rubber, high-octane gasoline, and cheap beer. Bass-heavy music thumped from
h, she was wearing a sleek, black racing suit. She pulled on her helmet,
discarded wife. She wasn't C., the m
ent. The crowd parted for her. They knew the bike. They knew the su
ad and a thick gold chain stepped ou
rin splitting his face. "
ough the helmet's modulator, came out low, androgynous,
id, his eyes gleaming. "W
avily modified. The engine was a beast, tuned to over eight hundred horsep
GT-R was next to a flashy orange Chevrolet C
er of the road, holding two flags. She raised them high, the
a gun. The Camaro had more raw power, its massive eng
corner. A tight, ninety-degr
d hard, the car fishtailing wildly a
back end of the car slid out, the tires howling in protest, but the car itself was glued to the apex of the corner. She exited the tur
peed, the adrenaline-it was all a cleansing fire, burning away the last two years of her life. The deep ache in her ri
d claimed more than one car. Nitro Nick, desperate, tr
mentine threw the car right. The GT-R kissed the outside wall, a shower of sparks from m
o seconds ahead of the Camaro. She brought t
nce was
t. The crowd surged forward, chant
p and unclasp
out, catching the harsh glare of the streetlights. Her fac
breath of the
ing a thick envelope of cash. He ha
nd, Ghost. Alw
velope into her jacket, pulled her helmet b
out of the lot, a shadow disappearing into the night, leaving
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