Rev (Fast Lane #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Tristan

There was nothing like the smell of car exhaust and Miami air on a Friday night. Cars were lined up along the street as I pulled onto what we called the "show road". It was where people like me with a badass car parked. They'd prop the hoods up and show off whatever engine was resting underneath and their pretty paint jobs would be left for everyone to view. Some of these cars were for people to stare and marvel at and others...others were for racing.

"Holy shit, did you see that Lambo? Dude, you better be on your A-game tonight." My best friend, Wilder Peyton was sitting next to me in the passenger seat of my own car. We'd been best friends since third grade when he beat me at a game of cards with a flush. Later, I'd learned that he'd cheated and had hidden the king in the waistband of his pants. I'd known then he was my kind of guy.

I drove my 1969 dark red Camaro SS to the first empty spot there was. Parking was tight unless you were somebody in this world. And I most definitely was somebody.

"Aw, man, why couldn't you have parked over there?" Wilder asked while pointing to the empty space next to a yellow 2015 Mustang with about five or six girls surrounding the owner sitting on the hood.

"Because I don't go where the girls are. They come to me." I shut off the engine and pocketed my keys. "Plus, the yellow wouldn't look good sitting next to my scarlet beauty."

He shrugged and then gave me a grunt of agreement as we opened our doors to get out. The minute I stepped out of the driver's seat, two girls with barely anything covering their sweet bodies planted themselves at my side.

"Hey, Tristan." The blonde was a regular here. Her hair was hanging loose on her shoulders as she pressed her tits against my arm. And what nice tits they were. Fake, but nice.

"Hello, Camille." She smiled and kissed my cheek. The brunette was less curvy but had a nice face. Her stomach was bare from the tiny top she was wearing and her shorts looked more like denim underwear than pants.

"Tristan, meet my new friend, Layla. She likes fast cars." Camille's tone was velvet-like and husky.

"Well, lucky for you, baby, I've got one of the fastest cars here, and it would look really nice with you sitting in the front seat." I slid my arms around their waists and pulled them up against me. I looked over at Wilder and saw that he, too, had found some worthy females to accompany him tonight. I'd been working on the Camaro all week and now that race night was here, I had no doubt that she'd prowl down the streets like the gorgeous beast she was. So yes, my car was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

"Ah, there they are!" Chase Williams walked up to us with a girl of his own. Chase was also a racer on these streets but was one of those who raced not only for the thrill and the money, but for the respect. The girl tucked to his side clawed at his chest admiringly. Chase would regret this one later. She was clingy. I knew because I'd already had my fun with her. The girl didn't know where the "one" in "one-night stand" came from.

"Starting off a little early, aren't we, boys?" Chase motioned to each pair of females Wilder and I both had cozying up to our sides.

"Jealous?" Wilder retorted. Our friend exchanged glances with his own willing woman and then planted an attention-stealing kiss to her mouth. His hand reached down to squeeze her ass before he pulled back to whisper something in her ear to which she nodded at and sent her on her merry way off into the crowd. I grabbed Chase's hand in the form of a handshake and pulled him in for a brief hug before returning to lean on the edge of my car.

"You racing tonight?" Chase asked. The guy knew I always had the latest tweaks to my ride and one of the best engines hiding under the hood to win. Something both Wilder and Chase appreciated. Working in an auto repair shop since the time I was fifteen had its perks.

"Hell yeah, I'm racing. Don't I always?"

"There are a lot of good trophies tonight." He said, glancing around the street at the beautiful pieces of machinery around us.

"Oh shit. Look out, boys, the King just got here." We all turned and looked at 1968 Barracuda that drove down the center of the street. The paint job was a dark blue color with black trim and wheels. The engine growled as it rode through the seas of people that watched as it crept slowly. There was no telling what engine lay underneath that hood. The windows were tinted, making it impossible to see who was inside, but you didn't need to see who was inside. This world already knew.

The car parked in the spot next to mine and the driver opened the door. Steel Harper stepped out of the vehicle and instantly the crowd backed up. Steel was the King of street racing here in Miami. Everyone knew who he was and no one had ever beaten him at a race. Not even me. Only novices and idiots dared to try.

"Dude, sweet ride. Where'd you get this one?" Wilder asked while making his way over to look at the car. Steel blocked his way and peered down at him sternly. Rule number one: You never get near Steel Harper's car. Ever. Unless he asks you. Steel was part of the elite group of racers that we hung out with, but we barely knew anything about him. We just knew that he was the best racer we've ever seen and that if you fucked with him you most likely wouldn't live to tell the story.

"Back away, Peyton. You know the rules." Wilder nodded and walked back to the girls whom he'd been occupying before Steel had pulled up. Steel leaned against the hood of his car and crossed his arms. Another thing about the man was that he was scary as hell. The muscles in his arms were huge and the tattoos that covered them were pretty legit. The girls were fascinated with him, but he never let them get too close. Just close enough to fulfill their needs as well as his own.

"Alright, boys, who's racing tonight? We need one more person to start the next one." A brunette with a leather jacket that cut off just beneath her chest with nothing on underneath but a black bra and some tiny as hell shorts on walked up to us and waited expectantly.

"Tristan?" Chase looked at me and nodded at the girl. I reached in my back pocket and pulled out my wallet.

"What's the bet, Chloe?"

"Two-hundred each." I pulled out three hundred dollar bills and handed them to her. I was feeling really confident tonight.

"Tell the others I'll raise them another hundred and if they don't like it then they don't have to race." Chloe nodded, smirked, and turned on her black four-inch heels. I opened the driver's side door and slid in behind the wheel. Camille leaned down giving me the perfect view down the tight shirt she had on. She put her lips to my ear and kissed me softly.

"If you win, I'm all yours, hon." I grinned and glanced down at her cleavage before looking up at her face. She winked and then walked away. Camille wouldn't be my first choice out of the regular girls here, but she was one of the good ones. I pulled out of the spot and rolled up next to the other three racers on the street.

"Alright, you all know the route and the rules. Clean race tonight, no bullshit." Chloe stood a few feet in front of us and called out "ready" as she walked down the space between my Camaro and an old silver Charger that purred next to me. The engines revved louder and sounded angry. These cars that we drove were hungry. They were ready to race; especially mine. There was nothing that compared to the thrill of feeling the tires scrape against the pavement and no victory was as sweet as being the first car to cross that finish line. I gripped the steering wheel and waited. Chloe backed up until she was far enough away for us to still see her raise her hands. A few seconds later, the pretty brunette dropped her arms and the monsters took off.