pump pump from adrenaline,
adrenaline rush
Why do I even need to race?
The memory of posing the question was still vivid in my mind. Baekhyun had seemed contemplative as he straightened, focusing on me with some difficulty.
"First of all, the money," he had said, nonchalant, as if the staggering amount of pot money I'd get if I crossed the line first was nothing to him. "You can't leave without enough financial support; it's the essential ingredient for starting over. And it's not like you have a choice." He'd shrugged. "You'll be racing no matter what. Might as well make the most of it."
My hands tightened over the wheel as I recalled the conversation for the hundredth time that day. This was supposed to be my home court, but I felt jittery, like I'd consumed twenty times the required amount of caffeine.
Most people were only here for the punk-out money, which was understandable since most, if not all, of the racers were around my age, hovering someone in the transition from a teenager to an adult. Some we're just here for bragging rights, and since barely anyone was dumb enough to go for pink slips as the winning bet, everyone used the same cars, only rarely showing up with something like a mod or even a paint job.
By this time, I had been around the racers long enough to know that this was probably one of their plots. Maybe another trap, which was sort of stupid, since no self-respecting biker would fall for something as obvious as this.
Surprisingly, I wasn't scared. I didn't know if it was because of the familiar pressure of the car around me, but I felt strangely sanguine. No matter what happened out there on the track, something was going to happen today. What it would bring, I had no idea, but the idea of knowing something was abnormally comforting.
Police, or the 'blues' as the downtown racers called them, were probably not going to be a problem. I knew from having overheard a few conversations that they had lookouts positioned throughout the track, which was a back road running like a ribbon around the bar, going as far as the club before doubling back to the plaza. It wasn't a huge distance, but it only meant that you had even lesser time to catch up to those who surpassed you.
Even a double charge of juice wouldn't be of any help in that predicament.
Some cars were still dawdling, setting out lengths for the handicap since some models outshone the others by a good few years. There was Jinyoung in his Egoista, and Seulgi in her unmissable gold-plated Ferrari. Even Taehyung with his trademark smirk and spray-painted Nissan was in the race for the night.
The model I'd been 'lent' was a McLaren 720S. At this point, I wasn't even going to question how they'd gotten their hands on a powerful engine like this, but second-hand or not, it seemed relatively untouched. The dashboard looked like that of a newly-displayed car.
The one big drawback of driving a car that the racers had given me was that...well, that the racers had given it to me. Every single one of my contenders knew about every single of the features the modified model carried, and the edge they gave me. The only consolation was that I knew that about their cars too, even my knowledge wasn't as detailed as theirs.
There was still the NOS plug within reach, but I refused to look at it. Cars with juice we're usually referred to as 'bottle' cars, which gave the owner both an advantage and a rep. Both of which you needed if you wanted to race in a place like this.
As I looked around my vehicle for the day with approval, there was a tap at my window. I looked up as Vernon leaned down, eyebrows raising to press creases into his forehead. The relentless tapping of his fingertips against the chassis and the purse of his lips told me he was just as wary about how the night would turn out as I was.
I rolled down the window.
"Hey," he said, breathless, eyes darting around the interior of the car actively, not staying on a single point for more than a few seconds. "Don't be too scared of losing out there."
Allowing a small smirk onto my lips, I raised my face towards his. "Who said I was here to lose?"
He smiled a little at that, but the skin around his mouth was still pulled tight. "You're amazing behind the wheel; we both know that. But you're not the only one. It's just a sprint, though, so the race should be over pretty quick."
I screwed my nose up, smile widening. "What are you so worried about? That your star pupil is going to beat the dust?"
"Right," he muttered, and sighed. His hand stilled on the ledge, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched it. "Just don't get distracted out there, all right? Things will be moving too fast for you to process, but remember to focus on the road, and the road only. Don't crash into a tree or something."
The last sentence made me wince. The last time I'd crashed a car was still fresh in my thoughts, filled with blood and fire. It went without saying that I wasn't a big fan of flames—and crashing, even less.
"You got it," I said, forcing my tensed shoulders to relax. "You're not racing?"
"Not tonight," he answered. In a jerk, he let go of the car, face softening as he looked at me. Slowly, his eyes took in my face, the emotion in them scaring me more than the prospect of crashing. As if he didn't expect this to end well, for both of us.
"Stay safe," he whispered, voice breathy. When I nodded, he opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something, but stopped at the last moment, pulling away from the car.
I watched his retreating back with trepidation rather than affection. His movements were stiff, like he was hurt, but fast. I tore my eyes away from him, hoping to find something less disturbing to look at, but fate didn't favour me any more than it had all my life.
Taeyong was sitting in a Ford, a GT by the looks of it. It was red, much like his unavailable Corvette, and undoubtedly, his hair. His gaze was dead set on something beyond the windshield, the same golden bobby pins I'd first seen him wear pulling his bloodred hair away from his eyes.
His scarred knuckles were hidden beneath fingerless gloves, long fingers alternatively grasping and letting go of the wheel. For a minute, I couldn't pull my eyes away, and as if he's sensed me looking at him, his face turned towards mine.
Like always, his penetrating gaze knocked the wind out of me.
With some difficulty, I looked away from him, letting my eyes settle on the flagger standing a few feet away from the cars. She raised the flashlight, the beam pointing up into the infinite inky sky.
My pulse quickened. I wiped my palms against my jeans feeling the comforting bump of the pocket knife against my thigh, and grabbed the steering wheel. One chance, a voice spoke up in my mind. One chance is all you get.
All around me, racers revved their engines, the sound like music to my ears. At that moment, I felt one with the car, as cheesy as it sounded. The worry and anxiety of what may or may not happen lay behind in the dirt, overshadowed by the energy of the race.
One, for the money.
Two, for the show.
The shaft of light from the flashlight cut downwards in a arc, as if to deliver the killing blow to a dying opponent. Amidst loud cheers, the assemblage of cars sped forwards, a single desire uniting and dividing us all.
The thirst to win.
My lips curled into a smile as the McLaren jumped into action, coming alive underneath my palms. I could feel the vibrations of the engine spread throughout the car, under me, above me, all around me. I was thrown back against my seat from the inertia as the car charged forward. Nothing else mattered except the speed.
I was charged to the brim.
The speedometer's arrow steadily climbed around the circumference, pointing towards the crazy acceleration. Thirty, forty, fifty—it went on and on, soon crossing the hundred mark.
A maniacal laugh bubbled up from inside as I raced forward, dodging cars and leaving them behind. I was drunk on it, the feeling of absolute control, floating and sinking at the same time. It was exhilarating.
The window at my side was still down, one of the many bullet points Vernon had drilled into my head in the days we'd spent together, sweating and smiling under the sun. The aerodynamics came into play, and even though the wind wasn't always the best at helping a racer focus, it was a safer bet in case the autolocks crashed with the car and the driver needed a way out.
My heart was beating wildly under my ribcage, intent on looking for a way out of my oesophagus. The intensity and rush of the race was packed into only a few minutes, leaving no space to analyse your breathing patterns, which was probably why I had trouble distinguishing between my fluttering pulse and the low thrum of the powerful engine.
From the corner of my eye, I could see the other cars as flashes of color, though my brain was slow in recognizing the pink of Jennie's Lambo and the neon-green splashes against the dark matte of a cruelly fast GTR. The entire landscape was a blur, the trees and lights blending into each other, all the shades bleeding into one another like a canvas with water running down fresh paint.
Despite the protection of the windshield, I could hear a roar in my ears. Whether it was my own singing blood or the wind, I didn't know, but it only proved to further sharpen my awareness of the track around me. It was like being in a car in steroids, except faster.
I didn't even notice when I'd left everyone behind, the 720S shooting past my only opposer for the topmost position as soon as I jabbed my rigid fist into the nitrous button. The euphoria of winning was overshadowed by that of actually racing, and I was more than a bit disorientated when the car skidded over the asphalt, screeching to a stop metres away from a roaring crowd.
My hand went up automatically, eyes squinting against the harsh lights that filtered between my fingers and stabbed at my dilated pupils. For a few, unsure seconds, I was still in the race, relentless in my pursuit of the ones ahead of me, but when I finally undid my seat belt and stepped out, the others were just driving up.
Taehyung's smile was wide and disbelieving through the glass as he pulled up, not wasting a second before getting out and making his way towards me. I won, I realized as a shaken-looking Jimin materialized next to me. I won?
I hadn't even noticed that I was speaking aloud until his hand dropped on my shoulder like a weight. "Yeah, you did." He chuckled, pulling his orange hair away from his forehead, the top of which seemed to gleam under the lights. "Crazy, unbelievable, almost, but you did."
As my brain slowly accepted the fact that I'd somehow shown up before the seasoned racers, Taeyong's face showed up in my thoughts. How could he not win? I wondered scanned the perimeter for any signs of his violently red car.
Nowhere.
"Where's Taeyong?" I questioned, pushing Jimin's hand off of my shoulder, brow pinching into a frown. "Hasn't he shown up yet?"
Every other racer had reached the finish line except him, which was easy to see since there hadn't been too many of us to begin with. Slowly but steadily, fear gripped me instead of joy, and I spun around, frantically looking for a familiar redhead.
Again, I failed.
Ignoring Jimin's shouts of confusion, I got back into the driver's seat, not even bothering to belt myself in before I rounded back and drove out towards the track. My heart was pounding again, but this time, it was more from worry than excitement. On the wheel, my palms were clammy, trying to get a good grip as I tried to drive and look around me at the same time.
Something cold and heavy clamped around my heart as I searched for him in vain. It was then, when I was close to giving up after a few minutes of looking, thinking that it was impossible for him to be anywhere apart from the back road, about how maybe my eyes had just missed him, when I saw it, rising high in the velvety skyline and scattering among the stars, like a funneled tornado.
Smoke.
──────
not to ruin the mood but DON'T go back to the prologue and spoil stuff for the new readers by commenting about this chapter. discuss your theories here and here ONLY.
d o n o t s p o i l