I’m surprised by the expression that comes over her face—a mask sliding into place on my deviant…my violent little minx.
“And where exactly are we going to do that?”
Intrigued, I smirk at her. “Anywhere you want.”
Clenching the lighter now, her left thumb brushes back and forth along the harsh grooves of the striker when she starts searching for a target. Me? I accelerate faster, hoping and praying I get to the true intended recipient before she makes any other fun decisions. If we didn’t already have something important to do, I’d let her throw that damn thing anywhere, but alas, I need it as much as I need her.
“Alright.” That word—it eases from her lips all smooth and silk-like. What I’d give to taste it, to lick it off those lush pouts, and feed it right back to her on the tip of my tongue. Wrenching my mind out of the gutter, I press the switch on my door to lower her window down. Thinking I would need to make another U-turn at the next light to reach the officer, Nadia surprises me by climbing out of the window and sitting on the ledge—so much for being scared of removing her harness at sixty-five miles an hour.
Flick, flick, flick.She strikes the lighter then goes quiet right asFire Womancues up on the radio, the irony making me chuckle. With a slight jerk of my wrist, we swerve closer to the officer who is finally interested in our summertime shenanigans.
Then? My diabolica throws the canister at the officer’s windshield and it erupts in flames.
“That’s my fucking girl!”
Chapter eight
“Oh fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, Kaleb!” She squeals.
Nothing stops me from laughing at her anxious shouts, or the way she’s now death gripping the ‘oh shit’ handle above her window. Clinging to the damn thing like a life raft while she jolts abruptly in her chair from the hella rough get away—lacking any sort of finesse. Her involvement though? I’m impressed as fuck, I didn’t think she had it in her for one. Two, I had no idea it would turn me on as much as it has.
My foot has the accelerator crushed to the floor, any harder and I’m going to break through the aluminum frame and hit the pavement racing beneath us. Red and blue lights are flashing behind us in multiple pairs, one directly behind and two flanking him. I’m not sure how many other patrol vehicles there are but I'll be damned if I’m not testing every bit of athletic ability this car has to offer. I bob and weave through traffic while a few vehicles try, and nearly fail, to get out of the way before we fly past them.
Sirens screech angrily behind us when we fly through another intersection. I rip the wheel to the right to circle back around andalmost toss Nadia onto the center console. It’s shitty work but serves a purpose, this running in circles, keeps the cops busy, us out of jail, and gives the riders what time they need to finish their drop.
While I don’t encourage criminal activity, I’m having more fun blazing through downtown with Nadia by my side than I think we would have had sitting under the stars—thank God I turned right and came to the city; consequences be damned.
While the squad cars are not gaining on us, it won’t be too much longer before my fuel gauge starts to dip. When you drive like a bat out of hell, it plows through your reserves pretty fast and, though the officers have bigger vehicles, they likely have more-full tanks. Therefore, I need to be strategic in our getaway—or our cat and mouse game, whatever.
Nestled on both sides of the steering wheel are small red buttons that I rarely ever use on the street, typically saving them for the track, but between you and me, this calls for it. Besides, I really want to see what sort of reaction I can get out of Nadia when we smoke the pigs behind us. Or how hard it’s going to be to comprehend Detroit’s business district as it blurs outside of our windows.
“Nadia, seatbelt. Now.” Demanding and needing her strapped in safely before I push the damn NOS release; thankful when she doesn’t hesitate. She’s shaking and fumbling around so much she’s struggling to get it together. The harness isn’t the most confusing contraption but when you’re running on fear and excitement, it does get more difficult than it needs to be. Finally I hear it, the clink of clasping metal and the belt’s low rasp when she yanks it hard and secures herself into place.
As soon as she stills, her hands finding the console and the door handle, my thumbs press down on the small red rubber-coated buttons, launching Delinquent even faster. Nadia gasps when she’s thrown back in her seat, her hands shoot to the strapsrestraining her shoulders and hold on to them until her fingers begin to pale from her desperate grip.
Instantly, the sights and sounds of the city morph into a blur. Colors blending together and streaking past the tinted windows, a roar of air rushing half in and half out of the same open space, and underneath it all, Nadia’s giggles. Every damn ounce of me wants to look over, to see that beautiful smile I know she is capable of, to witness joy and excitement on her face at this exact moment. This is getting to her, it’s bringing her out of her safe shell and damn, it makes me feel good.
I can’t however, I won’t, not until we are out of here and safe. One wrong move: a pedestrian crossing the road, another cop showing up ahead of us and throwing down spikes, hell even a newspaper catching on the windshield and I would kill her. That can never happen. Focus—glide left, ease right through both moving and stand-still traffic.
More cruisers join the ones behind us as we rocket past them at intersections, their lights a blaze of purple by the time our brains process the color change. This shit is surreal. There’s no fucking way I’m in a high-speed chase in Detroit with Nadia in the car. The high-stakes, fear, unknown, the unpredictability of the whole ordeal has me ready to choke. We are though. Both of us are cocooned in a fiberglass and aluminum torpedo with nothing between us except shit I’m too afraid to say and the scream of eighty’s hair metal.
Red and blue lights steadily flicker while headlights beam brightly through the ever-increasing gap—the cruisers unable to keep up with the new speeds we’re reaching. In a split second, I take a quick peek at the speedometer and other gauges, noting one hundred and twenty-seven miles an hour—creeping on one twenty-eight. There is no doubt in my mind the car will go faster, I’m only biding my time; this also isn’t the place with too manyvariables and elements that could bring everything crashing down.
Highway signs are beginning to pop up on the intersection poles, directing us to it, where we will really disappear and escape the police. From my jacket pocket, my phone tings—Emmett. I don’t have to look to know what it’s saying, we’re done, the riders are finished with their drop and we are free to get the hell out of dodge.
“Sweetheart?”
“Y…yeah?” Nadia shudders out a breath.
“What do you say, we get lost?”
“Are, are you done here? We can go?”
“Yes. Give me the word and I’ll lose them then it will be just you and me.”
A smile comes to my face when Nadia pauses, taking her time to contemplate if she’s ready to leave or not, all while we continue to actively break the law. Which reminds me, I’ll need to get license plate replacements when Zap and I return to campus—the cops have had plenty of time to pull my information up and might have already requested a warrant from a judge. I suppose Em better e ready to lawyer me the fuck up because I refuse to relinquish my racing future, or one with Nadia, to be on the run for his ass.
After what feels like an eternity, we both spot the on-ramp. That’s when she decides to give me an answer, when I was ready to decide for her.
