Page 36 of Psycho Killers

“How are you feeling?” she asks sweetly, smiling even though I confessed to her just the other night about my regrets, including what I had done.

She seems to be handling everything better than I am. But then again, she has faced her own share of torment; she doesn’t flinch when chaos erupts—she’s grown accustomed to it.

“I’m not sure,” I reply honestly, attempting a smile despite the turmoil swirling in my mind. “This journey to sobriety is for the fucking birds.”

She laughs, popping a bubble with her gum, her hand still resting gently on my back, soothing my worries—at least momentarily. Her eyes reflect a glimmer of understanding, shining brightly in the sunlight.

“It’s tough, I know, but you’ve got this, Ash. We’re all in this together. We’re here for you, just like I know you’re here for us.” She plants a soft kiss on my cheek before rising, as Killian strolls down the hallway fully clad in black.

“Ready?” he asks, heading straight for the front door.

“More than ever,” she replies, a radiant smile lighting up her face—a smile that feels somewhat deceptive.

It’s as if they're about to head out on a date rather than embark on another mission driven by vengeance against yet another man who stole a part of her when he hurt her. Butthat’s what I love about her—her unwavering determination and relentless optimism, even through all the hell she’s faced.

“Just remember to keep it cool out there,” Killian warns, his tone serious despite the casual way he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “This isn't just another joyride. We’ve got a reputation to uphold, and you don’t want to slip back into old habits.”

“I won’t,” I say, my voice firmer than I feel.

The adrenaline of racing might help drown out my inner demons, at least for a few hours. It could be the distraction I need, yet a flicker of doubt still dances within me. What if the race ignites something I can't control?

As we step outside,the heat wraps around us like a heavy blanket, the sun setting on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold. There’s something about evenings like this that always gets my blood pumping—the thrill of the chase, the rush of speed, and the sound of engines roaring to life.

Dominic’s tattoo shop looms in the distance, a sanctuary for those who live for the thrill of pain.

Just beyond his shop, Five’s friend's garage peeks out from the line of businesses. The neon lights flicker as we approach, and I can already sense the energy pulsing from within—music blaring, laughter erupting, and the unmistakable scent of oil and metal. It's intoxicating.

As we step inside, I transition from the darkness of my thoughts into the vibrant chaos of the shop, and it feels like a breath of fresh air. Blue spots us immediately, his grease-streaked hands raised in greeting, a big grin plastered across his face.

“There’s my favorite crew!” he hollers, moving to meet us halfway. “You missed the last couple of races, Ash. I hope you’re ready to make up for lost time.”

“More than ready,” I reply, my pulse quickening as excitement takes hold. “Just need to get my car in shape first.”

“Let’s do it,” he says. “I’ve been itching to see what you’ve got under that hood after all this time.”

Five starts chatting with Dominic about modifications while I wander over to my car with Blue, feeling a strange sense of possessiveness over it. It’s not just a vehicle; it’s a piece of me—the part that craved speed and freedom, a stark contrast to my current battle against my vices.

As I kneel beside the engine, tinkering with wires and screws, I feel more grounded. The mechanical chaos is a parallel to my mind—a jumble that needs fixing. The familiar clang of tools and the rasp of metal against metal ease some of the heavy weight on my shoulders.

With each adjustment, memories flood back—memories of late-night races filled with laughter, the smell of burnt rubber mingling with the thrill of danger. I can almost hear the cheers of my friends and the exhilaration of crossing the finish line just ahead of my rivals.

“Hey!” Dominic’s voice cuts through my reverie. “You’ve got to keep focus tonight. The adrenaline needs to be directed at the race, not… you know.”

I nod, swallowing the surge of emotions. He’s right. I have a chance to redefine what this all means—a chance to reclaim my life without letting drugs sully it.

After a few hours of tweaking and tuning, my car stands ready for action; the engine purrs like a fucking cat, and I can’t help but feel a rush of pride.

“What do you think?” I ask, glancing at Blue, Five, and Dominic, who are all inspecting my work with raised eyebrows.

“Damn, that’s sexy,” Five says, clapping me on the shoulder.

“Just try not to crash it this time,” Dominic teases, tossing me a wrench.

The mood shifts as Cali's image appears beside me, her hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights. “You’re gonna show them what you’ve got tonight, right?”

“Absolutely,” I reply, feeling fired up. “I won’t let you down.” Knowing she isn't really here, I speak under my breath, not wanting anyone to know that I'm seeing shit.

As we prepare to leave, I take a deep breath and steel myself against the turmoil that’s waited patiently in the shadows. Tonight, I’ll channel everything—the chaos, the thrill, the fight within me—into the race. I can’t deny how enticing the thought of leaning into the darkness is, but right now, the roaring sound of the engines blaring into the night redirects my focus.

---