Like the first time, another bolt strikes the roof of the GT in an awesome kaboom. I let go of everything and count to ten before returning my hands to their proper places. The car barely swerves. Maniacal laughter leaves my throat.
“What the hell is so funny?” I distantly hear Zamara asking. I’m too far gone to respond. My heart pounds like the pistons of the GT’s engine. I let the car’s vibrations seep into my skin. My vision tunnels, and my hearing narrows to a dull ringing. There is nothing but me and the powerful machine I am driving. No navigator. No rain. No lightning. There is only the course ahead and the countless red lights I’m chasing down. Like my GT baring its fangs, my smile stretches until my face hurts. This. This is what racing is. Nothing and no one can take this feeling away from me.
The rain is too thick for me to determine if I’ve reached the middle of the pack. I haven’t spotted anyone from the top ten. They must have all broken away into the lead as soon as they hit the first kilometer marker. It’s always better to be in front.
I push through the battlefield without mercy, even shoving a car into a lightning strike. There is no room for remorse in the Impulse Cup. Soon I pass the rain barrier, the clouds taking the moisture with them as they blow across the sky. Like I’ve passed into a different dimension, a burst of sunlight floods the last few miles of the Electric Flats. In the distance, like a mirage, a giant arch announcing the first checkpoint inches closer.
I count twenty cars speeding toward the goal. No longer feeling the muscles on my face from grinning so hard, I shift all the way to fifth gear. The GT answers my command by pitching forward, eating ground for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Zooming past ten cars, I aim for the arch. The second I spear through it, I hit the brakes and skid sideways to a stop. A group of mechanics scatter when I barrel into them. Once the GT is at a full stop, my entire body shakes. I sag against my seat, panting hard. My door is yanked open, and Screw’s stoic face hovers above mine. I’m barely aware of Zamara unbuckling and getting out of the car. Retching follows her exit.
“What happened to your earpiece?” Screw asks, making quick work of my buckles. I go from sagging against my seat to sagging against his muscular side. His strong arm snakes around my waist.
“Blame Zamara,” I mumble. My eyes grow heavy with each blink. “Why the hell is the rear of my car heavy?”
“What do you mean?” Screw unlatches the trunk, then maneuvers us toward the back of my GT. “I checked everything before Mac and I left.” He lifts the trunk lid and cusses so foul my ears burn at his creative use of colorful language.
My gaze drops to the crumpled heap in my GT’s trunk. The word “Coward” carved down his spine. My insides disintegrate. “I guess now we know what happened to Wrench.”
Chapter Eighteen
THERE’S NO mistaking it now. The killer left me alive the morning of the body dump and the night I escaped Bedlam’s clutches because the bastard really is after me. He’s tormenting me first. But the question is why? Why me and why all the words? What message is the psycho trying to send?
Barely a couple of hours have passed since making it to the checkpoint when Brody arrives with a cleanup crew. My GT is a crime scene, and it annoys me to no end. I want my baby rested for tomorrow’s second leg. Instead I have to leave her in the hands of forensics so I can sit at a meeting that—in my humble and increasingly exasperated opinion—is going nowhere. Everyone speaks over one another. Even Bedlam and Ace, who are usually content holding their tongues until they have something pertinent to say, are holding their own in a screaming match against Star, Slipstream, Viper, and Brody. I think Zamara made the right decision when she opted out of this meeting.
I’m the only one who hasn’t spoken since taking a seat. Half because I’m exhausted and want nothing but to get some shut-eye. Being in the zone during the first stage beat the crap out of me mentally and physically. The other half has to do with feelings of utter incompetence. How the hell am I going to find someone who is essentially a ghost? All the CCTV footage is inconclusive. The killer knows how to avoid the cameras in a city full of eyes in the sky. How is that even possible?
The meeting started with Brody giving everyone an update on the case. Besides nodding or shaking my head at his questions, I remained silent. The formality of the situation quickly spiraled into chaos when Bedlam accused Brody of not doing enough to protect the drivers. This led to Star baiting Bedlam about keeping me in his basement. Slipstream snorted while Ace laughed. He hadn’t heard about what happened until Star mentioned it. Viper insisted he needed double the protection, but Brody said there’s no safer place than the IC since the whole of Terra One is watching. Viper called bullshit.
That’s when Brody says the one thing that makes me snap. “Maybe we should cancel the event until the killer is found.”
“No!” I slap the table so hard everyone stops speaking midsentence to stare at me in utter shock. My eyebrows crush together so hard that for a moment I think my face will stay scowling forever. “No one is canceling the Impulse Cup. End of discussion.”
“RC….”
I push to my feet so fast my chair falls over behind me. “Don’t use
