Page 96 of Missile Strike

“This highway sucks.” He pressed the gas pedal, easing Consuela well over the speed limit just to stay with the flow of traffic.

The lanes were narrow and shifting, marked with potholes. Cars dodged each other like they were on the last lap of a NASCAR race. Fitting, given that the NASCAR Hall of Fame was a couple of blocks from The Waverly.

Overhead, low-hanging clouds rolled in, turning the sky greenish-gray. Wind scattered debris like tumbleweeds across the highway.

“Storm’s moving in,” Caleb observed.

Danny focused on the patches of blue in the sky ahead. All he wanted was to get home and back to Bella.

The things he planned to do with her when he got her back in bed…

“What the hell are you thinking about?” Amusement colored Caleb’s question. “Do I even want to know?”

A grin curved Danny’s lips. “Probably not.”

Splashes of rain had just begun to collide with his windshield when a high-pitched whine drew his attention to the rearview mirror. A red Lamborghini maneuvered from lane to lane, bobbing and weaving past cars like a prizefighter in the ring. Close behind it, a black BMW tried to keep up, its turbocharged engine letting out a throaty roar.

Danny kept to the center lane. “Look at these assholes.”

He loved speed, but he only opened Consuela up when he could do it safely.

Caleb twisted in his seat to look behind them before turning back with a disgusted shake of his head. “An accident waiting to happen.”

The Lamborghini got stuck behind a car in the left lane and slid across the middle, coming up on Danny’s right. The BMW followed.

Up ahead, a truck was entering the highway and about to run out of its merging lane, boxing the Lamborghini in between Consuela and the truck.

Shit. Danny let off the gas.

Without warning, the Lamborghini cut in front of him.

His foot slammed on the brake.

The pedal sank to the floor.

Instinct took over as Danny pumped the pedal once, twice to build pressure as he swerved into the left lane to avoid rear-ending the Lamborghini, narrowly missing a Honda.

Horns blared.

“No brakes,” he gritted out.

No left shoulder. No place to go.

The rear of the vehicle in front of him was coming up too fast.

He shoved the clutch pedal down, dropping from fifth to fourth gear, then tapped the gas pedal to raise the RPMs so he didn’t lock the wheels and stress the drivetrain.

“Come on, Consuela, baby. Work with me here.” The engine howled in protest, but the Mustang dropped speed.

He downshifted and tapped the gas again, then slowly raised the emergency brake lever. The rear tires dragged, rubber biting into wet asphalt. Danny slapped on his hazard lights and eventually brought Consuela to a stop in the fast lane as cars zipped around them.

The clouds above them opened up, fat drops turning into a steady downpour that reduced visibility and slowed traffic.

Silence filled the car. Neither of them moved.

“Well, that was interesting,” Caleb said.

“That shouldn’t have happened.” Danny glanced at his teammate. “I baby this car.”