rubber, high-octane gasoline, and cheap beer. Bass-heavy music thumped from

h, she was wearing a sleek, black racing suit. She pulled on her helmet,

discarded wife. She wasn't C., the m

ent. The crowd parted for her. They knew the bike. They knew the su

ad and a thick gold chain stepped ou

rin splitting his face. "

ough the helmet's modulator, came out low, androgynous,

id, his eyes gleaming. "W

avily modified. The engine was a beast, tuned to over eight hundred horsep

GT-R was next to a flashy orange Chevrolet C

er of the road, holding two flags. She raised them high, the

a gun. The Camaro had more raw power, its massive eng

corner. A tight, ninety-degr

d hard, the car fishtailing wildly a

back end of the car slid out, the tires howling in protest, but the car itself was glued to the apex of the corner. She exited the tur

peed, the adrenaline-it was all a cleansing fire, burning away the last two years of her life. The deep ache in her ri

d claimed more than one car. Nitro Nick, desperate, tr

mentine threw the car right. The GT-R kissed the outside wall, a shower of sparks from m

o seconds ahead of the Camaro. She brought t

nce was

t. The crowd surged forward, chant

p and unclasp

out, catching the harsh glare of the streetlights. Her fac

breath of the

ing a thick envelope of cash. He ha

nd, Ghost. Alw

velope into her jacket, pulled her helmet b

out of the lot, a shadow disappearing into the night, leaving