Page 63 of Soulless Saint

“What the fuck, man? Get off the damn road! Who the fuck does this clown think he is?”

My heart lurched into my throat, recognizing the long rectangular tail lights. Not the kind you’d find on a car meant for street racing. The kind you’d find on a vintage Chevy Impala. My chest rose and fell heavily as I caught a flip of blond hair through the back windshield, sitting in the front seat.

Oh god.

What was he doing?

Did he want to die?

Kaleb’s grip flexed on the steering wheel and his upper lip curled back over his teeth as he raced to catch up with both the new driver and Grey’s car farther ahead.

Aodhán was gaining speed on Grey fast. I pressed my lips closed to hold in a sound of surprise as I watched him completely overtake Grey in a maneuver that almost sent Grey into a tailspin, making him press on the brakes.

Kaleb pulled up next to Grey and they shared a look through the car windows.

Who is that? I could see the words form on Grey’s lips.

“I don’t fucking know!” Kaleb shouted, spit flying from his mouth. “But he’s fucking dead.”

Kaleb floored it, the car’s engine whining in protest as he quite literally put pedal to metal. A thrill went through me as Kaleb released his right hand’s grip on the steering wheel, his palm hovering over the flipswitch for the NOS, fingers twitching and at the ready.

Every muscle in my body clenched, bracing as we drove up a slowly inclining hill, chasing those slim rectangular headlights that only seemed to get further and further ahead.

“How the hell is that bastard beating us in his fucking,” Kaleb hit the steering wheel. “Grandma’s.” He hit it again. “Car!” Again. “Fuck!”

Lights flashed overhead as we neared the crest of the hill, and I knew this was it. The home stretch.

“Hold on, Vixen!”

We hit the top of the hill, and I inhaled sharply as the tires left the pavement and we soared in the air for a blissful second before crashing back down onto the cracked asphalt. The jarring motion made my head spin, and I held on for dear life as the crowd came into view ahead. Just a mile or two down the hill, across a flat stretch of road then there they were.

The finish line was in reach and it looked like Aodhán was going to be the winner. Could he even do that?

“Come on, come on,” Kaleb cried, his fingers curling ever closer to that tiny silver switch as we hit the base of the hill and put tires down on the long straightaway that would lead directly to the finish.

Aodhán was almost there. He was going to fucking win.

“Press it, Kaleb!” I cried. “He’s winning!”

“No, he’s not!”

Grey, beside us a split second ago, sped out ahead, flames shooting from his exhaust as he engaged his Nitrous.

“Kaleb!”

“Too fucking soon,” he shouted after Grey, finger on the pulse as he fucking closed his eyes and then flicked our switch.

A high pitched cry died in my chest before I could even get it out of my throat, smothered to nothing from the pressure on my chest as he rocketed forward. All I could do was sit there, wide eyed, trying to hold in the sudden violent urge to pee as tears bled from the corners of my eyes and we caught up with Grey.

Shit.

Kaleb was right. He had pressed it too soon.

We were going to get ahead.

The space between us and Aodhán depleted by the millisecond until we were right on his ass, and I held my breath, terrified we’d get close enough for Kaleb to see his face.

We edged alongside Aodhán’s rear as the finish line appeared in a checkered blur ahead.

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