s exhilarating.

We’re gaining on the other car; its brake lights shining red when it approaches what looks like the tightest corner so far.

We hurtle towards him, and instead of slowing down, Asher increases his speed until there are only a few metres between us. For the first time in the race, I’m genuinely worried. The next corner is tight, really tight.

At the last moment, Asher brakes hard, steers tightly, puts his foot down, and pushes us out of the corner onto the straight stretch. He floors it, and we cross the finishing line barely a second before our opponent to screams and cheers from the crowd.

Asher spins the car around sharply and pulls the handbrake up hard so we skid for several metres before coming to a stop.

He shakes his head before pulling up his mask, uncovering the bottom half of his face.

Leaning across the car, he holds my jaw lightly before pressing his lips to mine for the briefest of seconds.

Before I can react, he pulls away and recovers his face. He slaps the steering wheel and roars,

“Fuck yeah!”

Holy fucking shit .

That was insane.

My heart is pounding out of my chest, and I have to bite my bottom lip to contain myself.

I never got the appeal of racing before, but I get it now.

It’s so intense and the rush afterwards is how I imagine it might feel to take drugs.

This whole thing is crazy and wrong, but I can’t remember the last time I felt so alive

The girl who started the race jumps in front of our car as we crawl slowly into the carpark. I scoop my mask out of the footwell, and yank it back on as she comes over to my open window and leans in, blowing a pink bubble with her gum.

“Nicely done. Best time this year.”

She hands me a bundle of cash. Asher gestures to his glove box so I shove it in. The girl crosses her arms under her tits, pushing them up in a blatant attempt to get Asher’s attention.

It shouldn’t bother me, but I have a sudden urge to roll the window back up, with her head still in it.

“Staying for the party, Arsonist? You and your girl can keep your masks on.”

Asher shakes his head, and we peel out of the clearing, without him saying a word.

It’s not until we’re almost home that I realise he didn’t correct her for calling me his girl.