C'est la vie - A Collection

Confetti Dealers Inc • part 2

Continuing from the previous chapter ...

"Are we in trouble?" I asked, my voice trembling, as I sat next to Shawlon Ash, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. The tension in the car was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on us.

"Of course not. We're just playing tag," he replied with a smirk, his eyes focused intently on the road ahead. The dim streetlights illuminated his determined expression as he skillfully maneuvered through the chaotic traffic, threading our way through the maze of vehicles.

It had been about ten minutes since John, the man Ash had entrusted me to back at the restaurant, announced that we were being followed. The realization had sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't shake off the feeling of impending danger.

If you're wondering where we were, we're in a high-stakes car chase through the heart of the city. And for the question 'how'-- well, it was all part of Ash's audacious plan. Ever since we sped away from the parking lot of the Shine, the upscale restaurant where our evening had taken an unexpected turn, I had been clinging to life as if it were slipping through my fingers. The rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins, each beat of my heart matching the pounding rhythm of the engine.

I swallowed hard, my eyes darting between the speedometer and the road. The dial slowly crept higher, the needle inching towards the right, while the sound of the engine grew louder with each passing second.

85 MPH.

95 MPH.

100 MPH.

"A-Ash, aren't you going a bit too--"

"Coming from a racer, that doesn't sound convincing, Au," he interrupted, his smirk widening as he pressed harder on the accelerator. His confidence was both reassuring and maddening, a potent mix of skill and recklessness.

"Speed on a race track is one thing, Ash. We're on city streets, and--OW--Ash!"

The sudden impact from behind rocked the SUV, causing me to shriek and instinctively grip the edges of my seat. The force threatened to propel me headfirst into the unforgiving dashboard, but Ash's expert reflexes saved us from disaster. The car fishtailed and skidded, the screeching tires struggling for traction as Ash fought to regain control. The smell of burning rubber permeated the air, mingling with the acrid scent of fear.

Finally, he managed to wrestle the vehicle back on course, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror as he muttered curses under his breath. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, evidence of the immense pressure he was under to protect us.

"John, get ready," he commanded, his voice firm and resolute. I strained to catch a glimpse of the commotion unfolding in the backseat, the metallic clattering and clanging echoing through the cabin. The realization hit me that we were not just victims in this chase; we were fighters, unwilling to go down without a fight.

The engine roared like a wounded beast, its deafening roar drowning out all other sounds. The city lights blurred into streaks of color, a dizzying blur that threatened to disorient me. My stomach churned uneasily, a sickening sensation that mirrored the turmoil inside my racing mind.

For heaven's sake, I used to be a racer! I had conquered tracks and defied gravity, my hands firmly on the wheel as I tamed the raw power of speed. But now, the tables had turned, and I found myself at the mercy of the streets, a mere pawn in a treacherous game.

In all my twenty years of experience on the race tracks, with my hands firmly on the wheel as I tamed gravity and velocity, had I ever felt this out of control? This vulnerable?

A sudden loud pop reverberated through my ears, cutting through the cacophony of the chase.

"There are the guns," Ash beamed, his voice tinged with both excitement and madness. It was as if he had stumbled upon some thrilling revelation.