my hands clutching the steering wheel to control Viper. Adamo was still ahead of me but I thought my risky maneuver had brought me closer.
My opponent on the left rammed my side, almost sending me flying off the road. Obviously payback. “Fuck you!” I raged. My foot on the gas became heavy from the force of the pressure I put down. Dima let himself fall back then slid over behind me and positioned himself behind my aggressive opponent. Then he drove into his trunk.
Grinning, I returned my focus to Adamo ahead of me. Dima would deal with the vengeful idiot.
I was slowly catching up to the BMW when Adamo suddenly slowed until we were hood to hood, and I could see his face. He grinned.
I cocked an eyebrow. A sharp curve lay ahead of us, much worse than the one before. Adamo raised his brows before he focused on the street and sped up again. The bastard had slowed to check on me. No matter how hard I jabbed my foot down on the gas, Adamo stayed half a car length in front of me. I entered the curve less than a second after him and my back tires broke out. I held on fast and carefully steered the wheel in the other direction before I sped up once more and catapulted Viper and me out of the dangerous bend. Four cars were only half a car length behind me, one of them Dima. We’d left most of the other racers behind, but only five of us would make it to the final race and I had a feeling Adamo wasn’t going to be on the losing side. He was too good and his car too damn fast.
Twenty seconds later, Adamo crossed the finish line first and I came in after him. I let out a battle cry. Pulling up beside Adamo’s parked car beside a makeshift winner’s rostrum, I let down my window. Adamo was already getting out of his car. The sinking sun had turned the sky into a fiery blaze behind him. He pulled out a cigarette packet from his jeans.
“Nice race, Falcone,” I shouted over the sound of the incoming race cars.
His lips twitched around the cigarette and he strode toward me. Again I couldn’t stop admiring his sun-kissed, strong forearms and the outline of his six-pack through his thin white T-shirt. As if he knew what I was thinking, his smile turned cocky. He held out the packet to me through my window and I gingerly snatched up a cigarette. Shoving the door open, I got out.
“You risked a lot,” Adamo said.
I shrugged, stepping closer to him. “Can you give me fire?” I put the cigarette in my mouth. Adamo leaned closer with the lighter, one of his hands protecting the flame from the breeze. Out of habit, because I always did it with Dima, I guided his hand with mine so the flame touched the tip of my cigarette. His hand was hot and strong beneath my palm. His eyes met mine and for a moment we were both frozen in the moment, in the realization of our sudden closeness. The second my tip kindled, I withdrew from Adamo and took a deep drag.
My eyes scanned the other cars, worried about Dima.
“He made it,” Adamo said as if my thought process was an open book to him. It was unsettling. “Fourth. But Kay won’t be happy with the way you two rammed him. He’ll file a complaint.”
I rolled my eyes. “This is illegal street racing. If he can’t stand the burn, he should stop playing with fire.”
Adamo chuckled and nodded. “His complaint will fall on deaf ears of course.”
“Because you want me in the final race,” I said, smiling challengingly.
“Because risky maneuvers raise the bets. And I have a feeling you’ll provide more reckless moves like today.”
“It’s all about the money, huh?” I leaned against my car, blowing out a plume of smoke. I was familiar with the business Adamo and his brothers dealt in. Money and power were all that mattered, but Adamo gave the impression that this was about more than that.
“The prize money for winning a main race is 25k. Winning the season, it’s 250k on top. Except for a few speed junkies with rich parents who never win anyway, every racer wants that prize money. But that’s not why you are here, Dinara, right?”
Considering that he and I both came from money, his derogatory words seemed hypocritical but I got