Kissing Killian (Face-Off Legacy/Campus Kings 5)

She had no idea what she was asking of me. I wanted to warn her, but she seemed to have had her mind made up. A girl like Jade is too pure for this lifestyle. A spoiled brat would never understand why I do this. She sees my real life as a fantasy when the reality is harsh and brutal.

Cops are familiar with the usual spots on weekends, forcing us to stagger the dates, times, and locations. We race in different parts of Philly and the surrounding suburbs each week. Sometimes we drive to New Jersey or New York if the money is right.

“Kade’s here.” Chase slides off the bench. “You guys ready?” He glances down at Roman and Nate and waits for a nod of approval from Roman.

Once we’re at the curb near my car, Chase reaches into his jacket and then stuffs a thick envelope of cash into the pocket of my navy Strickland Senators hoodie.

“We got an advance on the next job.”

I pat the front of my hoodie feeling the thick bulge against my stomach and nod.

“We have some serious action a few weeks from now,” Roman says, coming up on my left side.

“How much are we talking?”

“A hundred k split between us,” Roman says. “The buyer was so happy he wants us to work for him on a permanent basis.”

This isn’t my end game. But a small part of me feels guilty for wanting to leave my friends, my crew, to pursue a different life. I might be like them, but I want so much more than a life of crime.

I’ll never get sick of the adrenaline rush from winning a race. That feeling will never get old. There’s no high better. Not even sex.

I search for Jade in the sea of people around us. Where the fuck is she? She wanted to come, and yet she’s not even on time, and I wait for no one.

“I’m in,” I tell them. “Set it up.”

“We’ll see you over at the spot,” Chase says.

Roman and Nate follow behind him to their cars as I slip into the driver’s seat mentally preparing myself for another wild night. I pray we don’t get caught because, lately, my luck seems to be running out.

Chapter Eight

Jade

When I reach Tony Luke’s, Killian is revving the engine of his Mustang, drawing attention. Everyone on the street is looking in his direction. I wave my hands above my head and yell his name. He doesn’t even look my way as he pulls out of the parking space, his wheels screeching as he drives away.

At least two-dozen people are outside, now headed in his direction. Should I follow? I have no idea where I am. Three years of school in Philly hasn’t made me any kind of expert on the city. If not for the Uber driver, I doubt I would have found this place.

I follow the group to a street corner where people are huddled together. Some pass cigarettes and joints among themselves while others are pounding cans of beer and screaming like maniacs. I’m in shock the police haven’t broken this up yet and sort of nervous about how much trouble we will be in if we get caught.

I listen to the voices in the crowd talking about the different crews. Since I have zero experience with street racing, I had no idea that people formed crews to race with for money. The spectators are here to take side bets. According to the whispers, Killian and his crew are the best in the city.

My skin buzzes with electricity, a small part of me excited by the thrill of Killian doing something illegal. I figured he was into some serious shit when he stole my car, but now I’m even more curious about him. One night might not be enough to extract all of his secrets. I told Killian I want to know him, and I meant every word.

Once the cars line up, the drivers rev their engines at the imaginary starting line, smoke burning off their tires as they spin. Watching as the cars take off, tires screeching and smoke filling the air in their wake, a rush of adrenaline shoots through me. I can see why Killian finds this so exciting. The thrill of not knowing who will win and if the cops might drive by unannounced brings a smile to my face. Giddy, nervous anticipation rocks me to the core, the energy surrounding me somewhat contagious.

After the blue Mustang crosses over the finish line with several cars on its tail, the race ends with a girl holding up a flag to wave each car through. A man stands off to the side with a stopwatch in hand calling out the numbers to the twenty-something boy next to him, who jots them down on a clipboard. Considering they could get into a ton of trouble for this, they seem at ease and way too relaxed until the sound of police sirens sound off from a distance.