full throttle || h.s. ||

fifty-three || digging up the past

the song for this chapter is "Bury Me," by Huxlxy :)

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Harry

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm back, you impatient little fu-

Sorry. I didn't mean that. Not this time. I'm just...I'm stressed, okay?

Wouldn't you be too if your arch-nemesis suddenly decided to be alive again?

Now...where was I...?

Ah, yes...

"Death sells."

At the time of Willie's death...I had no idea that we were actually working for the fucking mafia. Did we know that there was some sketchy shit going on? Yeah, of course. But we had no idea just how deep we had gotten ourselves in.

I think Willie and I always just hoped that perhaps there were some drug deals happening on the side. Something not too bad. But I think that I always knew that there was a darker element than just a few grams of weed or a kilo of cocaine happening behind my back. I guess I was just too scared to admit it to myself.

But after Willie died...

After Willie was strategically killed, I wanted nothing more than to seek revenge on the conductor of his death.

I had always been a good racer, but after Willie's death, I made sure that I was the best damn racer Leonardo had ever seen.

I wanted to capture his attention more than I already had, I wanted him to take a mental note that I had a gift, a gift that perhaps could be useful to him.

It's where my nickname, Full Throttle, really solidified itself.

When Willie died, I had to tell his parents that he was hit by a car. I had to deliver the fake story of their only child's death right to their faces. The faces that had welcomed me into their home so many times before.

I hated doing it. I hated telling his parents the lie just as much as I hated telling my family the cover-up for my childhood best friend's death.

But if I ever wanted to enact my revenge upon Harvey, then no one in my personal life could know what I was really up to.

See, if either of our families ever found out the true story, they would have forbidden me from ever returning, probably calling the cops on Harvey, and even as a young teenager, I knew exactly what jail time looked like for someone like Harvey Cain.

It looked like a fake emotional public apology. It looked like settlement fees being delivered by a couple of "yes" men to the door of two distraught parents who had just had their young son tragically taken from them. It looked like a plea of guilt, and then a hefty million dollar bail after about a week behind a privately-owned prison.

See, Harvey didn't deserve jail...

He deserved hell.

And I intended to be the one to give it to him.

So, my parents thought that I got promoted in my fake job shadowing a businessman. They assumed that it was my way of dealing with the grief. They thought I was just keeping myself distracted.

And I was keeping myself distracted all right, just not how they might have thought.

My "promotion" allowed me the extra time that I needed to practice on the track as much as I possibly could. Driving lap after lap, until everything became a complete muscle memory for me.