Page 41 of Ravage
“You looking for the Dragon?” Another staff member walks over to interrupt with a grin on his face. Bryant gives him a warning look, but the other guy is unperturbed.
“Um…I’m not sure about a dragon,” I start, looking between the two workers.
The guy laughs and shakes his head. “Not a dragon. The Dragon. Best fighter in the cage.”
“Cage?”
“Yeah. At the Pits. You been?”
“Uh, not yet. Is there something going on there tonight?”
“Nah, it’s street racin’ night.”
My heart rate picks up at the possibilities of racing. Perfect. “Right. Where’s that at tonight?”
“Down at the old airport by the docks. They won’t be there until after midnight, so I wouldn’t bother going until then. Do you need a ride? I’ll be heading there after my shift.”
“Don’t start any trouble while the boss isn’t here, Stefan,” Bryant grunts at him, though his eyes stay on me.
“I’m sure she’s no trouble if she’s working here,” Stefan easily defends me with a wink.
“Thanks.” I give him a small smile. “For the information and the offer of a ride. I’ll make my own way there, but thank you.”
Stefan shrugs, but his smile doesn’t falter. “No problem. Have a good night!” He waves and jogs back to the bar.
I call a taxi to bring me down to the old airport just after two in the morning and then wander until I can hear the revving of overly modified engines. It’s the dead of night on the outskirts of the city, where even the neon lights are gone from sight. The only light is the soft glow of the moon overhead and a sprinkling of stars. The air here is permeated with the smell of rubber and gasoline mixed with salt water and garbage, so I know I’m in the right place.
I walk through an open metal gate and then head toward the unmistakable sound of cars racing. There are cars and trailers everywhere. Most are in the back and empty as I walk by them, but some trailers still have cars in them while last-minute modifications and tinkering happens between races.
The runway stretches toward the water, but it’s at least a mile out. Most attendees are clustered here at the starting line. They’re standing around in groups, filming or taking pictures, placing bets, and rooting for various cars.
The throttle of engines draws my eyes next, and at the flash of a light, they tear down the runway in seconds. The sound drowns out everything else, even the cheering of people around me now that I’m in the thick of them. Smoke billows from their tires until all I can see are red tail lights glowing in the dark.
“Shredder and Guillotine, you’re up!” someone shouts over the clamor, and two more cars roll up to their places in line. “Nightmare and Dark Vengeance, you’re on deck!”
Without any further preamble or instructions, the cars surge forward at the flashlight signal, matching each other for a few seconds before one overtakes the other.
I keep moving through the crowd until I can see the drivers of the next race. I’m impressed by the speed and organization with which they’re running this. I suppose it’s necessary to get through as much racing as they can before cops roll in.
I check out the drivers of the two cars lined up and ready, and—Oh shit. My breath catches. There’s Kellan, one arm draped over the wheel while he takes a swig of a forty.
Is he seriously drinking while doing this?
A small part of me wondered if he’d be here. He made some comment about having his name all over this city, but I was too focused on needing the adrenaline rush to care. Now that I see him, I debate staying or leaving.
He was always the one coming up with the wild ideas for us to try. The one who brought the smile to my face even when I was feeling down. Did I seek this out for the rush, or because I knew he might be here?
The flashlight lights up and then he’s gone. Both racers are meeting each other speed for speed, one nosing in front of the other before it switches. And then Kellan shifts gears or something because he jumps forward and zips past the other car, passing the end marker with car lengths to spare.
There’s cheering and the next racers being called out, but all I can focus on is Kellan as he drives around and parks to the side with the other cars on standby. He stands from his car, bottle still in hand like it’s been permanently attached, shirtless and grinning. He’s wearing jeans, but his feet are bare as he walks across the pavement to clap hands with Stefan.
His arms are tattooed from shoulder to hand. One side continues up the side and back of his neck while the other curls around his back shoulder blade.
I wonder how long it must have taken him to get all of that ink if his skin kept trying to heal itself over before they could finish.
My feet are frozen in place as I’m captivated by him, by his every movement and expression, while his attention and ire aren’t aimed my way for a change.
The need to feel like his partner in crime, to go along with his crazy ideas that take my breath away and set my heart racing…it wells up in my chest until it’s ready to explode. Maybe just for one night, we could have that again.
