Red and Ruin: Racing the Enemy

Isolde

Danny Pruitt had been riding my bumper since the second turn, flashing his high beams into my mirrors and drifting so close on the straights I could see his teeth. I didn't rattle. I waited for the dogleg by the old cannery, where he always braked too early, then took him on the outside with two wheels on the gravel and my heart lodged in my throat.

I crossed the line on Harbor Road a full car length ahead of him, and for four perfect seconds, I let myself believe it was going to count.

The crowd screamed. My hands shook on the wheel the way they always did after a clean run, all that adrenaline with nowhere left to go. Hot rubber and burnt clutch filled the car. Half my hair had escaped the bun beneath my helmet in sweaty red corkscrews, and I grinned at my reflection in the windshield like an idiot.

Harbor Road was patched asphalt, rusted warehouses, and enough spectators to make every bad decision feel like a dare. Their phones glittered beyond the barriers. Somebody had climbed onto a dumpster for a better view. For one breath, every face turned toward me. They had watched me beat Danny fair and square. Tonight, anyway.

Danny's headlights had disappeared behind me. There was no lucky draft to blame, no boyfriend in my garage, no excuse any of them could use to make the win belong to somebody else.

Then Victor Kane's flag man walked toward the finish line with his clipboard, and my grin slid right off my face.

"Disqualified," he announced, loud enough for the whole street to hear. "Illegal parts on car forty-seven."

My car. My engine. The one I'd rebuilt with my own two hands in Dad's garage.

I was out before I knew I'd opened the door, my helmet still clutched in one fist.

"Illegal?" I shoved through the crowd. "You didn't even look under the hood. You didn't even walk past the car."

He kept his eyes on his clipboard, as if I were a fly buzzing around his head. "Ruling's final, Red."

There wasn't a single bolt Victor could point to. I'd made sure of it.

"Ruling's bullshit. Pop the hood. Right now, in front of everybody. Show me one thing."

"Ladies' heat runs on Thursdays, sweetheart," Danny called from beside his Mustang, wearing a smirk he hadn't earned. "Maybe stick to that."

A few people laughed.

I didn't think. I threw my helmet. Danny ducked a split second too late, and it slammed into the side of his Mustang with a satisfying thud.

"You crazy bitch!" He stared at the dent in his door in horror. "You're paying for that!"

Hell would freeze over first.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flag man look up from his clipboard. This sweaty little nobody had never driven anything faster than a shopping cart, and now he was smiling at me. Like he agreed with Danny. Like this was funny.

Something in my head snapped.

I lunged. The clipboard went flying. The flag man stumbled back with both hands up, and I was half an inch from his stupid collar when two arms locked around my waist and hauled me off my feet.

"Izzy. Izzy, stop!"

Nix. Of course it was Nix. Six foot four of pure muscle and stubbornness, he lifted me like I weighed nothing while I kicked at the air and screamed things that would have made Dad wash my mouth out with engine degreaser.

"Let me go! Nix, put me down, I swear to God..."

"Not happening." He dragged me backward through the crowd. "You hit Victor's guy, you're banned for life. That what you want?"

"I want to rearrange his damn face. Wipe that smirk off with the sole of my boot."

"I know. I know you do."

He sounded mildly amused, and some of my rage leaked away despite myself.

He didn't put me down until we were behind my car, out of the light. Lexie hurried after us in heeled boots she had no business wearing to a street race, my helmet hugged to her chest. She'd come straight from the store in a cream blazer, every curl pinned in place. Next to me in my grease-stained hoodie, she looked like the after picture in a makeover ad.

"Okay," she said, a little breathless. "Okay, so that happened."

I shoved Nix's hands off me and paced in a tight circle. My face was on fire, which with my skin meant I'd be red as a stop sign for the next hour, freckles and all.

"This is Victor's doing," I hissed. "That snake-eyed, gold-toothed son of a bitch."

"Izzy." Lexie caught my hands. Hers were cool and steady, the way they always were when mine weren't. "Breathe. You almost strangled a man."

"He deserved it."

"Yeah, he did," Nix said, folding his arms. "But you don't get to be the one who pays for it. We'll take pictures of everything and fight it the right way."

"There is no right way with Victor. He'll always find some new way to sabotage me."

Neither of them argued.

"I need a minute," I said. "Alone. I'll meet you guys at my place."

Nix studied me the way he did when he was deciding whether to trust me, then nodded. "Text us when you're on the road."

I drove the long way around the docks and parked behind a shipping warehouse where nobody could see me. Then I sat with my forehead pressed to the steering wheel.

Being the only woman in the main bracket meant winning never counted. Lose, and it proved girls couldn't handle the speed. Win, and I'd drafted off somebody or let a boyfriend tune my engine. As if any crew boss on Harbor Road would let me within ten feet of an engine.

Victor had a place for women. Thursday nights, in the ladies' heat, where the crowd hooted at the drivers more than the cars. I'd refused it, and he had never forgiven me.

The Midnight Grand was his crown jewel. Men drove in from three cities to bet on it, and every one of them believed it was the hardest race on the coast. A girl winning in a rebuilt car would make Victor's whole kingdom worth a little less. So he paired me with his dirtiest drivers, and when they couldn't stop me, he made up rules.

I slammed my palm against the wheel. "Two years," I said to nobody. "Two damn years, you greasy, cigar-sucking bastard."

My voice bounced around the empty car, and once it started, it wouldn't stop. "You want me in the ladies' heat? Waving at your drunk friends on Thursday nights so they can hoot at my ass? I'd rather eat my own tires. I'm getting into your Grand, Victor. I'll drive through your front door if I have to, and I'll win it right in front of you."

The engine ticked as it cooled. I hit the wheel again until my hand throbbed, then pressed my forehead against it and let myself shake.

That's where they found me.