Broken Wings (Dark Legacy #1)(7)

“Can I drive her before I go back?” I all but begged, knowing this might have been my only chance to blow off steam.

He laughed, and nudged me toward the door. “There’s actually a race here tonight, in Jefferson.”

“You drove four hours just so I could race?” I joked, already sliding into the driver’s seat.

Dante dropped into the passenger seat. “I drove four hours to make sure you were okay.”

His words were casual, but I knew my friend well enough to know when he’d been pissed off and scared. He changed the subject. “You wanna race?” His gaze flickered uncertainly to my plastered arm, then he nodded to himself. “Left arm, you should be good to drive at least half as good as usual.”

I laughed, a note of hysteria creeping out. “Only half? Don’t insult me, Dante.” I dragged in a deep breath and released it on a heavy sigh. “I’ll take the risk. Mommy dearest is already going to beat the living shit out of me, might as well make the most of my night of freedom.”

Dante froze. “Don’t let her fucking hurt you, Riles. Do whatever the hell it takes to make sure she doesn’t. I’ll figure out a way to get you out quicker, I just need some time.”

I shrugged. I could take a few beatings if it meant I’d eventually be free of this family. I did not want to have to run and look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

He dropped a phone into my lap then. “Call her. Tell her what’s happening. Maybe she won’t be so angry.”

I doubted that, but since he apparently had her number … somehow, like that wasn’t fishy as fuck. I stored that in my brain to hit him up over later, and hit dial. Two rings. “Where are you?”

She knew it was me. Everyone here had far too much in the way of information.

“I want to spend this one night with my friend,” I said, getting to the point. “Give me tonight and I won’t fight you on anything else. I will dress in your clothes,” especially those heels, “and follow your rules.”

I held my breath, hoping she couldn’t sense how badly I needed this.

“You have one night,” she finally said, and I could practically feel the ice in her voice. “Tomorrow you belong to me.”

The line went dead, and I let out all the air from my lungs. “Holy fuck she’s scary,” I choked out before handing the phone back to Dante.

He shook his head. “Keep it, I want to be able to stay in touch with you.”

I shrugged before slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans. The engine roared to life a moment later, and I could have cried at the familiar feel of this car under my hands. Well, hand, for now, because one of them was broken.

“You’re going to have to be careful tonight,” Dante warned me as I swung her around and took off. I had no idea where we were going, but there was only one path from this estate. “You won’t have the same level of control with a broken arm.”

My speed picked up, and I didn’t even bother to reply. The flash of the butterfly symbol across the back of the car caught my eye in the mirror. It was my calling card, the butterfly. I wouldn’t let a broken arm stop me from flying, especially not tonight.

Dante muttered something about a death wish before settling back and letting me do my thing.

After we reached the edge of town, he started to direct me along a dark and deserted part of the county.

At least it seemed deserted until I drove around a sharp bend and through a small pocket of trees. When I emerged on the other side, all the tension in my body eased.

This was my happy place. Illegal street racing. Except this one was somewhat different from the ones Dante usually took me to back home.

“Damn,” Dante breathed as I rolled past some of the most expensive cars on this planet. “Was that a Bugatti Veyron?”

I glanced in the direction he was gaping and spotted that same gorgeous car that had come out of the gated compound Mrs. Deboise lived in. These kids really did have too much damn money if those were the cars they were choosing to race in.

“Over there,” Dante directed me, pointing to a guy in a ball cap who was receiving a fat wad of cash from a pimple faced kid in an obnoxious striped blazer, white pants and loafers. Fucking loafers.

Hat-dude was clearly the one in charge. They were usually easy to spot—the ones with their pockets bursting with money. I pulled my—er, Dante’s—car to a stop and popped my seatbelt before pausing with my hands on the steering wheel.

“I don’t know if we can really afford this one, Dante,” I murmured, eyeing the crowd assembled. They were all clearly “locals” in the sense that their shoes probably cost more than my mom earned in a year.

The thought of my mom stabbed grief through me, and I smothered it with anger. It was the only way I knew how to handle it. Anger at life for taking my parents away from me. Anger at myself for not putting up more of a fight at CPS. Anger at Catherine fucking Deboise for thinking it was okay to throw me away as a baby then just pick me up again now that she needed me.

“Whatever their asking price, I’ve got us covered,” Dante assured me with a mysterious smile. He had new ink on his neck, just below his ear, and I reached out to trace the raised lines with my fingertip. It was a little butterfly. Totally out of place amongst his skulls, guns, bleeding roses and gang symbols, and I got the feeling he’d gotten it for me.