“Horacio,” the boss says, “since you are left without a daughter, I think it only right to leave the decision up to you. What would you like to do with my lead driver?”
The following silence stretches so long, I actually delude myself into thinking I may get out of this scot-free. That the underboss will find it in himself to forgive me for my actions and realize what I did was for the greater good. Remember the racing gods not being on my side? Well, like any dream, it has to end eventually.
The underboss straightens himself to his considerable height and says in the clearest, calmest voice I’ve heard from him since entering this room, “Leave RC in my care for a week, pending her public execution via lethal injection at Punishment Square.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THE DARKNESS in the room clings to me like a second skin. Even the naked light bulb above my head isn’t enough to illuminate the entire space. The shackles have been removed, replaced by zip ties that secure my arms and legs to the chair the underboss’s men have dumped me on. I have no qualms about my fate. At the end of this week, I will die. The underboss is well within his rights to ask for this consequence for killing his daughter—no matter how psychotic she might have been. In order to maintain peace in Terra One, I have accepted this fate. But this acceptance doesn’t come with calm. I fear the coming days so much I’m an inch away from emptying my bladder. I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’m leaving this room with my dignity intact. If there’s one thing the Mob is good at, it’s exacting payment in creative ways. And we’re not just talking about breaking kneecaps here.
Head bowed, I imagine the only thing that can give me some solace in my darkest hour. In the distance the roar of my GT comes and a smile spreads over my lips. I imagine her beautiful body gleaming beneath the noonday sun. Her racing stripes a beacon to all challengers. As I visualize myself in the driver’s seat, my fingers close and beneath my palm I can feel the smooth texture of the steering wheel and the ball of the shift stick. Beneath my feet are the pedals, responding to each tap and push. I’m at the plateau overlooking the city. I depress the gas and the engine responds with a glorious growl. Once I release the breaks and lunge into the first corner, the door to the room slams open.
The image is broken. My head snaps up, eyes wide open, to meet the underboss. Gone is the immaculate suit, replaced by sweatpants and a plain T-shirt. He sneers at me like I’m the lowest kind of filth imaginable. Lifting his beefy fists so I have a clear view of them, he proceeds to crack his knuckles. I swallow. Each pop reminds me of bones breaking. It’s that distinctive snap you hear before the worst pain possible floods your system into overload.
“Welcome to my humble home,” he says, teeth bared in a smile so much like his dead daughter’s. Remember what I said about needing to be a psychopath to reach the top of the Mob hierarchy? The underboss is a perfect example of that. “I apologize that I can’t give you more comfortable accommodations. I wouldn’t want to stain the furniture with your blood.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to hold in the sarcasm fighting to break free. He’d want me to be insolent. It would give him more pleasure in breaking me. I may have accepted the consequences of my action, but I’m certainly not going down without a fight. By the scowl on his face, I’m succeeding.
“What? No witty retort? Violent reactions?” he goads. “I would have thought Brody taught you better than that. Your parents would be ashamed.”
My lips twitch when I stifle the urge to grin. Mentioning my mentor or my parents has no effect on me. I have enough distance between them and myself emotionally that using their memory isn’t an effective weapon. That’s one thing Brody taught me well. Keep people at a safe distance and no one can use them against you. This is my final stand, no one else’s. I would have liked to be competing against Ace for the Impulse Cup, but Star took that chance away from me. I almost sigh. We can’t always get what we want. At least I did my part in ridding the world of someone like her. I have no regrets.
The backhand comes swift and merciless. My head whips to the side so hard the chair I’m on almost topples over. I shift my weight to remain upright. Heat explodes over my entire head. The man packs an impressive wallop. From the ringing in my ear, I’m most likely deaf there now considering this is the second blow I’ve taken to that side. Blood pours into my mouth and slips out from between my clenched lips. I gulp down the metallic tang and choke on something hard. A coughing fit ensues, spilling the rest of the oozing blood down my front. I attempt several swallows, dislodging the obstruction. That’s when my tongue runs along my lower jaw and the tip feels tender flesh instead of tooth enamel. The fucker knocked out one of my molars. I bite down the curses I want to throw at him.
The underboss straightens, breathing hard. He closes his eyes and inhales all the oxygen in the room. At his exhalation, his
