Page 71 of War and his Queen

Twenty minutes later, everyone has split into their collective groups. Stella sprays a line below the entrance sign to Cirque de Diavolo as River fixes her makeup with one hand while looking into a small compact mirror, and clutching her Desert Eagle in the other.

“You want to set the track?” Stella leans into my window after I’ve positioned my bumper parallel to the starting line. Not everyone is focusing on the race, since a lot of groups are scattered around, dancing, smoking, and burning rubber, but I want to be the first one to put tread down on this particular track.

For one, I didn’t know where I was going, so I just hoped that whoever I was racing knew that. It should have been Stella. She acts like she isn’t as big of a car girl like the rest of us, but you put that girl behind any wheel and she’ll smoke you off the line.

My muscles relax when I inhale the smell of hot exhaust pipes and rubber. “Of course! Who am I up against?”

There’s always someone who needs to be humbled in the car scene. I liked to be the one doing the humbling.

Dad’s name flashes over the front screen of my phone and my smile falls. “Hold that thought.”

My finger hovers over the screen. He’s never had to discipline me. In fact, he refused to. Probably explains a lot now that I look back to my past—and current—choices, but it’s why I’ve always felt soft around him. He’s never had to raise his voice at me.

Bishop Vincent Hayes doesn’t have to raise his voice at anyone, because his name alone is enough to scare everyone. Except me, apparently, since I have decided to play on his nerves since suspecting he’s been playing favorites.

I swipe, blocking one ear before I have a chance to wind up my window. It’s impossible to get silence at these things, but at least I can hear his words.

“Halen.”

I swallow but my throat is dry. “Dad, I’m just out.”

“Doing? You were supposed to be home. Preparing for the ritual this weekend. You can’t be out doing whatever you’re doing with your car friends.”

My eyes rest on the endless pit of darkness up ahead. It looks like the street materializes into nothing.

I ignore his words and focus on his tone, putting some of my training to work. It won’t work. Dad is a master at everything that I was merely just learning, but there’s a coat of honey over the harsh edge of his tone, as if he is wondering what exactly we are doing here and why we aren’t with the boys.

“I’ll be home later, Dad.”

I hang up my phone, breathing in a shaky breath.

Lowering the window once more, the wind picks up and curls its fingers in my hair as I brush it back behind my ear. Fear prickles down the crux of my spine when I feel it.

Shaking off the skepticism, I turn to Stella, who has reappeared at my window. “At least you can’t run anyone off a cliff here…”

She laughs, shoving me in the arm with a side-eye. “I didn’t! He drove off himself!” Her eyes widen on me with mock insult. Yeah. Sure. We all know that’s a lie.

Stella steals the microphone off Kevin, who’s leaning against his Mazda 323. He presses his hand to his heart, as if offended. He isn’t. He knows the rules.

She lifts it to her mouth, widening her smile so far that her straight, white teeth almost blind us. “If you haven’t dropped your phones in the basket, do so now before you’re checked. You know the rules. If you’re found to have it on you, you’re out.” She bats her long lashes at the spotlight on her. “This is our new spot. As expected, Nismo Hayes will be the first to burn the way. We ride how we do back at Devil’s Cockpit—but let’s…”

My eyes narrow on Stella when I see her brain ticking over. I know that look. We’ve all seen it one or two times growing up.

Her shoulders straighten as she lifts her chin. “The loser has to do whatever I say for the rest of the night.”

I roll my eyes as people whistle and hoot. How is she going to threaten everyone with a good time? Now they’re going to want to lose just to have her attention.

“And trust me—” She turns to me, her eyes darkening. “—no one wants to be my pet.”

Once a few of the boys who chill with Kevin have checked everyone’s phones, except mine, Stella continues, “Twenty races. One final. One winner. Since Halen wins all hers, like always, shedoesn’t go into the pool of winners. We have to make it fair…” She pauses a moment. “I have a little something special for the losing team tonight.”

She lowers the mic and throws it back to Kevin, who pushes off his car and waltzes toward me.

“You make me question my sexuality, little Nismo. You know where you’re going tonight?”

I chuckle, revving my engine. “Who am I racing, Kev?” I had barely turned my head to him when a Honda pulls up beside me with its windows down.

When the driver shifts his arm out of the way of his face, my smile hits the ground hard. Words fail me because my chest tightens as I try to suck in deep breaths.

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