whipping salty spray across the cracked

ir headlights cutting through the heavy fog. Heavy bass thumped from modified

wrapped in a thick trench coat. Her chestnut hair whipped wildly acro

nd underground racers were shouting, lay

supercharger whining like an enraged animal. Demario sat behind the wheel, hi

FXX-K. Low, wide, and sleek, its massive V12

ide of the Ferrari, handing a carb

gal dual-stage nitrous oxide injection system. H

window ro

helmet. His gaze cut straight through the dark, finding

s. Darlene's heart skipped a beat; her grip o

ls stepped between the two machines, rai

redlines. Tires spun against the damp pavement

g snapp

nched forward

lead off the line. Demario laughed wildly inside the cockpit, violentl

hand flew to her mouth, a sh

posure, letting the Ferrari's massive aerodynamic downforce

over one hundred and eighty miles per hou

e: the Devil's Hairpin, an unbanked blind curve h

from his quad exhausts as the Hellcat surged forward,

ned completely still

e pedals in a flawless

as the drop-off loomed, Clayton ripped the

. The carbon-fiber diffuser skimmed the metal guardrail, showe

hooked around the inside apex, its nose sli

ne appear out of nowhere, he yanked the

t a patch of stan

ear-first into the heavy water-filled crash barriers. The impact obliterated the rear quarte

he wreckage, crossing the finish line

istles. The hardened racers who had scoffed at the

one-hundred-and-eighty-degree slide, stopping ten

fly door s

tepped out onto the damp ground,

the heavy metal gate, and seized Darlene by t

fuel, and his familiar cedar co

ly voice vibrated agains

er neck, tilting her face up toward

d against her ear, "it'