Page 70 of Crash into me
As I pass him, I look over. His neck has a distinctive shackle tattoo. It’s Chains.
I rev the throttle, going through the finish line in first place.
Foster rushes to me, taking off my helmet. “Oh my God, Shadow!” he cheers, holding up my shaking hand. “You did it!”
Everyone crowds around us, but I can’t look at them. My eyes are narrowed, facing towards the glittering maroon back in front of me.
Foster takes notice. “What happened?”
As his gaze pans over my body, seeing my fists clenched and shaking, he realizes it’s not adrenaline coursing through my veins and fueling my excitement.
“Chains,” I sneer.
“Did he scare you”? Foster leans in, questioning me.
I kick my foot peg down, trying to walk on wobbly legs. The crash rolls through my mind, scaring me.
I don’t like when people scare me anymore.
I march up to Chain’s bike, with Foster right beside me. “What’s your problem?” I spit.
“Don’t like it rough, don’t play with the boys.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “A fucking girl. I’ll never live this bullshit down.” He seems more like a stranger compared to the flirty guy from the club.
Foster steps in front of him. “Yes, a fucking girl,” he barks. “And one who beat you.” He looks between us. “What happened out there?”
I don’t turn towards Foster; I keep my eyes peeled on the man in front of us. “He tried to push me off the cli—”
I don’t even finish my sentence before Foster’s hands are around the racer’s neck, pulling him off the seat. Chain’s bike crashes to the ground, and Foster situates himself on top of him, pummeling his face in.
“Don’t come into my fucking town,” Foster sneers, cracking Chain’s jaw with his knuckles, “and endanger my racers.”
“Woah, man.” Chains puts his hands out in defense. “I thought we were friends.”
“Friends?” Foster spits, continuing his assault on Chains’ bruising face. “Nah, man. You lost that privilege the moment you tried to hurt my girl.”
Foster stands, screaming “Hey!” to get the crowds attention, but they’re already staring in horror at him. His hands are gripped around Chains leather jacket, pulling him up so everyone can see.
The amount of violence leeching from his eyes should scare me, but it only excites me.
The crowd grows quiet as Foster gestures towards it. “Everyone see this?” He points to the now unconscious man. “Don’t ever come into my fucking territory and try to cheap shot another racer.
“This here,” he says, grabbing the man’s hands and pulling him up only to shove him back on the ground, “is a warning to any outsider who wants to race in our circuit. If you try any bullshit here, what happened tonight will look like a fucking gift in comparison.”
He throws his arm around me, leaving the guy in the street.
I ask, “Was that overkill? I was going to just punch him in the nose.”
He shakes his head. “More outsiders will be coming in droves due to hurricane season, and there’s nothing I won’t do to protect you and the other riders here from them.” He spits on the ground.
Then, his mood shifts to something happier.
“Now, let’s go collect your winnings, champion.”
We walk over to the taco truck. “Hey, winner.” the man behind the window beams; I had no idea this is who paid out. “Here it is.”
He hands me a plate of tacos, a thousand dollars tucked underneath the lining paper. “So, this is why we always eat tacos after you win?” I ask.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”