Page 13 of Fatal Collision
“Nah, you just love throwing money away,” I murmur distractedly, glancing around the crowd. There’s no sign of her yet.
“Hey, handsome,” a brunette says when she and some friends join our group. I peel her small, wandering hand off me when she trails her manicured fingers up my chest with a sultry smile.
“Get off the shirt, it’s Versace. Don’t touch what you can’t afford.”
She pouts, but it does nothing to serve her cause… The girl has no class in her leopard skirt and sky-high stilettos. I’m not interested. If she wants dick, my twin is her best bet. I haven’t seen him turn down an offer for easy sex yet.
“I like your car.” Her nails graze my cock through my pants, and I grab her bony wrist before she embarrasses herself further.
“Touch me again, and I’ll break it.”
I release her wrist with a sneer, and she gasps as she staggers back. Tears wobble on her lashes, before she turns on her heels to find her next target.
Noah chuckles, his muscular arm draped over the shoulder of one of the other women, who’s fluttering her lashes at me. “You know, maybe it’ll help that shitty attitude of yours if you dip it once in a while.”
I suck on my front teeth, but then Maverick smacks my chest. “Cash is up,” he says.
Headlights cut through the haze as the racers creep toward the line. Cash’s Dodge Viper ACR is up against a silver Honda Civic, a classic underdog that’s cheap and endlessly modifiable. Maverick smirks at me, and I roll my eyes at his cocky expression.
Up ahead, the racers ease into position. Cash is one of the best racers to frequent this circuit, and anyone who goes up against him has a death wish. Or at least a wish to embarrass themselves.
A girl in frayed cutoffs, with her tanned ass hanging out, walks up to take her spot at the front.
When she raises the bandana in the air, her short crop top rides up to reveal the expanse of her lean stomach, and an almost secretive smile creeps over those red painted lips.
Engines rev and roar like snarling beasts eager to tear into flesh. She waits, her toned legs and slim waist bathed in headlights, before she drops the bandana to the ground. The tires spin, gripping for traction, and the cars speed past with a loud roar.
It’s all over in less than fifteen seconds.
Cash is the winner.
As he circles back, my friends throw playful barbs at each other, amused by the fact that Maverick just burned several grand on a race we all knew would go down this way, but he isn’t upset. Money isn’t an object when you’re from the Heights.
It’s my turn to race soon, so I get in my car and smooth my hands over the leather wheel while the rumbling engine purrs beneath me.
Cash pulls up beside us, fresh from the win, a massive grin on his face. He’s rolling his window down and bragging to the others how easily he crushed the competition.
Racing is in my blood, and nothing makes me feel more alive than pushing this baby to her limits. Not even sex comes close.
Noah rests his arm on my car roof and raps hisknuckles on the window. I roll it down, and he leans in. “You’d better smoke their ass. I’ve put a hefty bet on you.”
“When have I ever lost a race?” I reply, only to get distracted when the crowd parts to reveal a certain blonde I haven’t been able to get out of my head since she pulled a gun on me.
My lips curve to the side. “Don’t worry,” I say, watching her search the crowds with her doe eyes. “I always win.”
SIX
JESSICA
This is a bad idea.
My brother is around somewhere, and I’ll be in big trouble if he sees me here. I tug my skirt down my bare thighs, cursing myself for dressing up. It’s not as if I care about what Kane thinks of me. I didn’t dress up for him.
It’s not that I want him to find me attractive, but I couldn’t show up at the racing circuit in a hoodie and jeans. At least that’s the excuse I tell myself as I tighten my jeans jacket around me.
What am I doing? Appeasing Kane, that’s what. I had no choice but to show up, or he’d go to the cops. That’s a risk I couldn’t take.
I search the rowdy crowds again for any sign of him. His friends are over by their parked sports cars, surrounded by scantily clad women, but there’s no sign ofKane Ravencourt.
