Everyone knows about it—Judges, the Mayor, and the DA. What it’s about. They haven’t shut it down because they depend on their cut. It’s just another source of income for them that they don’t have to pay taxes on. Money in their pocket seems to have a blinding affect.
After my fight at Glass last night, I wanted to get out tonight. Get some fresh air. Do what I do best. Race.
The night air is stuffy, making it hard to breathe. It’s humid, causing my sweat-covered shirt to stick to my body. The woman standing before me digs her nails into the fabric, yanking on it.
She shoves her face into mine, and I bite her bottom lip. She growls like a fucking bitch in heat and then her hands connect with my chest, pushing me. The back of my knees hit the front end of my car, and the force of her shove has me falling back. My back lies on the hood as she climbs on top of me.
“I don’t have time …”
“I’ll make it quick,” she rushes out, placing both hands on my face and kissing me. My hands go to her jean shorts that have ridden up, and I dig my fingers into her bare ass cheeks. She moans. Her hips begin to grind against my hard cock.
Fuck! I don’t have time for this. “Lucy, I need to go,” I say but make no move to push her off or stop her in any way. My cock is fucking hard, and she is willing. What kind of motherfucker would turn pussy down? Not me.
“Just let me suck it real quick.” She crawls off me and stands in her high heels. I peel my sweaty back off the already hot hood of my Dodge Demon.
I look over her as she stands before me panting. Her bleach blond hair is a fucking mess. Her roots have grown out longer than they should. She wears a pair of Daisy Dukes that barely cover her fucking pussy, and she has the top of them undone and rolled down once. Her white T-shirt has a black skull on it with a matching black crown. It sits uneven, tilting to the right, and blood runs down it, coating the skull. She has the shirt tied in a knot underneath her large tits with no bra. Her navel has a yellow and red sun tattooed around it with a string of diamonds that hangs down from the piercing. She’s my number one cheerleader. My go-to fuck. The bitch can suck start a fucking Harley.
Before I can speak, she goes to my jeans. I raise my hands while her fingers fumble with my black studded belt. Once she gets it undone, she rips the buttons open and shoves my pants to my ankles along with my boxers. My hard dick springs to action, staring up at her.
“Bow to your king, my lady,” I say with a British accent.
Chicks fucking dig that shit. Well, never met one who hasn’t.
She laughs and bends at the waist, leaning over to take my dick into her mouth without wasting another second. I should force her to her knees, but we’re standing in an abandoned gravel parking lot. And I’m not a total fucking dick.
I place my hands behind my head and link my fingers together. Throwing my head back, I look up at the dark sky and groan as she swallows my fucking dick like I’m throwing hundreds at her.
My tongue darts out and runs over my lip ring. “Fuck! Yeah, baby ...”
“Racers, take the stage for the last qualifying round of the night.” Colt Tinsley’s voice rings out through his megaphone from behind us.
Fuck! I shove her head away. She loses her balance and falls to her hands and knees in the gravel. “Grave...” She growls my nickname, her brown eyes glaring up at me.
“Sorry, babe.” I’m hopping on both feet, trying to pull my boxers and jeans up as I round the car and almost trip myself when my shoes slip on the loose gravel. I fall into my Challenger, not even bothering to zip or button my pants before I start it up.
Lucy jumps to her feet, dusting her hands and knees off before stepping back when I rev the engine, shift it into gear, and take off, throwing gravel and dust up in my wake.
I speed over the gravel and onto the asphalt. I pass cars that just exited the once private airport strip.
Making my way up to the front line, I bring my car to a stop and look to my left to see a guy I’ve known for years. Jimmy Trust sits next to me in his new yellow fucking Ferrari. I smirk.
“Two nights in a row?” he asks. Cross and I were here last night before we hit Glass. “Don’t you ever give her a rest?”
“Whores were made to be ridden.” I rub the black dash. “Aren’t you, baby?”
I’ve had the Dodge Challenger SRT Demon for two years now. She’s the fastest production car out on the streets. Only thirty-three hundred were made. Three thousand of those were sold in the US. The other three hundred went to Canada. I had a friend who worked at a Dodge dealership and paid cash for her months in advance to make sure I was guaranteed one. She only comes out when I race her. Other than that, she is kept in the garage.
He snorts. “Just gonna warn ya, Grave. You’re not ready.”
A woman with big fake tits, fake tan, and fake eyelashes walks out onto the tarmac and stands. Our headlights illuminate her and the runway before us. People are lined up on both sides as far as you can see. Some have their cars pulled right up to the line, and they sit on their hoods or their trunks after placing their bets. Drinks in one hand, joints in the other.
“I’m always ready, sweetheart.” I blow him a kiss. “I hear you like having your ass spanked. But what about accessories? Would you prefer rope or handcuffs? Maybe some zip ties? Oh, or a chain. Maybe a little whip action? I have it all.”
His hand tightens on the black steering wheel, and he shifts in his seat.
“Aww, don’t be ashamed, Jimmy. We all have our kinks,” I taunt.
He shakes his head. “You sadistic son of a bitch,” I hear him mutter.
“Racers, are you ready?”
Putting all jokes aside, I turn to look at the half-naked woman who stands before us. She has a green flag in her right hand. She parts her legs in her black heels. Leather straps run all the way up her calves to her thighs. She wears a black leather skirt that barely covers her pussy and a black lace bra. That’s it. She pushes her right hip out, lifting the flag and then bringing it down. I let off the clutch and shift into first. Then second. Then third. I pull away from him right off the bat. I’m the quickest off the start and the fastest all around. No one can beat me. I’m not even sure why they fucking try.
My car vibrates underneath me, the sound of the roaring engine filling the inside. I have the A/C turned off and the windows down, and the wind feels good on my sweaty shirt.
When I cross the finish line, I see people jumping up and down on either side of the lanes. They know to bet on me. I’ve never let them down. Looking in my rearview mirror, I see his lights behind me, and I laugh.
I begin to slow down and make the turn that they have mapped out with orange cones.
My car comes to a quick stop right off the tarmac. He finishes, then goes to the parking lot. Once out of his car, he heads toward me. He looks down to see my jeans still undone. I make no attempt to fix it because they’re about to come off anyway.
“How did that feel?” I ask. “Was it as good for you as it was for me, baby?”
He just shakes his head at me, shoving his sweaty hair back from his face.
“Next time, I’ll bring the lube. Don’t wanna hurt you too bad,” I joke.
He comes to a stop, tilting his head. “You gay, Grave?”
I smirk. “Homophobic, Jimmy? It’s 2020. Aren’t we past that?”