Page 82 of Her Sloth

I will never make it to my car with—I count the police cars—six—no, seven—eight of them visible around me. And more are coming.

I look up. Two options: the way I came, meaning, withdraw up higher with the risk of having no option left and the hope they won’t make it up to the highest level or being ready to jump to the other building. Or taking every single risk by getting down and making my way through the city and leaving the Mustang behind.

Decide, Addy, decide.

But before I am even close to deciding, a single roar of a motor trails into my ears. A roar I’d recognize everywhere, because it’s so unique.

A grin spreads on my face as I shake my head, while Park Avenue is taken over by a black Challenger Hellcat, spinning a donut in the middle of it. Cass.

Followed by a black Lexus LFA. Jackson.

A dark-green Camaro. Nikki.

A pink Charger. Blair.

A Tomahawk motorcycle flipping through them. Illy.

And all the other cars I’ve seen at the meetup surrounding them like a roadblock.

She came. All of them came. Taking a page out of my playbook.

Smoke evaporates around the donuts Cass, Jackson, Nikki, and Blair make. It’s a wild view, because the road is still wet, but from the force of their cars, they smoke anyway.

I hang from the first level, then jump.

I walk straight through the middle as they circle around me with a precision that shows how much of a family they are. They know each other. They know their moves, and I am walking straight through the middle—an insane feeling as the headlights and smoke dip the entire Avenue into this magical moment.

I catch Cass’s eyes for one second as she drifts close by me.

I stop and follow her with my gaze for one second. She came, although I did everything to drive her away. She kept her code.

Her eyes are unreadable.

Or she didn’t do it for you, only because of what you did, says a voice in me.

She’s doing it for my sister. The woman she loved, who was one of them.

Not me.

Her.

And this is her last honor.

My eyes wander up to the stream with the smoke wafting up.

I hope you forgive me, I tell her in my mind.

One more second as I look at the stream, then I avert my eyes, snap back into focus, and get into the Mustang. Her car. Her last honor.

I start the motor.

The Mustang, the Eleanor, roars as if she knew what we were doing, readying herself for the most important race of her life.

I click the seatbelt closed.

And then, I shoot off, as they all do.

All in a different direction.