Broken Wings (Dark Legacy #1)

A moment ago, I’d been terrified and ready to pull out. How could I risk Dante’s car? The most expensive buy-in we’d ever done wasn’t even a tenth of this one! Now, though? Now I wanted to beat these pretty rich boys and shit all over that misogynistic attitude.

“Come on, Riles,” Dante murmured to me as we reached our car again. “Show these pretentious fucks who they’re up against. If you win, it’s a million dollar payday.” His eyes sparkled with excitement, and I recognized the fact that he was getting off on the risk.

“Yeah, and if I lose, you lose your car,” I muttered, the sour taste of fear rolling across my tongue.

Dante just grinned and winked. “But you never lose.”





4





I was the last to roll my car up to the line. There were already five others with their engines running, their noses flush with the spray painted line. We were at a wide stretch of road, but even so it was a tight squeeze to fit six sports cars across. I was on the outside, and I knew I would need to pull ahead quickly or I’d get pushed off the road when it narrowed out again.

A crowd had gathered, much bigger than I was used to, and nerves were fluttering in my belly. Dante was on the sidelines, his eyes locked on me, even though he wouldn’t be able to see me through the dark tints of my windows.

To my surprise, Bugatti-boy wasn’t racing at all. Maybe he was just all talk? Instead, he leaned on his sleek black car with a perfectly proportioned brunette girl in a mini-skirt and high heels hanging all over him. Not that he seemed to notice her... that smug, arrogant smile was all for me.

Rage boiling, I tightened my good hand on the gear shift. Once again, I thanked fuck for small mercies that it had been my left wrist broken. Otherwise I really would have been screwed when it came to driving.

A girl with short, messy blonde hair tapped on my window, and I rolled it down to see what she wanted. So far, my reception had been somewhat less than warm, so call me suspicious.

“Hey.” She smiled at me. “I’m Eddy.”

“Riley,” I responded with a tight smile. “What’s up?”

She cast a glance over my car at someone calling her name, then flipped them off and turned back to me. “I figured no one would have run you through what to expect. This road seems wide, but pretty much right after that first corner it narrows to two lanes. After that it’s about a mile of turns on the narrow road and then it opens into a motorway. You don’t need to worry about cops, but you will need to keep your eyes open for traffic in the other direction.” She rolled her heavily made up eyes. “The guys don’t close the roads because they like the element of danger.”

I raised my brows at her in surprise. The fact that they even could close the roads for their race spoke volumes about the amount of power and influence these kids had.

“Thanks,” I murmured. “Why are you helping me?”

She shrugged, but her smile really seemed sincere. “Because I’m so sick of the guys around here acting like it’s nineteen fifty three and all women are good for is cooking, cleaning and sucking cock. I have a feeling you’ll be the one to prove them wrong.” Someone yelled her name again, and she glanced over my car with a pissed off expression. “I better go, but good luck, new girl!”

As she ducked back off the “race track,” I noticed she was the only girl I’d seen so far who was actually dressed for the cold weather. Sure she still had designer heels on, but at least she was in jeans and a warm coat.

In stark contrast, the girl who stepped out in front of us with a red scarf in her hand was in nothing but a crotch length bandage dress. She must have been freezing her fake tits off, which might have explained the prissy look on her face.

There was no more time to ponder on the locals. Her scarf dropped and my body moved on sheer instinct as I slammed my car into gear and pressed my foot down hard on the accelerator.

Eddy had said that the road narrowed out after the next turn, which meant I needed to pull ahead or behind in exactly... now.

My wrist protested as I jerked my steering wheel, cutting off the guy in an Audi R8. My tires grabbed the road just in time to make the turn alongside a cherry red Porsche 911. We were out in front, but it was a long race—much longer than I was used to—so I needed to hold the position. I couldn’t lose Dante’s car; it was simply non-negotiable.

For several turns, the Porsche and I stayed neck and neck while a Corvette and Mercedes hugged our back bumpers like barnacles. It wasn’t long, though, before the Porsche started pulling ahead of me. Not because he was a better driver, simply because he knew the roads.

Every turn I hesitated, unsure of what the next stretch of road would be like, or if we’d encounter oncoming traffic. All those hesitations, where my foot eased on the gas, they all added up so that when we hit the motorway the Porsche was almost two car lengths ahead and the Corvette was starting to pass me.

“No, no, no,” I hissed under my breath, slamming through my gears and pressing my foot down harder, “Not today, you entitled asshole. Not my baby.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed small piles of old snow beside the road, dirty and melting. I’d raced in winter often enough that I could handle myself on cold roads, but a chill of fear rippled through me and for a flash of a second, I saw the crash. I saw our car spinning out of control, heard my mother’s screams, smelled the sickening, coppery tang of blood.

It was only a flash, but it was a flash too long. It broke my concentration, and I suddenly found myself sandwiched between the Corvette and Mercedes while a truck barreled toward us.

I screamed as the headlights blinded me and the driver leaned on his horn. Panic and fear locked up my muscles, and my plastered hand spasmed. The wheel jerked in my grip, sending me careening sideways into the Corvette.

Metal crunched and my head snapped to the side as our cars collided, then in the next second I bounced across into the Merc. My ears were ringing, my vision blurred, but survival instinct kicked in. I slammed my foot down on the brakes as my beautiful blue Aston entered a spin and skidded off the road into the grassy shoulder.

It seemed like forever that my car skidded before finally coming to a stop with a hard thump against a tree. My heart, though, continued thundering so hard I worried it was about to burst. Tears stung at my eyes and my breathing came in heavy, harsh gasps while I desperately tried to get a grip. But the fresh memories of my parents’ death refused to be silenced, and a low, keening sound began to wail from me.

Get a grip, Riley! Hold it together. You’re not dead, you’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine.

Dante’s car, though...

“No,” I sobbed, trying and failing to unbuckle my seatbelt several times before my trembling fingers made it work. My door was stuck, and I needed to kick it a couple of times before it popped open and spilled me out onto the chewed up grass.

In short... my beautiful Butterfly was destroyed.

I was no mechanic, but I could only imagine how much it would cost to repair the kind of damage done. The idea made me sob, and I hugged my knees as I sat in the dirt beside Dante’s hundred and eighty thousand dollar write-off. Or, not even Dante’s anymore. By now the other drivers would be long finished, which meant Dante had just lost his car.

As I sat there, rocking back and forth, fighting down the mounting despair, a sleek black car rolled up and stopped on the road where I’d spun out.

Sickness pooled in my belly, and I quickly swiped the tears from my cheeks as that dark haired, arrogant asshole stepped out of his Bugatti and crossed the grass toward me.

“Come to gloat?” I snapped at him, scrambling to my feet. He was still an easy half foot taller than me, but at least I wasn’t cowering.