Driving River

Chapter One

Kendall

I imagined many different scenarios for my twenty-first birthday, none of which included this.

I could've gone barhopping with Alice and Prim, two girls who are also in their third year at Juilliard. They were the only students who were willing to risk being hungover for class tomorrow.

I could've taken the train home to Pennsylvania to have dinner with my rowdy family. Mom even offered to get drunk with me, which was tempting because Olivia Allard-Reeves never drinks.

I could be cocooned in my apartment, nursing a bottle of wine while studying for my upcoming Kinesiology exam.

But no. I went with the fourth option.

My boyfriend convinced me to attend a salacious shindig hosted by the leader of his illegal street racing crew. What's worse, I'm certain Raphael has forgotten it's my birthday. We've been living together for nearly three years. I'm not one of those people that makes a huge celebration, but this is a milestone. Twenty-one years.

I can legally drink. I can adopt a child. I can buy a handgun. I'm allowed past the velvet ropes in a casino.

I glance at the time on my phone, noting it's thirteen minutes until midnight. My birthday is almost over.

"He definitely forgot," I murmur to myself, too low to be heard over the thumping bass.

I'm standing near the wet bar in an unfamiliar living room. I've been sipping on a vodka tonic for an hour, waiting for Rafi to make his rounds—to finish chatting with his boys. Tonight's gathering is taking place at an impressive brownstone in Chelsea. Despite the classic exterior, the home has modern furnishings, with a sunken entertainment area. The furniture and décor is eclectic—a red leather sofa, spiky lampshades, and a giant piece of art I'm almost positive was painted with real blood.

I've been staring at the masterpiece for quite some time, wondering if the dripping is my imagination, or a result of the subdued lighting.

Including the arcane leader, there are thirteen members of the Night Racers. They compete amongst themselves for fun, but battle rival gangs for hard cash. As a burgeoning gambling addict, Rafi was drawn to street racing for the thrill. He's been a part of the underground organization for a few months. I've accompanied him to a handful of events, but I've never been introduced to their leader. Apparently, his participation is rare.

I check my phone again, seeing an email from one of my choreographers. She has food poisoning, so my first class has been cancelled. I breathe a sigh of relief. I'll need to be on campus in ten hours instead of seven. I can manage that.

Slipping my phone into the pocket of my trench coat, I scan the room. I don't see Raphael, but he could be hidden amongst the bodies. Most of the guests are in their late twenties. I'm on the younger side, but my age isn't what makes me feel like an outcast.

These people are so... edgy.

There are three young women with shaved heads, and a few men have their hair in buns or braids. I don't think anyone's hair is the same color they were born with. I see a field of white, periwinkle, and bubblegum pink. Everyone wears a blinding smile, strange jewelry, and upcycled clothing. These are the citizens that get stopped on the street by TikTokers, who record them to showcase quirky Manhattan style.

I'm dressed in a chic coat, but that's just to cover the leotard and tights I've been wearing all day. When I'm not dancing, I follow fashion trends. But the people in this room make the trends. On a good day, I'm still lightyears behind them.