Page 85 of Ignite

Shit. Is he going to be mad if he finds out I’ve raced it? Or that I race at all?

Out of everyone, I think he’d get it.

The adrenaline. The quiet mind.

The danger.

“Look. He doesn’t know exactly that I’m racing her. So we can just keep that between us. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“For fuck’s sake, Hallie,” Pete hisses.

“You think all these people can keep quiet?”

I look around at the crowd—men and women, some circling the McLaren like sharks.

“Uh, yeah?”

I’ve never heard his name dropped at a race before.

“Whatever. Head over to the starting line, be careful with that thing. She isn’t a Shelby.”

“I know.”

Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t know cars.

I grew up surrounded by them. Helping Dad fix them up.

I’ve been racing for two damn years.

I’ve won a few. I’m not the best, but I keep up.

But in this car? I have a shot.

With a sharp breath, I push through the crowd, shoving people aside to reach my car.

“Damn. How many dicks you gotta suck to earn one of these?” a sleazy, tatted guy asks.

“Just the one.” I flip him off and slide behind the wheel, letting the engine roar alive.

“Be good for me, please,” I whisper as I shift into first and pull away.

Ten of us are in the race. I’m starting sixth.

But looking around? My car will piss all over theirs.

It all depends on the roads and my driving.

No distractions.

Except the fear still buzzing in my brain, Pete’s eyes when he mentioned Conan.

What am I missing?

The girls line up at the starting line, red flags waving like a challenge in the air.

My heart hammers as the cars around me rev, a beautiful, terrifying symphony.

The crowd counts down.

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