Boost by Vi Summers
Chapter 2
-Raf-
Dropping down a gear to help slow enough to take the sharp corner without braking, I pushed my car hard and fast through the turn. Arlo’s brake-lights flashed red in front of me for a split-second before he surged out of the corner.
Lights blurred out of the side windows as we wove our way through the sleeping suburban streets of L.A. I chanced a glance in the rear-vision mirror to see the initial pack of seven had thinned out to a breakaway pack of three, putting me in a comfortable second place.
A long straight had me planting my foot and welcoming the surge of power that pressed me into the seat. The sensation never got old. The rush took me back to when I was a kid, spinning shit and talking a big game, trying to earn a quick buck while outrunning my demons for fifteen minutes.
The memory had my glare narrowing on Arlo’s bumper as he braked and took a hard left a little too fast, causing him to drift wide.
I sniggered. Rookie mistake. Despite the opportunity to whip past on the inside line, I hung back to toy with him. Let him think he had the upper hand while biding my time to show him how the big boys played ball.
The guy in third dropped behind as I kept pace with Arlo’s attempt to break away. My smirk turned into a gritted grin as I cut the next turn tight on the inside line while the kid swung a fraction too wide again. Obviously, he didn’t learn from his mistakes.
Accelerating out of a gear change, I glanced left and laughed at Arlo’s expression. He was fucking losing it—tensed jaw, red in the face, wringing the steering wheel like it needed to die. When he dashed a quick look across and saw me laughing my ass off at him, his brows pulled low and one hand left the wheel.
“Go on, kid. Do it already,” I goaded, despite the taunt being lost to the noise of my engine.
I wasn’t surprised when his car shot forward and put two lengths on me. It brought on a second round of my race-crazed laughter.
“Another rookie mistake, Arlo Linetti,” I crowed.
Up ahead, a quarter of a mile away, the finish line lights grew closer by the second. Smirking devilishly and biding my time until the last possible moment, I flicked the cover off the boost button on my steering wheel and firmly pressed it. My Supra shot forward in response to the nitrous oxide deposited directly into the fuel line, feeding the turbocharged beast with a surge of power that heightened my car’s already high-end performance.
The last stretch was a velocity-induced blur. Barely a few single seconds passed before I crossed the finish line, and in first place no less.
Idling into the waiting crowd after getting my speed under control, I parked up and stood from the car as my hard-core fans packed closer. The King had proven himself once again.
Shades shoved his way through the partiers and threw his arms wide. “And he does it again. It’s payday, motherfucker!”
My only show of celebration was clapping my palm against his and pulling him in for a back slap. “Just another night at the office, brother.”
“And a damn good night at that,” Shades whooped, while digging into his inner jacket pocket.
He extracted a thick wad of cash and tossed it at me. “Don’t spend it all at once—not when you can get your pussy for free tonight.”
I sniggered; buying women wasn’t my thing. However, if I just ‘happened’ to find myself celebrating at a strip bar, then yeah, I would dish out a few grand, purely for personal entertainment, of course.
“Now that was close!” a voice crowed behind me.
Turning on my heel, I cocked a brow and laughed at Linetti swaggering in my direction.
“Kid, that was nowhere near close.”
“Not from where I was sitting,” he shouted, so hopped-up on adrenaline that he practically skipped.
I gave Shades a bewildered look and thumbed at Linetti. “This kid for real?”
His reply faded into the background as I stepped into Linetti’s space and came nose-to-nose to him. Time to school him on how we rolled.
“Close is where they have to look at a fucking photo to see who won. That-” I pointed over my shoulder. “Was an ass-whopping.”
Much to his credit, he held my glare and didn’t back down like any other coward would. “Next time it won’t be.”
Anger ignited in my veins and all that was once cool, calm and collected, charged to the surface. My hand itched to throw a punch. In fact, it dared him to make the mistake of crossing me a second time.
Sensing my sudden change in temperament, his cocky attitude extinguished like a finger on a wick. He forced a smirk that didn’t match the new fear in his eyes, and luckily for him, he stepped back before I shoved him from my space. I continued to glare as he strode to his car with his tail between his legs.
“Brah,” Shades’ voice broke my focus.
“I was about to throw down, man.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “He’ll get it one day, brother. Now, let’s bounce before-”
“Cops!” someone shouted at the top of their lungs.
That one word had the same effect as pouring gasoline on roaches; the sea of people scattered in a million different directions. Engines roared to life over the chaotic yelling and tires squealed as people panicked in their rush to escape.
I slid into the driver's seat of my Supra and immediately got swept up in the mass evacuation. Brake lights flashed, doors opened to let more people into the cars ahead, and the disorder created confusion at every intersection.
My radar chirped when it picked up on a police conversation across restricted channels.
“Mass gathering of illegal street racers dispersed. Majority heading East on…”
“Fuck,” I cursed, and hung a tight left to head in the opposite direction. I wasn’t the only one either; a handful behind me took the same deviation.
Years of experience in this situation told me that you don’t drive it like you fucking stole it, instead, you needed to match the traffic flow to not draw attention. I did just that as two cars from the gathering sped through the red light I’d stopped for.
Horror played out in slow motion.
A pedestrian stepped from the curb without checking for traffic. The first driver swerved in the nick of time. The other didn’t.
A scream tore from my mouth as if it could halt time and prevent the inevitable from happening. Reality crashed over me at the same time the man’s body hit the sidewalk, unmoving. Cursing while checking the streets connected to the intersection, I ran the red light and pulled up at the opposite curb.
I dialed 911 and the operator’s voice spoke in my ear as I dropped to my knees beside the man.
“Nine one-one, what is your emergency?”
“Ambulance. There’s been a hit and run on…” I panted, and glanced around for the street names.
A slow trickle of blood seeped out from under his head. I went to check the injury, but pulled back from touching him. The sight of an unmoving body and pooling blood brought back debilitating memories from my childhood. I’d never had to confront them like this, and it took me back to when I was fourteen and fucking helpless all over again.
“Sir?” the operated asked. “Are you with the casualty right now?”
“Shit,” I cursed, and forced myself to swallow down the bile that burned its way up my throat. “Yes, I am.”
I looked down at the disheveled man, only now seeing that he appeared to be one of the city’s many homeless. With my phone on speaker, I shrugged off my t-shirt and gingerly lifted the man’s head with shaking hands. The increased blood flow made my stomach churn.
“Head injuries. He’s bleeding,” I yelled through the nausea. Dropping my gaze down his body, my gut clenched from the odd angle of his legs. “Broken legs,” I choked out.
“Does he have a pulse?” the operator urged.
My trembling fingers were numb as I pressed them to his throat. Closing my eyes against the scene and biting back the need to vomit, I tried to focus on what I felt, other than what I saw and smelled—both of which brought my dormant demons to life.
I exhaled harshly. “Faint pulse.”
A second wash of relief came when sirens permeated the night air. As if losing time, an ambulance pulled up, followed by two police cars.
Great.
I stepped back from the man and gave as many details to the ambulance staff as I could, then left them to their job. Propped against the rear spoiler of my car, I sucked in deep lungfuls of air, desperately trying to regain control over my shaking body. I was locked inside the memories that tore my family apart when a blue uniform appeared at my side.
“I need to take your statement, Mr…”
“Ortiz,” I supplied gruffly.
I diligently answered his questions until he added another. “And what are you doing out at this time of night?”
“On my way to pick up a friend from a nightclub,” I straight-faced lied. It was plausible since I was, in-fact, heading in the appropriate direction.
The officer’s expression filled with doubt. “In this car?”
“Yes.”
“And with no shirt on?”
I pursed my lips and stared for a beat. Was he for fucking real? “I used it to try and stop his bleeding.”
Officer Eliopoulos’ eyes studied me intently. “Were you involved in an illegal street race half an hour ago?”
“No.”
As if the fates aligned, my phone rang in my back pocket. Keeping my eyes trained on the officer and moving with slow, exaggerated movements, I extracted my phone from my jeans and accepted the call.
Shades’ voice boomed so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “Where you at, brah?”
Thank Christ that was all he said.
“I’m on my way. Got a little held up downtown. There was an accident…”
“Shit,” he hissed. “Okay, fuck, I’ll wait outside.”
“Yeah.” I hung up and raised my brows at the cop. “Was there anything else?”
Shades and I had become good at code-talk over the years, and we both knew to never give away more than absolutely necessary if shit went down. Hence the ‘got a little held up’.
The officer noted down my phone number and registration, and said he would be in touch if he needed further information. For the moment, I was free to go.
Before folding myself into my car, I pointed at the CCTV cameras above us—thankful for the first time that they were dotted throughout the city.
“Not that I’m telling you how to do your job, but it might be wise to check those.”
With that, I conservatively peeled away from the scene of the accident, only then becoming aware of a media van parked across the street.
Hissing under my breath, I called Shades back while heading for home.