Broken Wings: Dark Legacy book 1 Read online

  He laughed, and nudged me toward the door. “There’s actually a race here tonight, in Jefferson.”

  “You drove four hours just so I could race?” I joked, already sliding into the driver’s seat.

  Dante dropped into the passenger seat. “I drove four hours to make sure you were okay.”

  His words were casual, but I knew my friend well enough to know when he’d been pissed off and scared. He changed the subject. “You wanna race?” His gaze flickered uncertainly to my plastered arm, then he nodded to himself. “Left arm, you should be good to drive at least half as good as usual.”

  I laughed, a note of hysteria creeping out. “Only half? Don’t insult me, Dante.” I dragged in a deep breath and released it on a heavy sigh. “I’ll take the risk. Mommy dearest is already going to beat the living shit out of me, might as well make the most of my night of freedom.”

  Dante froze. “Don’t let her fucking hurt you, Riles. Do whatever the hell it takes to make sure she doesn’t. I’ll figure out a way to get you out quicker, I just need some time.”

  I shrugged. I could take a few beatings if it meant I’d eventually be free of this family. I did not want to have to run and look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

  He dropped a phone into my lap then. “Call her. Tell her what’s happening. Maybe she won’t be so angry.”

  I doubted that, but since he apparently had her number … somehow, like that wasn’t fishy as fuck. I stored that in my brain to hit him up over later, and hit dial. Two rings. “Where are you?”

  She knew it was me. Everyone here had far too much in the way of information.

  “I want to spend this one night with my friend,” I said, getting to the point. “Give me tonight and I won’t fight you on anything else. I will dress in your clothes,” especially those heels, “and follow your rules.”

  I held my breath, hoping she couldn’t sense how badly I needed this.

  “You have one night,” she finally said, and I could practically feel the ice in her voice. “Tomorrow you belong to me.”

  The line went dead, and I let out all the air from my lungs. “Holy fuck she’s scary,” I choked out before handing the phone back to Dante.

  He shook his head. “Keep it, I want to be able to stay in touch with you.”

  I shrugged before slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans. The engine roared to life a moment later, and I could have cried at the familiar feel of this car under my hands. Well, hand, for now, because one of them was broken.

  “You’re going to have to be careful tonight,” Dante warned me as I swung her around and took off. I had no idea where we were going, but there was only one path from this estate. “You won’t have the same level of control with a broken arm.”

  My speed picked up, and I didn’t even bother to reply. The flash of the butterfly symbol across the back of the car caught my eye in the mirror. It was my calling card, the butterfly. I wouldn’t let a broken arm stop me from flying, especially not tonight.

  Dante muttered something about a death wish before settling back and letting me do my thing.

  After we reached the edge of town, he started to direct me along a dark and deserted part of the county.

  At least it seemed deserted until I drove around a sharp bend and through a small pocket of trees. When I emerged on the other side, all the tension in my body eased.

  This was my happy place. Illegal street racing. Except this one was somewhat different from the ones Dante usually took me to back home.

  “Damn,” Dante breathed as I rolled past some of the most expensive cars on this planet. “Was that a Bugatti Veyron?”

  I glanced in the direction he was gaping and spotted that same gorgeous car that had come out of the gated compound Mrs. Deboise lived in. These kids really did have too much damn money if those were the cars they were choosing to race in.

  “Over there,” Dante directed me, pointing to a guy in a ball cap who was receiving a fat wad of cash from a pimple faced kid in an obnoxious striped blazer, white pants and loafers. Fucking loafers.

  Hat-dude was clearly the one in charge. They were usually easy to spot—the ones with their pockets bursting with money. I pulled my—er, Dante’s—car to a stop and popped my seatbelt before pausing with my hands on the steering wheel.

  “I don’t know if we can really afford this one, Dante,” I murmured, eyeing the crowd assembled. They were all clearly “locals” in the sense that their shoes probably cost more than my mom earned in a year.

  The thought of my mom stabbed grief through me, and I smothered it with anger. It was the only way I knew how to handle it. Anger at life for taking my parents away from me. Anger at myself for not putting up more of a fight at CPS. Anger at Catherine fucking Deboise for thinking it was okay to throw me away as a baby then just pick me up again now that she needed me.

  “Whatever their asking price, I’ve got us covered,” Dante assured me with a mysterious smile. He had new ink on his neck, just below his ear, and I reached out to trace the raised lines with my fingertip. It was a little butterfly. Totally out of place amongst his skulls, guns, bleeding roses and gang symbols, and I got the feeling he’d gotten it for me.

  Neither of us spoke for a moment, then someone rapped on my window, making me jump with fright. Blushing, and dodging Dante’s way too intense stare, I pressed the electric window down and gave the sandy blond guy who’d knocked a tight smile.

  “You here to race?” he asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion then looking straight past me to Dante. “That’s brave of you to let your girlfriend drive your car, bro. I wouldn’t trust any chick behind the wheel of a nice car.” He gave an annoying little guffaw, like he was sharing some sort of private man-joke with Dante. I pitied this dude’s girlfriend—if he had one.

  “She’s not my girlfriend, this is her car and I’m not your bro,” Dante replied in a voice cold enough to give Catherine a run for her money. He clicked his seatbelt off and stepped out of the car, coming around to my side.

  The guy who’d knocked on my window looked at a loss for words, but Dante just pushed him out of the way and opened my door for me to get out and join him.

  “That’s uh,” the blonde dude stuttered, casting a glance over his shoulder to where a group of guys leaned against cars near the ball-cap guy. “I don’t think we allow chicks to race,” he finally spat out, then paled when Dante folded his tattooed arms over his muscular chest and glared. “But hey, I’m not the one in charge. You’re welcome to check with Jimmy.”

  Blond guy scurried away as quickly as he’d appeared, and I exchanged a look with Dante.

  “You want to kick their rich-kid asses even more now, huh?” He asked me with a small smile, and I grinned my response. The only thing better than winning a race like this: rubbing it in their faces that they got beat by a girl.

  Holding my plastered arm against my body, I wandered across the gravel to where Jimmy was counting out a sickeningly thick wad of cash. “Jimmy?” I called out when I got within a few paces of him.

  The guy looked up, then tilted his cap up a bit when he spotted me standing there. “You’re new,” he commented with an odd tone. Excitement? Curiosity? “Come to place a bet on your newest crush, darling?” he asked me with severe condescension.

  Dante snickered a laugh beside me but didn’t try and speak for me. This wasn’t the first time we’d come up against this attitude, but it had definitely been a while. I’d been driving since I was twelve, and racing Dante’s cars since I was fourteen. Back home, I’d earned a name for myself. People knew how good I was. How good my baby, the Butterfly, was.

  It was almost thrilling that I would get to prove that all over again to this bunch of posers.

  “I’m actually here to race,” I informed him, stuffing my good hand into the back pocket of my jeans. For the first time in a long ass while, I felt totally out of place. My jeans were worn and ripped—and not in a designer sort of way—and my sneakers had definit
ely seen better days. In fact, I think my mom had gotten them from goodwill. My purple sweater was too small, and the top of my electric blue bra was showing.

  Jimmy tilted his hat up even further, peering at me with mossy green eyes as he stepped closer. His gaze ran up and down me, judging, before a small smile touched his lips. “You’re definitely new around here, sweetheart. We don’t allow girls to race.”

  My eyes narrowed at him. A light smattering of freckles decorated his nose, and the hair poking out of his hat was mouse brown. If it wasn’t for that arrogant air of money he carried, he would be totally unassuming. “Why?” I challenged. “Because your egos can’t handle it?”

  Jimmy smiled back, but it wasn’t a kind one. “No. Because girls can’t drive for shit.” He dismissed me with a shrug, turning away and starting to head back to his friends before someone else spoke up.

  “Let her race, Jimmy,” a deep, husky voice said, and my attention jerked to the left where a tall figure leaned against—ugh, against that sexy as fuck Bugatti. When had he arrived? We’d driven past him some hundred or so yards back. “She can take Jasper’s place.”

  “Whoa, what? No way, man!” A guy with platinum blond hair protested from where he sat on the hood of a canary yellow Lamborghini Aventador. As fast as he reacted, though, he backtracked. “I mean, sure, whatever. I didn’t want to drive tonight anyway.”

  I squinted into the shadows at the guy who’d spoken up for me, but all I could make out was his broad frame and a flash of a wristwatch. If only he would step a foot to the right, I could see his face...

  “Are you sure?” Jimmy asked the mystery guy—not Jasper, whose place had just been offered up.

  “Absolutely,” the dude replied, then as though he’d read my damn thoughts, he shifted into the light. My breath caught in my throat, and I could have sworn time slowed down. His dark hair was the perfect length, styled like he’d just stepped off a photoshoot. His dark gray top was tight across a broad, muscled chest and hugged his thick arms all the way to the wrists. Probably Dante’s height, but where Dante was all lean, street strength, this guy was buff. Solid.

  Put simply, he was possibly the most stunning guy I’d ever laid eyes on. Ever. Of course it made sense that such a perfect creature drove my unicorn car. “Maybe when she loses her pretty car she will think twice about turning up where she doesn’t belong.”

  My jaw dropped at the cruel twist to his words. His dark eyes seemed to burn as he met my gaze across the shadowed space between us, and a shudder ran through my whole body.

  “Excuse me?” I squeaked out. “My—”

  A mean smile curved the dark haired guy’s lush lips. “Your car. The Aston, right?” I nodded, glancing over my shoulder at my baby. “Buy-in for these races is two hundred, but I seriously doubt you or your boyfriend have even seen that much cash, let alone carry it on you. So we will accept your car as buy-in.” A sneer curled his lip. “Not that a 2015 model is worth anything close to that, but it’ll do.”

  Stunned, I turned to Dante. Two hundred thousand dollars buy-in? That was insanity! He met my eyes as I started to shake my head, and responded to the sexy, smoldering stranger himself.

  “Done,” he replied, giving me a small, confident nod. “It’s just a car, and you never lose.” Ignoring my gaping jaw, he turned to face Jimmy. “If that’s acceptable to you? I take it you are still the one running this race?”

  He’d hit a nerve, as Jimmy gave the dickhead with the Bugatti a small glance, then nodded to Dante. “Of course I am,” he replied with an edge of annoyance. It was a tough position. He clearly took his orders for Bugatti-boy but didn’t want anyone else questioning his authority. “If the other racers are fine with it, then I guess you’re racing, sweetheart.” He curled his lip at me in a small sneer. “Don’t say I didn’t try and stop you.”

  Shocked into silence, I started to follow Dante back to our car before someone’s snickering, cruel laughter made me pause. It was a girl who’d crawled up on top of Jasper—the dude with the yellow Lambo. Her long, dead straight hair was a sheet of honey blonde silk, and her red dress was so short I could see her matching lace panties.

  “I’d be tempted to say ‘break a leg,’ but it looks like you’re already down a limb,” she sneered with a laugh, and Jasper just grinned like a damn hyena. His hands roamed her body like he owned it, and my stomach churned in disgust.

  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 be
en 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.