Broken Wings (Dark Legacy #1)(10)
In stark contrast, the girl who stepped out in front of us with a red scarf in her hand was in nothing but a crotch length bandage dress. She must have been freezing her fake tits off, which might have explained the prissy look on her face.
There was no more time to ponder on the locals. Her scarf dropped and my body moved on sheer instinct as I slammed my car into gear and pressed my foot down hard on the accelerator.
Eddy had said that the road narrowed out after the next turn, which meant I needed to pull ahead or behind in exactly... now.
My wrist protested as I jerked my steering wheel, cutting off the guy in an Audi R8. My tires grabbed the road just in time to make the turn alongside a cherry red Porsche 911. We were out in front, but it was a long race—much longer than I was used to—so I needed to hold the position. I couldn’t lose Dante’s car; it was simply non-negotiable.
For several turns, the Porsche and I stayed neck and neck while a Corvette and Mercedes hugged our back bumpers like barnacles. It wasn’t long, though, before the Porsche started pulling ahead of me. Not because he was a better driver, simply because he knew the roads.
Every turn I hesitated, unsure of what the next stretch of road would be like, or if we’d encounter oncoming traffic. All those hesitations, where my foot eased on the gas, they all added up so that when we hit the motorway the Porsche was almost two car lengths ahead and the Corvette was starting to pass me.
“No, no, no,” I hissed under my breath, slamming through my gears and pressing my foot down harder, “Not today, you entitled asshole. Not my baby.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed small piles of old snow beside the road, dirty and melting. I’d raced in winter often enough that I could handle myself on cold roads, but a chill of fear rippled through me and for a flash of a second, I saw the crash. I saw our car spinning out of control, heard my mother’s screams, smelled the sickening, coppery tang of blood.
It was only a flash, but it was a flash too long. It broke my concentration, and I suddenly found myself sandwiched between the Corvette and Mercedes while a truck barreled toward us.
I screamed as the headlights blinded me and the driver leaned on his horn. Panic and fear locked up my muscles, and my plastered hand spasmed. The wheel jerked in my grip, sending me careening sideways into the Corvette.
Metal crunched and my head snapped to the side as our cars collided, then in the next second I bounced across into the Merc. My ears were ringing, my vision blurred, but survival instinct kicked in. I slammed my foot down on the brakes as my beautiful blue Aston entered a spin and skidded off the road into the grassy shoulder.
It seemed like forever that my car skidded before finally coming to a stop with a hard thump against a tree. My heart, though, continued thundering so hard I worried it was about to burst. Tears stung at my eyes and my breathing came in heavy, harsh gasps while I desperately tried to get a grip. But the fresh memories of my parents’ death refused to be silenced, and a low, keening sound began to wail from me.
Get a grip, Riley! Hold it together. You’re not dead, you’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine.
Dante’s car, though...
“No,” I sobbed, trying and failing to unbuckle my seatbelt several times before my trembling fingers made it work. My door was stuck, and I needed to kick it a couple of times before it popped open and spilled me out onto the chewed up grass.
In short... my beautiful Butterfly was destroyed.
I was no mechanic, but I could only imagine how much it would cost to repair the kind of damage done. The idea made me sob, and I hugged my knees as I sat in the dirt beside Dante’s hundred and eighty thousand dollar write-off. Or, not even Dante’s anymore. By now the other drivers would be long finished, which meant Dante had just lost his car.
As I sat there, rocking back and forth, fighting down the mounting despair, a sleek black car rolled up and stopped on the road where I’d spun out.
Sickness pooled in my belly, and I quickly swiped the tears from my cheeks as that dark haired, arrogant asshole stepped out of his Bugatti and crossed the grass toward me.
“Come to gloat?” I snapped at him, scrambling to my feet. He was still an easy half foot taller than me, but at least I wasn’t cowering.
The smile he gave me was tight and humorless. “I hope you learned your lesson, Butterfly,” he said in a cold, serial killer sort of voice, flicking his gaze over the decal on my poor, destroyed baby. Behind him, several more cars pulled up—probably to gawk at the poor little new girl who couldn’t handle racing with the boys. “Go back to where you came from. You don’t belong here.”
He started to walk away again, and I spluttered a protest. “Hey, wait!” I yelled. “What about my car?”
Turning slightly back toward me, he arched a brow over one of those dark eyes. “You mean my car?” He gave a cold half-smile. “I’ll probably get it towed to the wreckers. It was a piece of shit anyway.”
I was left speechless, and he strolled back to his sexy-as-sin car and slid in. In the dim light while his door was open, I spotted that same brunette girl who’d been all over him before the race, and her smug grin was enough to make me see red.
Bugatti-boy took off, closely followed by three other insanely expensive cars—including Jasper in the yellow Aventador. The other kids who’d stopped to stare all left a bit slower, the last one leaving just as a vintage mustang pulled up and Dante leapt out of the passenger seat.