Redline (6 page)

The doorbell rings. Probably the wilderness people raising funds again for that pipeline ban. I grab a twenty-dollar bill off the counter.

Oil baron to the rescue, I think, and almost smile.

I swipe my hair back behind my shoulder and walk toward the front entrance.

“You still drinking Americanos?” Dmitri's asking me.

Weird question. “Uhmm…,” I say, opening the door.

And there he is. Standing right in front of me, on my doorstep. Smiling, his phone up to his ear.

The phone slips right out of my hand. It bounces off my leg and lands on the rug.

Dmitri closes his phone and slides it into his pocket. Looks at the money in my hand.

“Oh. You don't have to pay me for it,” he says. He winks and holds out one of the two cups he's holding. “It's on me. Extra hot, just like you take it.”

I smile. But then I remember that I'm not supposed to want to see him. My smile morphs into a weird sort of grimace.

I reach for the cup to save him from looking dumb. His fingers brush mine, and I end up snatching the cup from his hand.

My next words make me seem like even more of a bitch.

“Listen,” I say. “I gotta run. I'm sorry. I have to be somewhere in a few minutes.”

God, you haven't even said hello. Or thanked him for the coffee. Could you maybe be just a
little
bit ruder?

A shadow of disappointment crosses Dmitri's face, but his recovery is gracious. “Need a lift?”

I glance over his shoulder at the Camaro parked at the end of my driveway. My tummy does a little loopy thing when I see it. I think about driving with Dmitri. Kissing him.

Bawling my eyes out in front of him.

Telling him everything.

I look back at him. “No. I'll be needing my own car tonight.” My tone is sharper than I mean it to be, but maybe it's just as well. I just want him to go away and forget about me.

So that I can forget about him.

Dmitri's face doesn't register any emotion. “You're racing,” he says. It's not a question.

“Maybe I am.”

He looks away for a second, then back at me. “That's dangerous stuff, Jenessa. I told you, people get killed doing that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes his mistake.

I swallow.

“I'm sorry,” he says. He looks down. “I'm sorry. I just…I don't want to see you hurt.”

“You don't have to worry about me.”

“Pretty hard not to with the idiots who're running that show,” he says.

“I know those guys.”

My eyes narrow. He never told me that before.

And it bothers me that he's dissing Cody and his friends.

It also bothers me that he's right.

My mixed-up feelings make me even angrier. “I happen to like them,” I say. “What, did they kick you out or something?”

He shakes his head.

“Said you were too wholesome, maybe?” I snap.

Dmitri stares at me.

“Oh,
I
know,” I say, tilting my head to the side and looking at him. “You were too chicken to run with them, weren't you, Dmitri?” Boy, I'm on a roll now. Jackknife Jenessa, right in your face. “Little too safety-oriented, should we say?”

This finally punctures his cool veneer. Anger flickers in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak. His eyes meet mine and hold me there for a few seconds. Then he looks down at the cup in his hands. He releases a long breath.

When he looks back at me, his eyes are almost calm.

“Right,” he says. “Well, have a good night then.”

I watch, my throat aching, as he walks down the driveway and gets into his car.

Don't go, Dmitri. Come back.

The words are in my head, but I can't get them into my mouth.

I'm sorry.

He starts the Camaro up. Steers it out of the cul-de-sac without looking back. I wait for the sound of his engine to disappear before closing the door.

I jam my feet into my flip-flops and grab a hoodie. Snatch my keys off the hook.

I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror for a long time. Then I give it the finger.

And then I throw my extra-hot Americano at it.

I slam the door behind me, leaving the coffee to drip like dark tears.

Chapter Thirteen

A couple of weeks later, I've raced a few times. Tires squealing, engines throbbing, hands sweating on the wheel. I take on the whole gang, one by one, and even though they dust me every time, I have fun. The guys are generous with their encouragement.

Most of them.

I'm standing with Cody on a warm night in May, pleasantly buzzed off a few beers. I'm trying not to think about the fact that Dmitri had suggested I go to the track with him this weekend to kick off the drag season.

We're late getting started tonight. Everyone's enjoying themselves, talking and drinking. Cody's running his hand up and down my back under my shirt. He's in a good mood tonight.

He tosses his empty into the cooler and looks at me, his eyes glittering. “You're up,” he grins. “First race tonight.”

I laugh and shake my head. “No way,” I say, pointing to my stomach. “Too many beers in this belly. I gotta wait awhile.”

He ignores my words. Instead, he leans over and puts his mouth to my ear. His breath tickles when he whispers, “Let's show these pussies what you're
really
made of. Just me and you. Pull it out and show them how kick-ass you are.”

I feel a glow that he thinks I'm good. But I don't want to race right now. I'm drunk.

I smile and turn to kiss him. “Don't want a DUI, thanks,” I tease.

He pulls back and looks around. “I don't see any pigs here. Do you?”

I glance around us. A few cars have passed, but that was a while ago. No one's on the road now. The lookout would have signaled, anyway, if he'd seen cops.

“Nope. No pigs.” But I still don't want to get behind the wheel.

And I have a feeling he isn't going to make it easy for me.

I scramble for a way to handle this before it gets heavy. “You go, babe. I want to watch you race Rishad now that he's turbocharged his engine.” I lay on a bit of flattery to sweeten my rejection. “You'll still punk his ass.”

Cody stiffens, and I know the conversation's headed the wrong way. He raises his voice. “I said, I don't see any cops,” he says. He addresses the group standing over Rishad's car. “Any of you guys see any police out here tonight? Huh?” He squeals loudly, startling me. “See any pigs?”

“No pigs, boss,” says Mark quickly. “We're clear.”

Cody looks back at me. His mouth is turned up at one corner. His voice is soft. My stomach twists. I don't like it when he talks this way. Usually it means something is about to happen. Last week he talked like this just before he pushed me. It wouldn't have been a big deal, except I was standing on the edge of the shoulder, where the ditch dropped off behind me. So when he shoved me, I lost my balance and fell backward and hit my head. It wasn't so bad. I only got a couple of scratches from the rocks. And my goose egg was mostly gone by the next morning. It took me a second to get up after he'd pushed me though, and I could see that made him angrier. It took a bit of work to chill him out again.

He's been in a good space for most of the night tonight. I don't want to mess it up by arguing.

So I nod. “No police?” I fake a smile. “Then you're on, big guy.”

Danger
.

As I get behind the wheel, I send up a silent prayer. I kick off my flip-flops and throw them into the backseat. Cody pulls up to the line beside me. Revs his engine. He grins at me, and I force another smile. Bibs gives the signal, and we take off, squealing and roaring. As soon as the car's in motion, I relax. This isn't so bad, after all. Alcohol or no, I know what I'm doing. I'll never win against Cody, but that's no reason I can't give him a run for his money.

When I hit third gear, I look over to find him grinning. I stick my tongue out at him and punch it, jumping forward and putting a car length between us. Then more.

I glance in the rearview mirror to check Cody's position. My heart drops.

Flashing red and blue. Where did they come from? What the hell was the lookout doing?

I watch in horror as the police cruiser roars up and out of the ditch in a spray of rocks, dirt…and branches. Camouflage. They were waiting for this.

Instinctively, I downshift and jam the pedal to the floor.

I'm no lightweight.

I laugh crazily. I glance in the mirror again, terrorized and yet supercharged. Sharpened.

But I feel sick at what I see next. Cody's dropped back. Way back. I watch, unbelieving, as he kills his lights and turns around so he's heading the other way. Back in the direction we came from. My breath sticks in my throat.

The prick's leaving me out here to deal with this on my own.

I hammer. I've never driven so fast in my life. But I've never been chased. either. If I was thinking straight, I'd have stopped as soon as I saw the cop car and taken the rap. But I'm not thinking straight. And it's too late to stop now.

I don't know where I'm going. I just need to get away.

My pulse races as I fly down the empty highway. The cop's turned on his siren now. I can hear it over the wind and the engine. It fills my ears and pumps my body full of adrenaline. My hands are slick on the wheel. I want to look and see how fast I'm going, but I don't dare take my eyes off the road. If I get caught, I'm done. Not only am I speeding, but I've been drinking. And I'm only sixteen.

My father will kill me. He'll take my car away.

Then I'll die for sure.

Exit signs whip past. I make a split-second decision, tearing off the main highway and onto a ramp. I let off the gas and downshift before I hit the curve, forcing the engine to slow the wheels. My tires shriek as we squall around the corner. I fishtail coming out of the turn. I let off the gas for a second to get the tires back under me.

There's another exit up ahead, and I gun for it. The cops are still behind me, but the ramp slowed them down. I charge toward the next set of ramps and peel myself off onto a smaller road. Yellow dotted lines flash past.

Juice it, baby. Go.

The car responds, growling as I punch through the gears, trying to put as much distance as I can between me and the squad car.

I don't know how long I drive like this. The road narrows. No more yellow lines. Just black asphalt.

My rearview tells me the cops have let it go. They don't want some stupid kid killing herself just because they gave chase. They usually back off if they can't catch their target. That way, they don't cause any accidents.

Innocent people get killed
.

Something inside me cracks when I hear Dmitri's words. My eyes blur, and I take a big breath.

Get ahold of yourself, Jenessa. Slow it down.

Gradually, I ease off the gas. But it's too late.

I've already hit the gravel.

Chapter Fourteen

My headlights don't pick up where the pavement ends and where the gravel starts. I feel my back end start to slide, and I jump off the gas. My rear whips from side to side, spraying thick gravel from under the tires. Dark bushes blur past. I don't remember how to correct a gravel slide.

Terrified, I tap my brakes.

Wrong.

Suddenly I'm spinning out, turning in circles, watching everything in slow motion. The steering wheel slips through my hands like it's got a mind of its own. My headlights splash across a fencepost, then a bush. The road. Another fencepost. Another bush. The road.

I spin for what feels like an eternity before I come to a crunching stop. The force of the impact jerks me sideways. A mass of white nylon explodes in my face, absurdly surprising. My seatbelt sears as it bites into my shoulder. Then I'm slammed back, against my seat.

I wait for my life to flash before my eyes. Isn't that what they say happens? That you see scenes of your life playing out as you die?

Wait. Maybe I should look for the bright white light instead.

I hear a metallic
ping
as a rock bounces off the car.

Then it's quiet.

I open my eyes—I didn't even know they were closed—and look down. Am I still here? My body is here. No blood. Can I feel my hands? Yes. My feet? Yes. I scrabble at the air bag, suddenly frantic to get its parachute-like bulk off me.

My head aches. I raise a shaky hand to touch it. No blood there either.

The cops!
Panicked, I look in the rearview mirror. But then I remember. They gave up the chase a long way back.