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Appearances By: None


Fuckin’ Hostile
Humour? Check. Sex? Check. High-Paced Chase Scene? Comin’ Right Up.


“Fuel” by Metallica


“Hmm…” I mumbled softly as I slouched down into the sofa of my bottom floor hotel room. It was late at night, perhaps around one in the morning. I couldn’t sleep. Silly me. I’d gone to a local Tim Horton’s for coffee only half an hour before. Now I was jittery and unable to sleep. Caffeine did that to you. Especially if you have a couple of chocolate glazed doughnuts to go with it. Okay, lay off, I didn’t feel like eating a fucking salad, okay? That’s more like… what my food eats. Bah.

It was a few more minutes before I realized that vegging out on the sofa wasn’t going to aid my sleep deprivation. Hey, guess what? Time to do something illegal! Yay!

I soon found myself on the street, fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel. My knuckles were progressively growing white from the lack of blood to the rest of my fingers. It was when they started to turn blue that I slacked off a bit. I’d found an inner-city illegal racing circuit. How? Hell, I don’t even know. It was happening way the fuck too fast for me to completely comprehend. I just remember some guy challenging me to a race when I pulled into the parking lot, the engine of my Viper roaring loudly. Friggin’ Fast and the Furious wannabes. Bah, I say!

I had my sound system cranked, the bass-loving speakers pounding out Metallica’s Master of Puppets album. My car wasn’t done up like some of the Virgin-For-Like-Club members around me. With their huge rims, NOS tanks, buzzers on the exhaust, customized paint jobs, ground kits, the whole sha-bang. The most I had was the classic two, white Viper stripes over black gloss paint, going up from the top of the roof to the bottom of the back fender. Go me.

I was the underdog. Kind of reminded me of something else I was involved in. Hint, hint, nudge, nudge. I leaned against the driver’s side door of my car, crossing my arms over my chest. My blue eyes shifted back and forth slowly over the done-up cars around me. Hey, whaddya know? Most of them are imports. I was surrounded in a mass of four-to-six cylinder Hondas, Nissans, Hyundai’s, Toyotas, Suzuki’s and Mazda’s. Most of them were painted in bright, florescent colours with blue and red ground kits. And the spoilers, ugh… the fucking spoilers. I’m surprised they weren’t five feet tall off the trunks of some of these fuckers’ cars. Tacky, hardcore.

I glanced at my watch. Nearly two AM. I was early. Obviously, word had spread. I had gathered a few looks. People knew who I was, apparently. Or I was just recognized as the new chick on the circuit. I took a moment to light a cigarette before the race master came up to me. I drew from my cigarette as I watched him. He was definitely not in the Virgin’s For Life club. He’s entire aura screamed masculinity. His shoulders and chest were broad, framed by a head of ebony hair that was braided in a bunch of itty-bitty braids. He looked comfortable enough in his blue jeans that fit snug and a black sweater that was taught across his frame. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn.

He gave me a look. You know, the one where you size someone up subtly. I caught it. I was used to it. His thin lips pursed and curled into a faint smile as he moved up to stand a few feet in front of me. On the defensive, I stood up straight, lifting my chin slightly to gaze up at him. Purrr… green eyes. My favourite.

“So… you must be Gwen. Malcolm’s been talkin’ trash about ya. I’m Jeremy.” He said flatly. His voice was rich and deep, like the one you can wrap yourself up in and just fall asleep. Okay, gotta stop thinking like that. C’mon, Gwen, focus.

“Yeah well… he doesn’t know what’s coming then, does he?” I asked. He smirked a bit before looking passed me at the car. I dropped my cigarette and stomped it out. I didn’t need any Virgin For Life members coming up and getting in my face for dropping a lit cigarette around a bunch of cars that had more NOS in them than most of the racers had in weight. I watched him look at my car as I turned around, watching his face through his reflection in the paint.

“This looks stock. Whaddya done to it?” Jeremy asked, opening the driver’s side door to pop the hood. He moved around to the engine, and I followed. I smirked slightly.

“Just tuned up the engine. Put in a level three computer. High-intake plenum. NOS cars can’t touch it.” I said, as-a-matter-of-factly. He closed the hood after I was allowed to check. He hadn’t fucked anything up. Another point for him. Gah, stop it! He turned around and smiled broadly at me. Perfect teeth. Don’t say anything.

“Well, I’ve got about four grand saying that Malcolm’s RX-8 will kick your Viper’s ass. And you in the process, I might add.” He said, leaning against the car beside me. I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest again. I looked up at him at the side. Strong chin, pierced ear with a silver ring and a black tribal tattoo that snaked up around his throat, disappearing beneath his shirt. I turned away so not to stare. God damn it. Fucking hormones. I thought back to the challenge, tilting my head upwards to gaze at the sky.

“Well…” I reached into the inside pocket of my trench coat, fingers coiling around my wallet. I drew it out slowly, popping it open. I pulled out a few twenties and fifties. I hadn’t had a chance to empty out my wallet after I transferred some of my money to Canadian. “Here’s…” I quickly counted through the bills, finding it easier to count by colour than by searching for the number. “Here’s five-hundred even on me winning. If I lose, I’ll match whatever the closing bet is at.” I said, slapping the money into Jeremy’s awaiting palm. He smirked a bit, nodded and walked off.

“Bids are open between Malcolm and the newbie!” He shouted loudly. I turned away, sliding into the driver’s side. I smirked a little bit, turning on my car and revving the engine. Finally, Mister Virgin Of The Month showed his face. He pulled up beside me, looking at me through the passenger side of his Mazda. I smirked a bit, nodding once to him. Ahead of us, a few cars moved out of the way. I heard Jeremy telling that the proverbial bidding window was closed. Everyone cleared out of the way. Apparently, I had driven into the correct position without even realizing it. Go me, indeed.

Jeremy moved between our cars, winking once at me. Gah. Men suck. He stood between us at the invisible starting line, calling us forward a little ways. I rolled forward, stopping when he said. I settled into my seat after pulling on my seatbelt. With a down-sweep of his arms, Malcolm and I were off down the street.

My heart pounded within my throat. Again, my knuckles began to grow white from the grip on the wheel. My head was swimming in the noises and sights that were overloading my senses. Red lights whizzed by me. My rear-view mirror was illuminated by the headlights of Malcolm’s car. I smiled faintly, pressing down the accelerator as far as my leg would go before hitting resistance. I felt the turbo of the V-8 kick in as my car took off. I could see the Mazda’s headlights fading away until they were just two circles, about half the size of dimes in my rear-view mirror. I didn’t slacken on the gas until I had to round the first corner.

I felt the car lift up, resting all it’s weight onto the two right wheels. I winced and practically slammed all of my body against the left side of the car, as if one-hundred and forty-odd pounds would keep the car from tipping. It seemed to work well enough as I completed the left turn and settled back onto all fours. I breathed a sigh of relief. Note to self: slow down when turning.

I took another corner, and immediately found myself weaving through traffic. I drew around the third corner and towards the last leg where the squad of cars and gaggle of people were standing. They were cheering. I could hear the roar of the engine behind me. Malcolm had kicked in his NOS and was gaining. It was too late. I had already crossed the invisible finish line. I slowed down, turned my car around and drove back to the grouping of cars. I got out of my car, slightly shaky, but all smiles. Malcolm pulled to a stop beside me and cursed loudly.

“So… where’s my money, then?” I inquired, leering. A few groans resounded through the racers as I cracked my knuckles in victory.


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