by Rowan Casey
“Tires?”
“Street legal but he finds the grip every time.”
“How much time is he shaving off the top?”
“On the Santa Monica circuit, at least thirty seconds.”
“Holy shit!” The Santa Monica circuit spanned eight miles of ocean front freeway, a slice of Venice and a sleepy residential street near the airport. In clear traffic, the best time to date had been five minutes thirty-seven seconds.
“He has a dogcam clocking in at under five minutes. I don’t believe it. There’s no way that bike went from the palisades to Culver City in under five minutes. It’s straight-up impossible.”
“Have you seen him race?”
“Yeah. He’s fast. Too damn fast. He cuts through traffic like it’s not there. I’ve never seen anything like it…except maybe you.”
I had experience with the magically enhanced kind of fast, but I had luck on my side. I was betting it wasn’t the man fueling the speeds, but the bike itself. “Was he at the strip tonight?”
“No, he only shows at the street races. That’s the other thing. The guy’s a ghost—can’t find any info on him. A couple of the crews tried to tail him just to find out where he works out of, but so far he’s shaken them off in traffic. Every time. It’s like he doesn’t exist outside the races.”
“He only appears at street races?”
Dav nodded. “And not all of them. He’s gone dark for months, then he appears again and blows everyone else out of the water. Then he’s gone again. No reason behind it.”
“All right…” I needed to get eyes on that bike. If I saw it, Grimm seemed reasonably certain the part of me that was supposed to be activated would somehow recognize it as the artifact. I’d figure out what to do with it once I knew for certain I had my target in sight.
“I know that look.” Dav’s smile twitched. His gaze flicked to the wall clock— 1 a.m.—and back to me. He pulled his cell from his pocket and twisted it in his hand, waiting for me to say the words.
My own smile grew. It had been two years, but with the sound of my heart beating loud in my ears, I said the words we’d both been waiting for.
“Wanna race?”
The parking lot outside Costco on the corner of Los Feliz and Revere throbbed with the sounds of hungry air intakes and idling engines.
I counted five distinct crews as I climbed from Dav’s GTR. More would be incoming. At the sight of three familiar cars, each painted candy colors, and the old Silvia, I left Dav talking with another crew and headed over, my heart in my throat.
The guy leaning against the hood of one of their cars lifted his head. Billy the Kid—imaginatively named because he was the youngest of the crew—blinked and swept his too-long bangs out of his eyes. A moment of recognition flashed there, and just like with Davin, I wondered if I’d made a mistake coming back. My stride slowed. Billy’s eyes narrowed. I cradled my dice in one hand, seeking their familiar comfort.
“If it ain’t Lady Luck herself.” Billy jumped down off the hood and looked as though he may be squaring up for a fight. He scratched at the small scar on his neck. He told people his scar was from a switchblade, but in truth, he got it when he was eight and he’d mistimed jumping over a razor-wire fence. He looked at me now, the personification of my fears—I’d abandoned them, I didn’t belong, coming back was wrong—until a killer grin broke his stoic expression.
The others had noticed me now. The usually reserved Alex squealed, launched herself my way, and attacked me with a hug I had no hope of escaping. While locked in Alex’s arms, Nate Liao threw an eager handshake my way, capturing my free hand in his and gripping my forearm. He looked me clean in the eyes and said with his typical intensity, “Good to see you back, hao pengyou.” Good friend.
Cate hung back, eyeing me with a healthy dose of skepticism. I could imagine she had heard about my reputation.
“Hey,” I said.
She jerked her chin. “Hey.”
Then the questions came in from all sides. What are you doing back—Are you racing—where’re your wheels? Billy draped an arm around my shoulders and tugged me into a semi-awkward embrace, then backed off and shrugged his macho persona back into place before anyone noticed.
“Listen up!” Dav’s unmistakable voice boomed across the lot, instantly silencing the chatter.
“Rules are the same as always: Follow your lead car. We meet at the Culver City strip. Social media blackout—shut that shit down. And watch for the ADD.”
“ADD?” I asked Alex. She bounced on her heels, itching to get behind the wheel.
“Aggressive Driving Detail.” She sneered. “The Five-O. Things are hotter than when you were here, Jazzy. We got our own LAPD fanclub.” She nudged me in the ribs. “But we’e got our tricks.”
Dav circled a finger in the air, “Roll out.” His gaze snagged mine, pulling me forward. I broke from the group, promising to catch up with them all when the meet was done and climbed back into the GTR.
“Everything okay?” Dav asked, rolling the car out of the lot with the pack cruising in line behind. The stream of racers would soon break up, making a less obvious target.
“Yeah.”
“It ain’t blood that makes family. You get that, right?”
I was careful to show him the smile he was looking for before turning my face toward the window to watch LA’s streets blur by. He was right. This crew of misfits had been a part of my life longer than anyone else. We were family. Which was exactly why I had walked away in the past and why I would again as soon as I was done.
“More crews are incoming,” Dav explained, cruising the GTR through traffic. He split his attention between watching the road ahead and the mirrors. Now the meet was on, timing was everything. “They’ll wanna see the Lady Luck race. You never lost, right?”
I had lost in the past, just not often. A soft chuckle escaped me, more of half a laugh than anything meaningful. “Then they’ll be disappointed. I don’t have a ride.”
Dav’s subtle shrug wasn’t fooling me.
“I can fix that, ya know. If you want.”
“Thank you, but no.” I could have told him how I wasn’t staying, how this was just temporary, but he’d tell the others and then I would have to watch their smiles fade as they learned that I was ditching them again.
He waited for the explanation that wasn’t coming and suddenly we were back inside a bubble of heavy silence. I squeezed the dice in my pocket and reminded myself not to fall into the trap. Get in, get the bike, get out. Nobody had to get hurt. I’d deliver the bike to Siobhan and get my sister back. After that, well… I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Having Kari back would change everything.
One thing was certain. Grimm would have to find another knight to get his bike after I handed it over to Siobhan. That was his problem, not mine.
I was making it right, my way.
“Here we go…” Dav dipped the clutch, freeing the gears, and revved the GTR’s throaty V6 engine, parting a crowd bottled-necked at an intersection. People pulled back like a curtain revealing the circus spectacle of a street race and its illicit promise of speed.
6
“Will he show?”
Hundreds of spectators swarmed the GTR. Once we’d carved deeper into the crowd, I spotted countless cars—some obviously ricers but just as many more subtle pros. The cops would be all over this, and soon. My mystery bike owner didn’t have long to make an appearance.
“Maybe,” Dav replied idly, his attention had drifted toward where the cars were lining up for the sprints. He’d be useless until he scratched the racing itch. I opened the door and hopped out.
“Go, I’ll watch for my guy.”
“Ya sure?”
“I’ll grab a ride back with the crew. Meet you back at your place in the morning. Go race.” I closed the door and was instantly absorbed by the jostling crowd.
I spotted a guy standing high on a concrete pillar; the nominated lookout. Others would be watching the interse
ctions and freeway exits. If the cops showed up, everyone would scatter like roaches when the lights went on. Not getting caught was part of the rush and after a few years, I couldn’t deny the fizzle of anticipation hitting my veins like a drug. But I wasn’t here for the thrill. I had a mission in mind. Find the bike. We had maybe twenty minutes before the cops showed up. That didn’t leave me long to locate the bike and get a feel for its owner. As for how to get the bike, I hadn’t figured that out yet. Boosting it wasn’t out of the question, but only as a last resort.
“Find the bike first,” I muttered. “Deal with the rest when it happens.”
The crowd had closed in, packing the sidewalks five deep. I had to get to a higher vantage point if I had any hope of spotting the bike.
Hooking my fingers into a chain-link fence, I pulled myself up onto a raised concrete barrier and scanned the sea of people. Half of the folks here had the glassy-eyed look or rookies wanting a taste of something illicit. They had seen the movies, now they wanted to sample the reality. Racing wasn’t nearly as pretty or slick as Hollywood made it out to be, but that was part of its appeal. Shiny, happy LA couldn’t touch us here. Racing was raw, and real, in a city made of illusions. Most of the tourists wouldn’t be back for more, keeping the core-crowd true.
The streetlight above buzzed and flickered. I may not have noticed had the one farther up blinked on and off shortly after. Maybe it was nothing. But considering the week I’d had, I wasn’t taking any chances.
“C’mon…” I brushed my thumb over the dice in my pocket. “Just a little luck. I could use a break right now.”
Someone nudged my leg. I glanced down and saw a glimpse of white coat, blond hair and a quick, corner smile on the girl’s lips that spoke of shared secrets. It wasn’t Kari. It couldn’t be. But it sure looked like her. I squeezed my eyes closed and listened to the roar of engines and collective rise and fall of the combined voices of so many people. When I opened my eyes, the girl in white was gone.
The meet played out. Dav and the crew raced while I drifted from car to car. Two years away seemed long, but little had changed. The cars had gotten slicker, more expensive. The mods were less obvious, probably due to the heat from the cops. Nobody wanted their cars crushed. If anything the crew’s operations had gotten smoother and a little patter of pride warmed my cold, dead, racing heart.
When the bark of cops came through the radios, the crowds, the crews and their rides scattered in minutes. Myself among them.
Three more races and three more no-shows from Liam. Dav made some calls to see if he had been spotted at any other Californian meets, but came up empty.
“Maybe he’s quit?” I suggested, leaning against the GTR’s fender. We were parked on the outskirts of the fourth meet, watching the inbound streets from the top of a five-story parking lot. The wind carried with it the occasional horn, traffic rumble and distant airplane drone. LA’s patchwork of streets glittered on every side. Up here, above the racing congregation underway below, LA glistened like the crown of California.
Dav leaned against the rail, his attention firmly on his job as lookout. “Nah. I’ve seen him race. Drivers like him don’t quit.”
Except me. “You ever think about quitting?”
He didn’t turn, just stared at the streets, the light catching his eyes. “Thought about it, but the business…the cars, the crew. What the hell would I do if I quit? Flip burgers? Not all of us are as lucky as you, Jaz.”
“There’s nothing wrong with flipping burgers.”
“Ah-huh. Sure.” Neither of us believed it. “I have a record for armed robbery. You think prospective employers give a shit that I was just the driver and I didn’t know those assholes were armed?”
I joined him at the rail and watched the cars and crowd swarm below.
“There’s nothing else for me, Jaz. Besides, I don’t need nothin’ else. I got the business and everything I want I find behind a wheel, chica.” He smirked just as his radio crackled.
“We got a bike incoming…” a female voice said. Possibly Cate’s, though I couldn’t be sure. “Looks like your guy.”
“Finally.” I leaned over the railing and searched the swarms below.
The familiar purr of a tuned V-twin engine rose above the usual huffs and whistles of the V6s. A single headlight dipped in and out of the traffic slowing on the other side of the street. But I couldn’t be sure it was the bike…until its rider opened the throttle, leaned over and dropped a knee in a left hand turn that should have seen the bike slide right out from under him—but didn’t. Not only did the bike stick to the turn, but the rear wheel spun, whisking up a dramatic arc of tire smoke. He made that turn like he was on rails and whipped the bike upright among the crowd amid a chorus of whoops and cheers.
I needed a closer look at that bike and rider. Dav had the same idea. We were down at street-level in minutes. I opened the GTRs door and hopped out. “I’ll check him out.”
“Alright, call me if you need anything.” He pulled away from the curb but we had agreed he would park and move in, getting another angle on the suspect bike while I went for the straightforward approach.
It wasn’t difficult finding Liam. Whoever this guy was, he had cultivated a large following. They gathered around like fans trying to paw a rockstar. Street racing had been so much easier when it wasn’t a spectators sport. Safer too, I thought, hearing tires lock-up and shouts sail through the noise. Someone nearby had bitten off more asphalt than they could chew.
The rider’s all-black leathers and full-face helmet seemed to absorb light. The bike itself looked like it was travelling at over a hundred mph while standing still. Designed to cut through anything and everything in its path, it screamed speed. But it was a stock Suzuki GSXR superbike—at least from what I could see from the fence. Jostled from all sides, I didn’t notice the tickling sensation spilling across my skin until I’d reached the front of the group and saw the bike up close. Dav was right, it was stock, but there was nothing normal about this GSXR. The fine hairs on the back of my neck rose at the angular built-for-speed sight of it, and quickly blinking into the sight, I watched how luck steered clear of the beast and its owner as though they occupied a hole in the stream. I’d seen something like it before when I’d stolen a quick glimpse of Grimm’s luck.
“And the Lucky Lady returns,” the rider in black said. “You’ve been looking for me. How lucky I must be.”
I blinked, clearing the sight, and peered at the rider’s mirrored visor as the crowd swiveled to focus on me. His distinct European accent—maybe Irish, though to my LA tuned ears it could easily have been Scottish—rang sharp and crisp against my ears, even when muffled by the helmet.
“You’re the girl who never lost a race. Am I right?” He rocked back on the bike, planted his boots against the road to keep it upright, and held out a gloved hand. “The name’s Liam.”
“Jazmine.” I closed my hand in his, gripping firmly. He had a strong, confident grip. Of slim build, he didn’t look like the manual labor sort. Office worker with too much disposable income, maybe? “Do I get to see the man behind the mask?”
“Oh, sure.” He took off the helmet. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting to see. Considering luck didn’t touch him, I wondered exactly what would be hiding beneath the helmet, but the guy looking back at me was just like any normal guy. A mop of blond hair, California tan, easy smile. I pegged him at early twenties. He still had that look about him as though he was immortal and nothing could touch him. They all had that look until the streets bit back and gave them a healthy respect for the race. I was betting Liam believed he was hot right now, especially while surrounded by his adoring fan club.
“Sweet ride,” I said. “What mods are you running?”
His smile grew into a hungry thing that sent a small shiver trickling down my spine. “Are you up for a wager, Lady Luck?” he asked, green eyes alight with the contagious thrill of the race.
It was my turn to smile right back.
“I don’t have a ride.”
“I’m sure one of these fine ladies and gentlemen will lend you theirs.”
The idea was ludicrous. Nobody simply let another rider take their wheels, especially one who had been off the scene for years. So why then were these people digging into their pocks and lifting out their keys? So damn eager to help out?
I frowned back at Liam. Just what kind of joke was this?
His perfectly, white teeth seemed sharp behind his smile. “Take your pick. Time is against us.”
I laughed. This was absurd. The eager faces around me didn’t think so. They held out their keys like it was perfectly normal.
“I can be very persuasive,” Liam stage-whispered, adding a devilish wink. He leaned closer, his leathers creaking. “I know what you want, Jazmine. I know your dilemma. And it all starts with me. Beat me and you can claim your prize, the bike.” He fondly patted the bike’s tank. “After that, your path is your own. Wherever it may lead.” He pulled his helmet back on, twitched the throttle and crept the bike forward through the parting crowd.
Nothing about this was normal. The bike, the man, the things he knew, even these people he had somehow convinced to play along, but if he was true to his word, this could be my chance. I lifted the dice from my pocket; snake eyes peered back at me. I had to do this.
“Who here has a bike to rival that one?”
Blank faces looked back at me.
“I have a Fireblade,” a woman said. A slight lift in her voice made it sound like a question.
“Will you let me race it?”
She smiled politely and handed over the keys. I couldn’t even get my own crew to lend me their rides and here was a perfect stranger handing over hers. Liam had done something to these people, put them under some kind of spell. This wasn’t normal, but if it meant I got a shot at securing his bike, I’d take it.