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I’m still sort of new to the sport as I’ve always preferred bikes, but I can handle my car alright. I’ve modded it with coil overs to lower it so it hugs the road, and I’ve welded the differential to allow the wheels to spin at the same rate and kick out a little easier. Benny thinks it’s ridiculous, but I think it’s just because he’s not as quick to pick up on things as I am. He’s the book person, while I’m the action person.
Well, at least now he is. There are things in his past he refuses to talk about. Things that when he even brings them up, he gets this look of torment in his eyes.
Whatever. My car is built for fun. So I whip around in the middle of the street, feathering the throttle so I don’t overdo it, and work my ass off to catch up with the drifters.
The glow of their tail lights isn’t far ahead. Challenge accepted.
I gain on them, and when I’m close enough, I kick the clutch to initiate my drift. They’re within a few inches of each other and while I’m confident in my abilities—always have been—I’ve not tandem drifted much. Especially not in the dark. I’m also not interested in fucking up their cars with carelessness because I don’t know these drivers.
So, my follow run is close but not as close as their tandem. That’s fine because my angle is surprisingly pretty great. I accelerate into the next turn, facing the opposite direction of the last one, when the passenger side window of the Nissan 240SX in front of me rolls down. Someone hollers a cheering sound out the window and I see their phone and a fist pumping. They’re riding along and recording, having a blast apparently.
I hold my thumb out the window, a feeling of acceptance and giddiness bubbling up inside me as I drift. Honestly, I half expected a gun to be pointing in my direction. Drifting is more of a scene for the Hellions and they don’t like newcomers. It’s why I’ve avoided any of the meets around here, because I’m a rich boy from across town. They won’t accept me.
But I guess now I’m no longer that person and what the hell, I’m out here to have fun, right?
The next turn tosses us in the next direction, forcing us across the road into oncoming traffic. Fuck it. We see no headlights and take the line. This time, the driver of the Nissan 240 is facing me. They too roll their window down. Only they give me a sweeping motion, encouraging me to get a little closer to their car as they work to tap their front tire on the door of the car in front of them.
I inch closer, my confidence ramping up the more they accept me. I can hear them whooping and hollering, their engines bouncing off the rev-limiter as they work to maintain the drift. Keeping myself close enough without going overboard, we fly through the next three turns that I just came up a little while ago.
The daring cries of pure enjoyment from passengers egg me on. I’ve never had anyone ride with me. That’s probably a good thing, because having someone in the car encouraging me would only make me go harder. That could for sure be dangerous.
No doubt Lennox would love this. Why the hell I’m thinking of her, I have no idea, but I can’t help but think how much fun she would have doing something like this. She’d probably be great at it, too.
The road straightens out for a beat and the cars I’ve been drifting with draw back their speed, surrounding me on either side of the three lanes. I freeze for a moment, thinking maybe this is where they draw the line. But the window of the lead car, a Toyota Chaser, JZX 100, the color of red wine, rolls down. An older guy, maybe forties with tattooed forearms, doesn’t have a gun pointed but an affable grin and a respecting gleam in his eyes.
“I hope you can run, son. We just got flagged by the police. If you can keep up, I’ll let you run my mountain again.” My brows pull together in confusion. Cops? I don’t see any cops. We’ve nearly made it to the mouth of the mountain again, but sure enough, when I look off into the distance, the glow of red and blue lights shines in the dewy air.
Fuck. I do not need to tangle with those assholes. If I go that way though, they are for sure going to pull me. I may not be part of their crew, but my car just looks like it’s up to no good like anyone else on this mountain. The older guy in the Chaser revs his engine. The sound of his car is mellow, but it’s enough to catch your attention. When I glance at him, making sure to keep my BMW between the two cars on my sides, he’s raising a questioning brow.
He needs an answer, and quickly. A grin creeps across my face before I even give the command, giving him his response.
I raise my voice loud enough that he’ll hear me loud and clear over the echo of our cars and tires. “Fuck it. Let’s do this shit.”
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
TRACE
These fuckers knowwhat the hell they’re doing with a car. Somehow I’ve ended up barricaded in the middle of the two. The Chaser in front, the 240SX behind me. Calm as ever, we navigate back up the mountain that we just drifted down. The lookouts that stopped me have already packed their shit up and moved out. The sweet scent of racing fuel and acrid burning rubber still lingers in the air from our earlier descent.
Notably, the cops are decent drivers as well. They don’t have the proper center of gravity for mountain racing—or turbos—but they have some skill and horsepower in their V8s. However, they’ve been falling back for the duration of the last few turns. The echo of their sirens that we catch now and then is getting quieter and the glow of their lights is fading.
Still, we don’t slow. I can guarantee this isn’t the first time these drivers have run from the cops. No, with their precision, they know this mountain too well and have practiced this way too many times.
Is this the first timeI’verun from the cops? No. Not in the slightest.
Despite the hair-raising moment in which I am completely calm, I chuckle to myself, shaking my head with what some would consider is too much confidence. This is turning out to be quite the interesting night.
Am I surrounded by at least three people that I don’t know and think belong to the Hellions? Yes, I one-hundred percent am. But I’ve always been good at pressure. When you live under it nearly twenty-four-seven, you learn to deal with it. I don’t let the fact that I have absolutely no way out bother me, either. If they wanted harm to come to me, they wouldn’t have told me about the cops. They would’ve left me there to take the fall.
So, even when we hit the exit, our speed hitting around one-twenty, I don’t even think about disengaging and heading the other way. I’m curious to see where this goes. Hazel told me to learn who I am in life. Take some time to get to know myself. That’s what I’m doing, I guess. I never claimed that I wouldn’t get into trouble.
Running from the police is doing just that, but that was the simple part. Now I have to see where they plan to take me and how they intend for this situation to play out.
My heart races a little when we meet up with another pack of cars, a mixture of well-kept machines and some missiles that have seen better days. I wouldn’t sleep on them, though. It’s always the rough ones that will whoop your ass. At least in this scene, anyway.
As the night grows darker and darker, just the halo of headlights and taillights hightailing it down the two-lane road, we make our way further away from the northern side of Northgate into the southern side—strictly Hellion territory.
Strangely enough, I’m still calm.
