Page 42 of Fatality

My Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat lurches ahead violently, tires screaming against the asphalt, the rear kicking out hard before snapping back into place.

I cut between two racers immediately—no space, no warning—forcing one of them to slam on the brakes just to avoid getting clipped.

My enhanced reflexes take over before my brain even catches up.

"Too fucking slow." I laugh, loud and sharp.

The docks rip open in front of me—tight lanes, uneven roads, corners that don't forgive mistakes.

I don't give a damn.

I drive like the road owes me space, like anything in my way is just another thing to fucking break through.

The first corner comes up, and I take it way too fast on purpose.

The car slides wide, almost smashing into the barrier, but I yank it back violently, snapping the rear into line before shooting forward.

No hesitation, no second thoughts.

This is how I breathe.

And tonight, I'm ready to crush every fucker who thinks they can beat me.

The weekly races aren't just entertainment. They are an escape, recruitment, and a chance to prove who deserves to be here.

Right now? I'm pissed off.

All week, the new recruits kept fucking up, damaging businesses, beating innocent people in the street for trespassing because they thought anyone wearing pink neon belonged to the Static Rebels.

And tonight, I'm not letting anyone weak—or some flashy asshole who drives like a damn ghost—take this one from me.

I need this, to draw the silence out, the anger.

One of the cars ahead tries to cut me off.

My eyes narrow.

Who the fuck does he think he is? Does this asshole even know who he's dealing with? He wants to play?

I'll show him. Nobody fucks with me.

I shift gears and slam my reinforced chassis straight into the back of his car.

I grin the second I see him lose control, even slightly.

I floor the gas pedal and ram him again, harder, at the perfect angle.

The car jerks violently sideways.

One last impact from my reinforced chassis sends the rear completely loose.

The front tires slam into an obstacle, sending the car rolling between two cargo containers.

I glance at the wreck for half a second as I blast past it. Not lethal, probably.

“Fuck yes!” I laugh, the sound tearing out of me, sharp and wild.

My eyes glow brighter with adrenaline, anticipation—whatever this feeling is.