Page 322 of Fatality

I bury the throttle.

The Charger snarls, surging after the mystery car. Every corner it takes is impossibly clean, every drift perfectly measured. It isn't trying to lose control—it isn't trying to fight the track.

It's flowing through it.

I close the gap.

Twenty meters.

Fifteen.

Ten.

Then it vanishes behind a wall of steam erupting from a ruptured pipe.

“Damn it!” I slam my palm against the steering wheel over and over, my chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

I'm going to kill that bastard for daring to hit me.

I plunge into the whiteout without lifting. The world disappears and there is nothing but engine noise and instinct.

I wrench the wheel toward the fresh tire marks, bursting out of the steam.

Nothing.

The refinery straight stretches ahead, packed with racers fighting for every inch of asphalt.

“Where the fuck did he go?” I growl.

The answer comes from behind.

The Charger jerks violently as something slams into my rear quarter. The back-end snaps sideways, trying to throw me into the barrier.

I wrestle the wheel back.

“Motherfucker!” I roar in pure blinded rage.

The tires bite and save it.

“Is that all you've got, you bastard?!” A grin creeps across my face.

Another hit, harder.

The impact sends my shoulder into the door as the Charger fishtails across two lanes. My hands clamp tighter around the wheel, veins bulging beneath my tattoos.

Ren twists around in his seat. “I can't see him!”

Neither can I. That's what pisses me off.

Before I can recover, the black car appears beside me.

“Get back here!” I jerk the wheel toward him. He's gone again. “Son of a—”

The third strike comes before I finish the sentence. Not the rear, on the side. The Charger is sent straight toward the outside barrier.

“Fuck!” I yank the wheel.

The front misses the concrete by inches but the rear clips it. The impact launches the car back across the track.