She settles into the bucket seat, wiggling her ass so she sits comfortably. I wish she’d stop doing that. Reaching my limit, I tug at her skirt. She slaps at my hand, and I glare. Goose takes his cue and leaves, spinning my GT’s keys on his finger and whistling. The coward. Screw will deal with him. When Zamara raises her eyebrow in challenge, I shift my focus on learning as much about the Zagato as I can. My GT has a V8 engine, but it’s supercharged, so it has more horsepower even if the Zagato has a V12. To be honest, I don’t know what Goose is thinking since the engine weighs down the car. I’ll have to be careful when cornering or we’ll pitch over the guardrail and tumble to our fiery deaths down the ravine. Not a week before the IC. I growl, sensing Zamara’s flinch more than actually seeing it. The girl is a fool. If it wouldn’t get me killed by her father, I would smack her upside the head for putting me in this position. She forced my hand. If I don’t handle this right, who knows what else she’ll do.
She glances my way. Thank the racing gods she doesn’t say anything. I close my eyes and insert the key into the ignition. The metallic scrape calms me instantly. Then I close both my hands around the leather cover Zamara had chosen for the steering wheel and squeeze until I hear the telltale groan of fabric against the frame. My palms tingle. If she manages not to faint before we reach the corner I mentioned earlier, then I’ll have to make good on my word. I may have made a huge mistake.
The Zagato can handle anything I put it through. At least I hope it can. I remind myself to have faith in Goose’s skills. The engine hums when I twist the key in the ignition. Such a beautiful song. I can listen to it all night. It reaches inside and grabs a hold of the deepest parts of me. The muscles between my thighs clench as I position my feet on the pedals. I savor the excitement shivering underneath my skin, causing me to flick my tongue over my lower lip. My eyes shoot open, and my vision narrows over the first corner. I tap the accelerator, and it bounces back obediently. Same goes for the brakes and clutch. Good, the car is tuned. Whether to perfection is yet to be determined.
“You ready?” I say without glancing at my passenger.
Zamara sucks in a quick breath. I’ll take that as a yes. Gods of racing, please forgive her for she knows not what she does. Foolish, foolish girl.
A grin makes its way up my lips. “Remember, you can’t faint. No matter what I put this car through, you have to stay conscious, or this is the most you’ll get out of being here.”
“Just drive,” she says, facing forward. Admiration for her show of grit injects into my system. I bite back a retort. She’ll find out for herself soon enough. Everything will begin at the first corner—the point of no return.
I rev the engine. All twelve cylinders sing for me. The Zagato comes to life, a powerful feline purring in delight. I send a silent apology to my GT. Driving someone else’s car is like cheating. I’ll make up for it later. Right now the Zagato rears to go, responsive as a sensitive virgin, ready to be let loose down the mountain path.
“You may want to close your mouth,” I say when I release the Zagato from its restraints.
The force of the takeoff pushes Zamara further into her seat. She grips her restraints with both hands. Already she’s breathing hard. I almost laugh. In seconds I go from zero to sixty, braking late into the first corner. The car slides sideways, its nose less than a few centimeters from the apex of the curve. A whimper escapes my passenger.
A burst of speed comes from the engine on the short downward-facing straight. Like a plane switching to autopilot, my instincts kick in. I’ve driven down Mount Giga countless times. I know every curve like a lover. Upon reaching the entrance to the next corner, I turn my right foot inward, operating the brakes with my toes while using my heel to increase the throttle. I shift from third to second before winding the steering wheel in a smoothly controlled arc toward the corner apex; then I let go as the car drifts around the curve.
“What are you doing?” Zamara screeches like a startled banshee. Her pretty eyes bulge from their sockets.
“Checking my eyeliner.” Feeling a bit mischievous, I twist the rearview mirror toward me and turn my face left, then right, focusing my attention on my eyes. Then I reach
