Page 61 of Forsaken Oath

The text comesin that night. Twenty-four hours ahead of the race.

Unknown Number: 34.987654, -111.123456. 9PM. Don’t be late.

My phone vibrates once more in my hand, but this time it’s Graham. Ignoring it, I sink down onto the edge of my bed, the glow of the screen illuminating the coordinates.

The Gauntlet always uses this cryptic shit. Just enough information to get you where you need to go, nothing more. No details, no reassurance. You either show up ready to race or you don’t.

I swipe open a private browser and type the coordinates into the search bar. The map loads sluggishly, teasing me with its spinning wheel, until finally the location appears. My stomach twists into a familiar knot of excitement.

Zooming in and switching to the street view, I get a better look at the starting location. Where they hand out the GPS devices the coalition uses to track every driver.

But I wouldn’t be surprised if the actual race takes place there.

My heart beats faster as I study the map, zooming out to take in the surrounding area. Echo Ridge. I’ve never raced there before, but I’ve heard stories.

Five hours from Avalon Falls, it’s a ghost town, or close to it. Once a bustling industrial town, most of the businesses dried up years ago, leaving behind a patchwork of abandoned warehouses and crumbling infrastructure. The kind of place where no one asks questions if they hear engines revving in the night.

The perfect spot for an illegal street race. Isolated, plenty of winding roads and straightaways. Enough obstacles to keep things interesting.

My mind races as I scan the map, already plotting potential routes and strategies. The Gauntlet is all about adapting on the fly, using your instincts and skills to outmaneuver the competition. But a little advanced recon never hurt anyone.

I zoom in on one particular stretch of road, a long straightaway flanked by dilapidated warehouses on either side. If I had to guess, that’s where they’ll stage the main event. Plenty of room for the crowd to gather, to place their bets and watch the carnage unfold.

The thought sends a thrill down my spine, electric and addicting. It’s been too long since I felt that rush, that heady mix of danger and adrenaline that comes with pushing myself and my car to the absolute limit.

Out there on the road, nothing else matters. Not the bullshit of daily life, not the tangled web of family secrets. Just me, my car, and the thrill of the race.

My phone vibrates again, Graham's name flashing insistently on the screen. With a sigh, I swipe to answer.

“Yeah?”

“You get the text?” His voice is quiet, measured.

“Yeah, I got it,” I reply, dragging my hand through my hair. “Echo Ridge. Tomorrow.”

There’s a pause, and I can practically hear the gears turning in Graham’s head. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I’m in it now, aren’t I?”

“You don’t owe them shit, man. If you want out, just say the word. I’ll get you out.” He pauses. “We could find a loophole for the inheritance.”

I shake my head, wiping the smile off my face. My big brother, always trying to swoop in and rescue me. “Nah, I’m good.”

I made my bed, and I’m gonna fuckin’ lie in it. I’d like to think Nana Jo would understand.

“Enough about me. Where are you? Wanna grab food or something?”

He grunts. “I have a few things to take care of tonight. Tomorrow?”

I nod, even though Graham can't see it through the phone. "Yeah, sounds good."

We end the call, and I toss my phone onto the bed, scrubbing a hand over my face. The restless energy is already starting to build, anticipation and adrenaline mixing in my veins.

It’s going to be a long twenty-four hours.

27

ELOISE

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