by Vivien Vale
This is what I live for, the fast life. When you have the world at your fingertips, when you can buy anything you want, then you have to raise the stakes in order to have fun.
This is my version of fun. I'm driving my latest car that's painted as pitch black as the night sky.
She's gonna be fast and I'm gonna win tonight. How could I not, with my new afterburner mechanism that no one has seen before? The sheer thrust of it will take me into supersonic flight. It's like nothing you've ever seen in a car. Bugatti should be clamoring for my business.
I'm a genius for inventing this, as it's only been seen in jet engines before. My maximum velocity is gonna be at its height tonight, and everyone will be staring at me as I leave them in a trail of dust.
Braden Masterson tears through the New York City streets again. I can see the headlines now.
If this shit wasn't illegal, I'd be even more in the media than I already am for my genius.
But there's really just one person I'm after, one person I want to impress. I know she'll be here tonight because she's at all the races. The only problem is she works for my competitor.
Hopefully the shockwaves I cause tonight will catch Jenna's attention and she'll never look back—she'll never look away from me again.
I drive to the designated place and see the usual crowd of billionaires and high society socialites that like to be seen in our underground world.
It's the most exclusive club and it's hard to get an invite because it's so deliciously illegal. When you have this much money, it's not hard to have people clamoring for your attention, ready to appease every whim and vice.
But quite frankly, I'm sick of that shit. I'm ready for someone to be real with me. I'm ready for someone to tell me when I'm wrong, which is rarely ever. But I still want it. I'm ready for something new.
I turn onto the abandoned street that's almost impossible to find in NYC. Rare as a goddamn unicorn. I park my car on the race line and that's when I see her.
Jenna's there with her own racer—my competition. She's wearing a tight leather bodysuit, leather pants, and a leather jacket.
Fuck me.
She looks like she’s made for this role. She looks like a fucking raven-haired supermodel playing the part of someone on the racing circuit.
The thing that’s different with Jenna, though, is she's actually smart. She knows everything there is to know about cars. And that's what makes her so desirable. The girl has brains, and I fully plan on capitalizing on that.
At the same time, she's my competition. She'll never see what I have in store for her tonight.
This woman may think she's on top of the latest technology, but nothing compares with my new invention. The afterburner mechanism is brand-new and when she witnesses it in action, she's gonna be jealous.
She’ll be clamoring to find out how I got it done. She and everybody else. They'll be after my technology, but that's a well-guarded secret.
I pull up in my black car that might as well be described as the fucking Batmobile. She sees me, and I see her. There's not a nod of recognition between us, but both of us know what happened the other night. We kissed, and I fingered her, she came, and it was fucking amazing. But then I left her dripping wet, wanting more of me.
That's how I left things and now there's a fire burning between us that neither of us can deny.
She's coaching her driver but staring at me the whole time. She can hardly tear her eyes away and that's how I fucking want it. She looks so fucking hot in that outfit, swathed in black.
If I'm driving the Batmobile, then she's my goddamned Catwoman. That jet-black hair and piercing green eyes betray her as the jaguar that she is.
I know she has a thing against dating racers and that she probably brushed off the other night as nothing, a mistake. But it wasn't a mistake, at least not to me.
I meant every moment of it. I know now how much she wants me, and I'm not gonna forget that so easily. I'm determined to have her, even more now because of her resistance.
She's so set on not dating me? Fine. That makes me all the more determined to win her over.
And I always win.
The race is about to start, and Jenna pulls back to the side. She whispers one final note to her driver, and he nods and then stares at me in my hot car.
I rev my engine and get ready to play. In a second, the flag is down and we're off.
I flash Jenna a cocky grin and wave as a prelude to what's about to come. My technology will blow her out of the water and I can't wait to see her reaction.
I peel out of my spot and am ahead of all the other drivers immediately. The crowd goes wild as they wonder what kind of action I'll bring to the race tonight.
For me, though, it's all about the rush. The thrill of being the fastest. The best.
The combustion of my engine is achieved at the highest temperature and pressure imaginable for a car. I'm making history here. I could probably sell this technology and become a billionaire two times over. Fuck, maybe even a trillionaire.
But I'm not in it for the money. I'm in it for the race, the rush, the adrenaline that pumps through my blood as I own the streets of New York City just like I own the race course.
There's no one better than me, and that fact turns me on and makes me even more arrogant.
I could go way ahead of all the other drivers and I'm sure people would be scratching their heads wondering how I did it, again.
But I like to fuck with them a little bit, so I pull back. I go a lot slower to give the other drivers the false notion that they stand a chance against me. It wouldn't be fun if I won the race so easily.
I decide to stay my course right in the middle of the pack, and I can tell that everyone's falling for my scheme. People are probably wondering what happened to Braden Masterson this week? He's not ahead, not on top like usual. Little do they know I'm just getting started.
The course carves a circle through the city streets. We go through alleyways and main roadways in one swoop.
The cops have it all laid out for us. Hell, they make up half the audience. They love watching these things but will never admit it.
I keep my distance a little bit at the back and as we sweep in past the starting point, where Jenna is, I see that she's watching for my car. We make brief eye contact as I speed past.
Does she think I'm gonna lose? Does she even think that's possible?
This is the final lap, and I decide it's time. I press my pedal down and flip a switch to turn on my new mechanism. I speed up, giving my car more momentum than ever before. The acceleration is so intense that it requires all my finely honed abilities to take the sharp corners.
I fly past all the other cars just in time to make it over the finish line for my win.
Everyone saw it. The crowd is going wild. I know my new mechanism will be the buzz on everyone's lips tonight.
Braden's done it again, they'll say.
I like to win, and that’s another thing I love about racing. There’s something about besting other racers and basking in the admiration of the crowd.
Right now, though, there's only one person I hope to impress—and that's Jenna. I hope she saw it all and that she's ready to come to my side in more ways than one.
I could give her my technology and so much more, if only she'll submit to me and let me dominate her however I want.
I climb out of the car, and the crowd is going wild. It's a private affair, but there are enough people here to make it worthwhile.
People are patting me on the back, congratulating me on the good job. It's the same as always.
"How'd you do it, Braden?" one driver says to me.
"You know I never reveal my secrets," I say with a smirk.
They know me. I'm is private as ever. I only come out for this race because it's an underground affair.
I search the crowds for Jenna. I need to see her. One look at her face and I'll see by her reaction how she really feels about my jet-powered combustion.<
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There she is, standing at the fence by the water looking contemplative. She's ever one to stay out of the limelight. Jenna is her own person and she doesn't need accolades from strangers to make her feel better. She knows she's a genius and, yes, it's fucking hot.
Is she thinking about me? Is she thinking about my technology?
I'd give anything to know what goes on in that head of hers. She intrigues me so much and I'm more determined than ever to find out what's inside of Jenna’s brilliant mind.
I avoid the crowd, the people who are getting ready to party, and make my way straight toward her. She's looking out across the water. The moonlight shines on her hair, and all I can imagine is what it will feel like to run my hands through it and kiss her like she's mine.
And I know now without a doubt—I'm ready to make her mine for the night.
6
Jenna
For once, the streets are quiet.
There's the distant buzz of city traffic, but mostly all is quiet and calm here near the water where the race is about to begin.
The billionaires have the cops tied around their finger so tightly, it's a wonder there are still any left to fight crime in the city.
If the police would put as much energy into stopping the bad guys as they do in shutting down the streets of NYC for this race, then we'd all be a lot better off.
I don't know why I’m criticizing them, though. I live for this scene. Racing through the streets of an otherwise busy city gives me a rush like none other. Even though it's not me in the driver's seat, it's my technology that makes these cars go fast.
And when I'm not testing out my improvements, I'm happy to be on the side-lines witnessing my creation. It's a gift to be able to see my plans move forward into action.
As much as this race thrills me, there's always one person I'm trying to beat, and that's Braden. He's the winner nearly all the time, and that sheer fact annoys the fuck out of me.
I'm better than him. My car should go faster.
Half the time, I blame my driver. Half the time, I blame myself for not keeping up with Braden's secret technology. I wonder what he's gonna bring tonight?
This is uncommon territory for me, though. I've been at so many races, and yet none like this. I've never been here when there was a shred of hope that Braden would notice me.
Needless to say, most of the other people who have money and a monetary stake in this thing are wondering the same thing. And all the socialites are here, hoping they'll be the lucky one to score Braden for the night.
This is the kind of drama I need to separate myself from. I need to keep my head in the game and remember that I'm making money off of this, nothing more.
Any business in the world would hire me for my pure ingenious strategies when it comes to making cars go fast. But I'd rather be here. And that says a lot.
Braden Masterson drives up. My heart sinks a little as I remember what he did to me the other night. He left me hanging in the ballroom and I still don't know what to think about that.
Am I just wanted as his little whore? Another person in a sea of women who have their eye on Braden? Or do I mean something more to him?
It's dangerous territory to think you could ever be something real to Braden, and I don't plan on going there so easily.
He stares at me through the windshield of his car as he pulls up. For a moment, our eyes lock. There's an unspoken connection already.
He and I both know what happened, but only he knows what it meant to him. And that's what I'm dying to find out.
I look away and tend to my driver. I'm making sure he knows the ins and outs of what I've done to this car to make it as fast as fucking possible.
The race is about to start, and Braden tosses me an arrogant smile and a wave as he peels out of his spot. Something about the way he did that is different from the last time. I can't put my finger on it, but I know something is different with his car.
I watch the race from my favorite position, on the side-line by the water. The cars jet past several times, and with every turn, I can tell that something is off about the propulsion of Braden's car. It doesn't sound normal.
Now I'm surer than ever that he's upgraded his technology. I start to take serious notes about the thrust timing versus that of the NOS and the flame injection. I have a gut feeling those aren’t just for show.
He could be way out at the beginning of the first part of the race, but then, as things progress, Braden keeps his distance in the middle of the pack.
I know this is intentional. He's not fooling me. I know he has a secret plan for winning this race. There's something different about his car and he's gonna show it off at the end.
I scribble furious notes on my pad about what's going on so that I don't forget. I'm gonna get to the bottom of what Braden's done to his car.
With every pass, I get a little deeper handle on what his car's doing. And then at the very end of the race, he comes tearing around the corner and I see that his propulsion is definitely different.
It's like a jet coming around. I don't know how he’s even able to take that sharp turn.
He screeches across the finish line and I'm not surprised in the least.
Everyone else is shocked and they take it as a major turn of events. They saw him hanging back and they took that as evidence. He played them all.
But, to me, it's so obvious. He had that race in the bag from the beginning.
Braden wins, and I can only imagine how much cash comes into his pocket with that. People are congratulating him and they're getting ready to attend the usual gala, which is basically an upscale excuse for rich people to hobnob with each other and to congratulate themselves on running this town.
I, however, am deep into my notebook. I can see by the light of the full moon what I've written down. To my surprise, my pad is just covered with the words thrust, ejection, hard and fast, over and over on the page.
God, was that what was I thinking about?
Maybe Braden's car and his technology reflect his personality. All of these words describe him, and when I think of that, my stomach clenches in an aching kind of yearning for him.
I try to push those thoughts out of my mind and re-establish my resolve for staying away from him. It's not a good move to enmesh your personal and professional life.
I turn my head to the crowd and see him walking towards me. I quickly stuff my notebook into my purse and try to find my backbone, to fortify my resolve to say no to him.
He walks up to me ever so confidently. So fucking Braden. Has he ever had a day in his life where he questioned himself?
He strides over like he has a right to the roadway as he approaches me.
"Hey," he says, his voice low and intense, and I melt from the mere sound of his voice.
So much for resolve. I'm putty.
He pulls my chin up so I'm forced to meet his eyes. He comes tantalizingly close to kissing me. My mind goes blank.
What was I thinking before this?
No fucking clue.
The world dissolves into a blur. All I see is Braden, his crystal clear eyes peering into my soul.
I try to pull away. As much as I fantasize about this, I'm not ready. He's too intense.
But my current reality is just me and him. Time stops, and I see only him. I want only him.
I forget the world and that I'm among competing co-workers, including the racer that Braden just beat. My racer.
He's so close, I can smell the musk of his cologne. A pure, primal adrenaline rush rocket through me just from being around him.
It's far more intense than even what goes down on this makeshift racetrack. It's more intense than the buzz of billionaires around me—the money, the parties, the glitz, and the glam. Braden adds up to so much more than all of it because he's deep and he's real.
I think he's gonna kiss me. I'm waiting for him to kiss me, seeing that he's already so close. But again, he taunts me.
He pulls away enough
to whisper.
"Meet me at the restaurant called Bailey's in an hour."
I look into his blue eyes that are suddenly ocean deep and I nearly melt.
But I collect myself enough to muster a reply.
"I can't go. I don't have anywhere near enough time to get ready for a place that fancy."
That’s quite true. I'm dressed head to toe in my leather gear. I would look like an oddball at the upscale, members-only place he plans to take me.
"Don't worry about it," he says. "I'll have a limo sent to you with a fantastic dress inside."
Is he for real? Wow. He really is a control freak. Does he want to dress me now?
"Besides," he says, "I like the smell of the race on you."
He walks away, and I'm left in a kind of stunned daze. Where does my moral obligation go when I'm around him? Why can I keep it together for one goddamn second?
I snap back to reality and see that my entire crew is staring at me. Gaping, really.
I know what must be going through their minds. They think I've sold out. They think I'm Braden's latest toy.
Well, he may have some kind of power over me that even I don't understand, but I certainly don't intend to be one of his many escorts.
I attempt to cover up the interaction by telling my crew, "There's more to racing than what you guys see. He’s up to something. I'm gonna get to the bottom of whatever Braden's hiding in that car to make it go so fast."
They appear to take me at my word, even if they don't really believe it. They know I'm honest, and they know I don't mess around with racers. But at the same time, they know what they saw.
Fuck. I may have to cover this up big time.
Dating a racer, especially Braden, is not a good look for me in front my team.
But it won’t stop me from meeting him.
I sulk and contemplate what the fuck I’m doing as I wait for his limo.
7
Braden
The streets are getting slick with rain.
Thank God it didn't ruin the race. Though not even rain could upset my night.
