Page 72 of Hell on Wheels
He’s not wrong about that.
“Shit, it’s crowded,” Rogue whispers in my ear as we walk through the rows of open hooded cars rumbling in the lot. “I wonder what big names are racing to bring this kind of buzz.”
I turn, looking at her bundled up in the same racing clothes as her stepbrother. She’s bound up and carefully packaged in their matching attire—something I didn’t notice before. Our girl is fairly curvy from head to toe, so she wears a binder when she switches out for Reb in the car. They’re dressed for speed, whereas the rest of us are sporting jeans and hoodies. Ang and Damon wandered off separately as soon as we arrived to ‘spy’ on shit.
For famous mafia heirs., they’re fucking amazing at disappearing in the throng of racers; I haven’t seen them since.
“Where’s Archie?” I ask Rebel as he leans over his car. “He’s usually easy to spot.”
Rebel looks up from the engine he’s tinkering with and winks. “Sent him on a secret mission. Don’t worry; I made sure he’s covered enough that it won’t get back to us.”
“Reb, you can’t use magic here,” Rogue hisses. “You know it’s forbidden for drivers until the wheels cross the first line and completely nixed for supes in the stands.”
The green-haired Fae shrugs. “If these assholes get to cheat by sending Mina and her harpies to beat Rogue down, I’m not following their rules anymore.”
Good point.
“Just don’t get caught,” I reply as I look up at the tall box above the track. “After those demons, I’d prefer not to face off with Merra Stuhll next. My parents would have a shit fit.”
Rogue steps closer, pressing her body against mine as her arms go around my neck. “It’s amazing that you and Archie have parents who kind of give a shit. You know Reb and I don’t, and the twins’ parents only care about their fucking mob.”
I kiss her deeply, groaning as her tongue duels with mine and my skin heats. Breaking away before I get carried away, I sigh. “Sparkles, my parents care about appearances like Graciella. They’re just less obvious about it.”
“Stop flirting,” Rebel grunts as he finally slams the hood of his car closed. “We have planning to do if you want to run one of these, sis. We need to examine the cars and see which one you’re comfortable taking.”
Letting go of me with a sheepish grin, our girl sighs. “You’re right, of course. Let me see the lineup and we’ll go from there.”
Reb hands her the paper we were given as we entered the party zone, propping himself against his car as they look at it together.
Hopefully, this wasn’t a bad idea—the others will never forgive me.
Speed Racer
My hair is tied back in a tight French braid and stuffed under a beanie so I can tuck it into the helmet before I climb into the car. I’m sporting the baggy gear that makes the hangers-on in the crowd think I’m my step-brother. It would be hard for anyone in the area to guess who I am, yet I’m still on edge. While I’m used to pissing people off everywhere I go because I win matches or don’t take any shit, I’mnotused to having roving gangs and girl bullies trying to kill me.
I suppose that’s a good thing, but it’s cramping my fucking style.
The chicks in that bathroom stole my big sexy orgy with their childish garbage and I will definitely figure lout how to pay them back for it when I’m not as big a target. Now Reb is pissy as shit, I’m not much better, and all my hot mates are wandering around playing Scooby Doo. I’m not objecting to racing; I love switching with Reb, so I can feel the thrum of the engines as I leave the others in my dust. But I’m not a fan of losing out on orgasms, especially when it would lower my stress level immensely.
“What are you thinking about?” Rebel asks under his breath as his eyes cut to me briefly. “Your expression keeps flickering from hungry to homicidal. It’s… interesting.”
My smirk makes him laugh, and I shrug. “Nothing you should worry about in present company.”
“Jaysus, Rogue. You’ll get us caught, for fuck’s sake.” He shakes his head, purposefully adjusting himself as he scans the crowd at the entry booths. “Get it under control.”
“You’re one to talk,” I mutter. “I’m not the one grabbing my crotch in public.”
Rebel gives me a dirty look, then heads up to the table to chat with tonight’s sign-up chicks. They eye him flirtily, as usual, but this time it does more than just irritate me. This time, it makes me want to bash their faces in with my goddamn skate. I don’t have them with me, but the sentiment still applies. Track bunnies are a fixture at the events—some attached to drivers or their crews, some there for a good time—and I normally ignore them as I prep for my own mischief.
Not a fan of this ridiculously vicious possessive feeling in my gut that makes me want to turn intothatgirl who makes a scene.
Grunting under my breath, I walk away from where he’s negotiating the remaining slots in the rest of the cards to survey the crowd. Everythingseemson the up-and-up; there’s a normal amount of drivers, crews, bunnies, thrill seekers, and gear heads. The usual weaslley looking gamblers are haunting the areas where crews are futzing with their cars and showing off new mods hoping to get a hint of who will win before they bet.
Maybe we were mistaken about finding a clue at the underground?
I’m about to walk over and tell Reb that when my magic—and my gut—go crazy. Whirling around, I look through the throngs of people until I find the source of my alarm bells. When I see it, my fists tighten until my nails dig into my palms.
Standing at the top of a hill, a group of women are watching the races with sharp eyes. They’re dressed down in hoodies, crop tops, and low riding jeans with fat sneakers, but I’d know them anywhere. Even without their glittering uniforms, I know that’s the Sickos. I can’t see their faces under the hats pulled down to hide their features, but one of them is Mina for certain. She’s in so deep with them now that I’d be surprised if any of them can shit without removing her from their colon first.