Worth Fighting For (Fighting to Be Free 2)

Excitement built in my chest and my palms itched with eagerness during the hour or so it took us to drive to the destination. This couldn’t have come at a better time for me. Racing brought me an inner peace. The power of the car, the speed—all of it accumulated into one huge adrenaline rush that I reveled in. After the distractions of late, I needed something like this to take my mind off everything else so I could just live in the moment, even if it was only for a fifteen-minute race.

Dodger slowed at the end of the road and a guy with a two-way radio bent down to talk to him. I saw the glowing light of a cell phone being shown, and then he was waved forward. I crept along, my cell phone already open, showing the race invitation text I received. The guy glanced at the invite then waved me on, too.

I drove slowly, seeing the brightly colored and heavily souped-up cars lining the edge of the road and the spectators milling around, cooing over the cars and their drivers. I pulled into the available space next to Dodger and popped the hood of my car. These things always started with spectators and other racers surveying the cars’ engines, clucking over the modifications they’d had done.

I climbed out, already smelling that the air was thick with the scent of gas. Dodger met me by the side of my car, and we walked through the crowd, checking out the contenders parked along the edge of the road. I spotted a few who raced in most of these competitions and a few newbies.

I groaned at two cars that stood out from the rest because of their exaggerated paint jobs and the overly large spoilers mounted on the backs of them. Two Mitsubishi Lancer Evolutions, one custom painted orange with a lime-green lightning bolt on the side, the other lime green with an orange lightning bolt. They belonged to identical twin brothers, Regan and Harley. Most people called them the Kamikaze Twins, not because they were reckless, but because they were fearless. They were my biggest competition. Alongside Dodger and myself, one or the other of the Kamikaze Twins won almost every race they entered. Their driving was smart, slick, and effortless. The pair of them were big on the karting circuit, and I’d heard they even tore up the other big street-racing scenes in Los Angeles and Miami, too. I liked them, though, despite the fact that they were cocky little shits who caused me to lose a race on occasion. They were good guys and always offered a handshake after.

Dodger pointed at the two cars. “I’m gonna kick their asses, too,” he bragged confidently.

I chuckled and we made our way over to where the group of drivers were all huddled together at the end of the row of cars. The contenders who raced here were from all walks of life; street racing wasn’t limited to the bad boy or the guy from the wrong side of the tracks. One guy who frequented the scene was a top-end lawyer; another was a low-paid schoolteacher. They could be anyone on the street during the day, just someone who indulged in a fast-paced hobby in the evenings. That was one of the things I liked about it; everyone was simply here because they were passionate about cars and speed.

Someone sidled up next to me. “What’s up, bro?”

I turned to see who’d spoken and came face-to-face with one of the twins, though I had no idea which one it was. To me, there was no difference between them except for the hair—both were blond and wore it about the same length, but one liked to spike it up and the other swept it to the side.

“Hey, um...Harley?” I guessed.

He shook his head and grinned. “Regan,” he corrected. His brother, who had come up beside him, held his fist out for a bump, which I delivered.

“One day he’ll guess right,” Dodger chimed in, leaning over and knocking their fists, too.

“Probably not,” I replied.

The twins shrugged in unison, their grins equal in size. “So you came, then. To be honest, we were kind of hoping your car was still toast and you wouldn’t show up tonight,” Regan said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Oh well, more prize money in the pot for when I win.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but a loud throat clearing to our left halted me. A guy in a fluorescent high-vis vest with a half-smoked cigarette between his lips stood there with a black canvas bag. “Entry fee,” he grunted, dropping ash down onto his protruding stomach and wiping it off absentmindedly with the back of one hand.

Each of us pulled out the five-hundred-dollar entry fee, silently dropping the money into the bag.

“Now check out the route and then get your cars into place so we can get this started,” Rodriguez told the drivers. Everyone moved forward to look at the large map where a big red oddly shaped ring had been hastily sketched. A list of street names and our randomly drawn starting positions were handwritten down the side.

Dodger and I took a slow walk back to our cars, letting the crowd around them disperse as spectators made their way to the starting point.

“You ready for this?” Dodger asked as I unhooked the hood of my car and let it fall shut and click into place.

“Yeah, she’s running great now. I owe Ray big time for sourcing that part for me,” I replied, lovingly smoothing my hand across the paint job.

“That’s not what I meant,” Dodger said, folding his arms across his chest. “You’ve been a little distracted lately. I just want to make sure your head is in the game tonight. You can’t race if you’re thinking about other things, that’s how accidents happen and people die.”

This was about Ellie. Didn’t see that coming. Was I ready for this? Yes. Hell yes. I needed it. Once I was out there my brain would automatically focus on the task at hand instead of constantly worrying and thinking about her. At least, that was the plan anyway.

“I’m fine.” I reached out and patted him on the shoulder gently. “But thanks for worrying about me, you’ll make someone a good bitch one day.”

He rolled his eyes before stepping to his car door and grinning over at me. “Let’s do this.”

I grinned too, sliding into my molded leather seat and reaching down to turn the ignition. My car roared to life, the engine loud and predatory as I twisted the key, breathing life into her. I sighed contentedly, tracing my hands on the steering wheel, the growl of the engine enough to make my scalp prickle with excitement. The thrill of knowing that within a few minutes I’d be bursting along at speeds of over one hundred mph made a tingle zip down my spine.

Checking that the street behind me was clear, I left my parking space and headed to the makeshift starting grid, where the other drivers were idling.

I replayed the route in my head, envisioning the turns, the roads, how sharp the corners were. Adrenaline was pulsing through my bloodstream as my foot hovered over the gas pedal, my eyes locked on Rodriguez as he walked ten feet past the starting line and raised a

n air horn.

I held my breath, my jaw clenched in concentration, my foot twitching in readiness. And then the shrill sound of the horn blasted through the air and my body reacted in an instant. I dropped the car into gear and floored it. Tires screeched, engines roared, and clouds of white smoke and dust blasted up from the back of every car as we all shot forward almost in unison, the force of it shoving us back in our seats.

By the time I’d made it to the end of the short road, I was already pushing eighty mph. My eyes remained locked on the road ahead, watching the orange Mitsubishi and the BMW M3 jostle for position as I skidded around the first turn, my tires scrabbling for traction in a delicious way that gripped my stomach in excitement.

As the streets whizzed by in a blur and I pushed it faster and faster, I felt some of the tension of the last few days start to diminish. Each quick gear change took back a little bit of the control that I’d felt slipping away from me since Ellie had returned.

The streets were deserted. I grinned as the car in front of me braked too soon going into a corner, which allowed me to breeze past him. I was now in second place behind the orange kamikaze. Flicking a quick glance at my mirror, I saw Dodger behind me, overtaking the same car I had seconds before; he was pushing and grappling with the green kamikaze to hold his third-place position. It always came down like this, we four all fighting it out to see who would take the top spot this time.

I gritted my teeth in concentration, twisting my wheel and shooting onto the other side of the road, attempting to get more room to make my move for first. My speedometer showed 121 mph. Orange kamikaze sped up, shooting a quick grin over at me as we zoomed down the road in a flurry of noise, smoke, and fumes that the residents of this street would wake and complain about at any second.

I pulled back onto the right side of the road, now level with the orange kamikaze as Dodger tried fruitlessly to find a way through behind me. I grinned, tightening my grip on the wheel as we approached the next corner at full speed. Leaving it until the last possible second, I braked and turned my wheel, feeling my back tires lose purchase on the road for a split second before I turned into the skid and caught it. The hair on my arms prickled, my