Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story) (27 page)

There’s a patrol car just
pulling into the station, but as I’m switching into third and coming up on
triple-digit speed, I can see him flipping around in the lot. His lights go on
and so it begins.

I’m almost tempted to
slow down a little and make the race a little bit closer, but that officer has
something I don’t have: a radio.

It doesn’t take a mile
before we’re passing cops at cross streets as they join the chase. It takes
another mile before we run into our first real hurdle: a road block.

Kate’s screaming as I
drive onto the shoulder and around the two patrol cars, still doing at least
seventy-five.

We’re back on the road
proper, and I’m looking for the nearest place to hide out.

“You don’t want to just
run too long,” I tell her. “We’ve got a nice straight here, but cop cars are
souped-up enough they’ll be able to keep with you for at least a few miles. A
lot can happen in a few miles.” I slam on the brakes, drifting into a sharp,
right turn, the Chevelle pitching hard in my direction.

“What do we do?” she
asks. I think the fear is finally starting to grip her. That’s good. If she
can’t get used to the fear, she can’t overcome it.

Or maybe she’ll decide
it’s all too big a risk and she’ll rethink wanting to be a part of it directly.
Of course, it’s also possible that she could get so scared she won’t want to
even be around me anymore, but there’s no time to think of that now. If I pull
over, there’s a good chance she gets arrested, and an absolute certainty that I
would.

The road takes us through
what racers have taken to calling Ghost Town: the old industrial portion of the
city, now abandoned after the collapse in ’08. The bad news is that the cops
around here know very well about Ghost Town, but on the bright side, for now at
least, I still know it better than they do.

Going about eighty, I drift
to the shoulder of the road and continue on that trajectory right through the
open fence in front of one of the warehouses in the area. The cops are far
enough back they won’t know exactly where I am, but they would have seen me
pull off, so I can’t stop here.

There are strategic gaps
in the fences around Ghost Town, but even having lost more cops here than most
people get pulled over by in a lifetime, they’ve started to catch on. That
first gap got me in here, but the next gap has been closed by a new section of
fence.

“Hold onto something,” I
tell Kate and flip around, facing the opening I came through. The police
already have it blocked off.

“Oh my God,” Kate says.
“We’re going to get-”

I hit the gas and we’re
off, driving first toward the parked police cars, but as the warehouse nears, I
go hard left, putting the building between me and the cops. “What’s your
favorite color?” I ask.

“What?!” she screeches.
“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Better hurry,” I tell
her. “They’re going to be around that building in less than ten seconds.”

“Violet,” she says. “My
favorite color is violet!”

“All right,” I groan.
“Violet it is.”

She’s sweating and now
she’s yelling, “Wait, why are you-”

She’s cut off as I hit
the gas again.

“What do you do when
there’s no hole in a fence?” I ask.

“You’re going to ruin
your car,” she shouts.

“That’s right,” I tell
her, “you make one.”

There’s not a lot of
space between the back of the building and the closed gate between this factory
lot and the next one, but it’s more than enough to break through the padlock
and the chain.

The front of the car
jerks left with the impact, but I manage to keep it from spinning out. I’m
looking along the fence line of the new lot, hoping they haven’t sealed
everything across Ghost Town, but it looks like they have.

I have only one way out,
and it’s through the front gate of this factory’s lot. The last one probably
still has cops blocking it.

This drive is going to
cost me a lot more than a near-miss and a few gallons in gas if I have to keep
ramming things to get out of here. On the outside, though, I try to appear
calm, fearless.

Make no mistake, though,
I’m petrified.

This gate is just a
single bar, but it’s a lot heavier than that fence I went through, and it’s
going to take a little creativity to get out of here without ending up with it
coming through the windshield.

At the last possible
moment, I jerk the wheel to the right and clip the bar with the left part of my
front bumper, scraping off both a lot of paint and my driver’s side mirror. I
like to think I could have made the gap without hitting anything at all, but
I’d rather get a little on my side than risk Kate getting hurt.

“Now,” I tell her, as I
come onto the road on the other side of the gate, trying to keep the car
steady, “we’re in a bit of a mess here, but we can’t go back until we’ve lost
them.”

Kate’s not responding. I
should probably wrap this up now.

I hit the nitrous and the
tires screech beneath us as the speedometer all but falls to the right. Before
I knew they’d started patching up Ghost Town, I had planned for this to be a
much longer run. Now, though, I don’t know what’s open and what they’ve sealed.
I just want to be done with this before people start pulling guns.

Today’s been a hell of a
day.

We’re in the middle of
Ghost Town, among the taller, closer-together buildings. None of the buildings
on the next few blocks have entrances I could fit this thing through, but I
haven’t given up hope.

“There!” Kate shouts and
points toward a fence on the left side of the street.

The gap is still there.

Without a word, I drive
over the curb, just barely hanging onto control as we reach the gravel of the
old, empty parking lot. There’s nowhere here to hide, but it looks like they
haven’t patched the fences here, so I keep my foot on the accelerator and
charge the next gap.

I can’t hear the sirens,
but that doesn’t mean the cops aren’t close.

“What about there?” Kate
asks, pointing to a ramshackle warehouse.

“The problem with that
thing is that it’s an echo chamber,” I tell her. At one time or another, I’ve
used pretty much every building that will fit a car. This one almost got me
busted once when I thought the coast was clear a little too early.

“So, you go around back
so we’re out of sight, turn the car off, and we push it in—or is there not a
rear entrance to the building?” she asks.

I answer by hitting the
gas.

We go through a gap in
one fence and out another before reaching the warehouse. I put the car in
neutral and coast around the back before pumping the brakes, bringing us to a
stop behind the building.

There’s not a door, but
part of one wall is collapsed. It should just be wide enough to fit the car.

I turn off the engine,
and I’m out of the car a second later. I’m waiting for Kate to join me, but
she’s having some more trouble with her harness.

There’s no time, so I
gesture the motion of steering a car and she nods. The car’s in neutral, so I’m
not all that worried about it being able to roll. There’s a bit of a lip going
into the warehouse, though, and I’m not sure I can push this car’s heavy ass
over it.

The sound of sirens in
the distance convinces me to give it a shot.

I manage to push the car
as far as the lip, and then I have to rock it. I can’t see around the side of
the building to tell if the cops are coming this way or not, but the sirens are
getting closer. It’s a bad sign.

I rock the car back and
forth a few more times before one of the back tires makes it up the lip and
then comes back off of it again.

“Come on!” Kate’s muffled
voice calls. She’s fumbling with her harness now instead of the steering wheel,
but it’s lined up enough that’s not going to be a huge issue. I’ve already got
to give the thing a new paint job after those two gates, anyway.

I let the Chevelle come
forward a little bit farther than I have been and use the small amount of extra
space to get a better start at it.

The sirens are almost on
top of us when I get the back wheels over the lip, and I use the distance of
the wheel base to get up enough speed for the front. I don’t stop pushing until
the car is well out of sight.

We’re in a long, wide
hallway that branches off into different sections of the warehouse. As long as
the cops don’t notice the fresh tire tracks, we should be all right.

“Could you help me get
this thing off?” she asks in a quiet voice. She’s still tugging at her harness.

“I can,” I tell her, “but
I don’t think there’s a way for me to do it without touching your…you know,
without the back of my hands pressing against your…”

“Cop a feel if you need
to. Just get this thing off of me.”

I lean over and turn to
face her as best I can. The harness is tight enough she can’t really turn to
give me a better angle. Fortunately, I’m able to unfasten the harness before
I’ve stolen too many bases.

What I don’t expect, is
Kate removing the now loose straps of the harness, turning toward me, putting
her hands on the sides of my head and putting her tongue in my mouth—not that
I’m complaining.

“Sorry,” she says,
pulling away. “Had a bit of adrenaline there.”

“Yeah,” I agree, “me,
too.” I pull her back toward me, kissing her deeply on the lips.

I’ve been racing a long
time, which means I’ve been running from the cops for a long time, but this is
a first.

I hardly even notice when
the sirens fade into the distance until Kate pulls away, saying, “All right,
can we get out of here now?”

Chapter
Five

Race Night

Kate

I’m just getting home
from the hospital when I find my parents waiting for me in the living room.

“Hey,” I greet. “What’s
up?”

“Do you see what I’m
talking about?” Mom asks.

“What?” I ask.

“Honey,” Dad says, “your
mother and I have been noticing some changes in your behavior recently, and
we’re a little worried.”

“What do you mean? I
haven’t been acting any differently.”

Mom sighs, but she lets
Dad do the talking.

“You’re usually so quiet,”
Dad says. “From what I hear, though, you’ve been sneaking out of work.”

“I haven’t been sneaking
anywhere,” I tell him. It’s nearly the truth, too. “I talked to my boss once a
few days ago to see if I could take off a little early because I wasn’t feeling
so well, but-”

“We think there’s a boy,”
Dad says. “Are you seeing anyone?”

I’m agog looking at my
dad. How old do they think I am? I’m creeping up on twenty-one and they’re
talking to me like I’m just starting to notice men.

“I don’t see how that’s
really any of your business,” I answer.

Mom grits her teeth.
Okay, maybe I am seeing a bit of a change in me.

“We’re your parents,” Dad
says. “You’re our daughter. We love you and we want what’s best for you, but we
can’t do anything if you won’t tell us what’s going on with you.”

“What
is
going on with me, Dad?” I ask. “I’ve
been your perfect little girl my entire life, and you’re really going to go off
on me for leaving work early one time?”

Actually, it was twice
that I left work early and I went out with Eli both times. I don’t think either
of those facts will be of much help to me here, though.

“Honey,” Dad says before
hesitating.

“Would it really be the
end of the world if I started seeing someone?” I’m tempted to tell them simply
out of spite for keeping me locked up, thinking I just wasn’t the “fun-loving
type” for the last twenty years or so, but I think better of it.

“So, you have started
seeing someone,” Mom says. “Do you have any idea what it takes to become a
doctor?”

“I’d say I know that better
than most,” I start.

“
Constant
dedication,” Mom says. “Would
you
want someone digging around inside you if they were off with
boys while they should have been studying?”

“First off, I’m not
interested in boys, I’m interested in men,” I counter. Both my parents’ faces
go red, but I’m already in it, so I may as well keep going. “Second off, if I
was
seeing someone, I don’t think I’d
tell you about it because I know how the two of you are. If it’s not about
being a doctor, you’re not interested. You think you’re so much better than
everyone else!”

“Go to your room!” my dad
growls, rising to his feet.

“Honestly, how old do the
two of you think I am?”

“It doesn’t matter how
young or old you are,” Dad says. “While you’re living under our roof, you’re
going to be respectful and mind your mother and me. You’re
grounded
!”

He doesn’t appreciate me
laughing, but this is just absurd.

“Whatever,” I say and
walk out of the room.

It’s been a while since I
was sent upstairs to my room, but I’m not staying there. Tonight is way too
important.

Tonight, Eli’s taking me
to my first race.

I showered at the
hospital before coming home, so all I really have to do now is get changed and
get some makeup on and I’m ready to blow this place. By blow this place, of
course, I mean sneak out for a few hours and then sneak back in, hoping neither
of them decides to come upstairs to talk to me during the interim.

This is what being a
teenager must feel like to other people.

I get changed, but when
it’s time to start on the makeup, I get nervous. If my parents come in here
right now, I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t have to explain to either of them why I
would want to change out of my hospital clothes.

If I start with the
makeup, though, they’re going to know something’s out of place.

“Screw it,” I say to
myself and grab some foundation just as there’s a knock on my door.

I set the small bottle on
my vanity and walk to the door, but I don’t unlock it.

“What do you want?” I
ask.

“Dinner’s ready,
sweetheart,” Dad answers.

I scoff. “I’m not
hungry,” I tell him.

“You’ve got to eat
something.” There’s a lilt in his voice that wasn’t there when he was sitting
next to Mom. Of my two parents, Dad would be the good cop.

“Maybe I’ll order some
pizza and see if they’ll deliver it to my window,” I counter.

He lets out an uneasy
chuckle. “Well, they might have a little trouble getting it up to you on the
second floor.”

“We’ve got a ladder,” I
tell him.

If I’d known I’d come
home and turn into Rapunzel, I would have set it up beneath my window before I
entered the front door.

“I don’t like arguing
with you,” he says. “And you’re right: you are still my perfect little girl.
Your mother and I just worry about you. That’s all. There are a lot of things
your generation has to deal with that we never had growing up.”

“Like cellphones? If it
makes you feel any better, I’ve never had one of those, either. I’m pretty sure
things haven’t changed that much in the last fifty years.”

God, I feel so pathetic
right now.

“You’re not like other
girls,” he says. “You’re smarter, more determined. You’re more capable. Does it
really strike you as odd that we’d want to go out of our way to protect you?”

I don’t answer. I’m at my
window, looking out for some way to get to the grass without breaking anything.

Even though we’ve been
seeing each other for a few weeks now, Eli’s still never been to my house. I
think the reasoning there is fairly obvious.

“Kate, come on,” Dad says
through the door. “Talk to me.”

“I have nothing else to
say. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day and I’d like to try to get
some sleep.”

There’s a pause.

“All right. Come down if
you need anything.”

Right.

Now, to figure out a safe
way to the ground…

*
*
       
*

Believe it or not, with
the right kind of thread count, you actually can tie bedsheets together and use
them as a rope.

I find Eli at his shop,
under the front of his Galaxie.

“Did you get the
transmission replaced?” I ask.

There’s a loud clang and
an even louder expletive before Eli rolls out from under the car.

“Hey,” he says. “Yeah, I
got the transmission switched out, but it’s leaking oil.”

Mouth open, I breathe in
through my teeth. “Yeah,” I say. “We’re not really going to be able to take
mine.”

“Oh, it’s not a big thing,”
he says. “I’ve got a patch on it that should hold at least until we get back.
Are you ready?”

“Have you showered?”

I’m not sure if it’s the
oil or the sweat, but he’s a bit ripe.

“Not yet,” he says.
“There’s a shower in the back of the office from when the old owner used to
live here. I was expecting you to be a little longer.”

I check my watch. It
looks like I am a bit early.

“Sorry about that,” I
tell him. “I just had to get out of the house, you know?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve been
off for a while. I’ve just been trying to get this patched up while I was
waiting for you. Do you mind waiting while I jump in the shower?”

A more daring part of me
than I’m used to nearly asks if I can join him, but my frontal lobe kicks in
just in time to save me. “That’s fine,” I tell him. “Where should I wait?”

“There’s a TV in the main
office. If you want, you can set up in there. I shouldn’t be too long.”

I follow him into the
office proper, where he shows me to the waiting room before ducking into Maye’s
office. She must be off tonight.

It’s ten o’clock now, and
we’re supposed to be at the meet-up spot in an hour.

Apparently, the way it
goes is something like this: everyone who’s racing or tagging along meets up at
a gas station or a restaurant, there’s some argument over where to do the run,
and, sometime before sunrise, everyone heads to the agreed-upon start point.

Tonight is just drag
races, according to Eli, but it sounds like they set up street courses every
once in a while, too. I don’t know how that works just yet, but I doubt it’ll
be too long before Eli tells me.

I sit for a while
watching reruns of a sitcom I never caught while it was on the air before Eli
comes out of the back, dressed in a black, button shirt and dark pants. He
shaved while he was in there, too, so his face is nice and inviting.

“Someone looks snazzy,” I
observe.

He smirks at my word
choice and says, “While we’ve got a few minutes, there’s something I want to
show you.”

“What’s that?”

“You said your favorite
color is violet, right?”

“Yeah,” I tell him.
“Why?”

“Well, I was hoping to
show it to you in the daytime, but I took a picture after it was finished and I
wanted to get your reaction.”

“Okay?” I ask, just as
clueless as before the explanation.

“Here,” he says, pulling
his phone out of his pocket. He’s messing with it for a minute and then he
hands it to me, asking, “How does it look?”

It’s a picture of his
Chevelle, and it’s very, very purple.

“You did that for me?”

“Well, after the run last
week, it needed a new paint job, anyway. As often as I get new paint on that
thing, I figured it was time for a change. Do you like it?”

He’s smiling and rubbing
his hands together, but I’m more than slightly unnerved. I know we’re kind of
an unofficial thing now and all that, but it feels a little early to start
changing car colors for each other.

“How often do you change
it?” I ask.

“About once every three
or four times I take it out,” he says. “Basically every time I end up with
someone on my tail I can’t shake without pulling some stupid crap.”

Some of the pressure
fades, but it still feels like a big thing.

“Did you want to get
something to eat first, or do you just want to head down and see if anyone’s
there yet?” he asks.

“Shouldn’t we wait until
like right before? I can’t imagine it’s such a great idea to congregate
publicly unless it’s going to be a quick in and out sort of thing.”

“Oh, the race won’t be
anywhere near the meet point,” he says. “That’s just where we meet up, and
everyone knows that if it’s not street legal and you’re not about to race it,
it needs to be on a truck. Nobody’s breaking any laws for another hour at
least.”

“And we’re not racing
tonight?”

“No,” he says. “I’m
probably going to pass on that for another week or two—after the HP has a
chance to cool down a little.”

“Okay,” I tell him. “We
can pick something up if you want.”

We walk back to the shop,
and I can’t help but notice that along with the shower, the clean clothes, and
the shave, Eli’s also decided to go with some cologne. He hasn’t overdone it by
any means, but there’s something in the scent of it that’s just a little off.

It’s not until we get
back to the shop and near the Galaxie that I recognize the smell. It’s oil. His
hands are clean, so is the rest of him, but still, beneath the musk of his
cologne is the smell of motor oil.

“Does that ever wash
off?” I ask him.

Apparently, he’s gotten
similar questions often enough to have an answer ready to go. “Eventually,” he
says, “but it usually takes a couple of days away from this place and some of
that grainy soap to do it.”

This is going to be a
constant if things keep going with Eli, I guess. The first couple of times we
got together, I didn’t really notice it, but if it’s going to take that long to
get the stink off of him, this could turn into a bit of a problem.

This must be why they
call mechanics grease monkeys.

I’m nervous to get into
the car with him, given that it’s an enclosed space, but in here, the cologne
does just enough of a job that it’s not really an issue.

He fires up the engine,
and we pull out into the parking lot.

“I’ve got to lock up real
quick,” he says. “It’ll just take a minute if you want to wait.”

“Sure,” I answer as he
gets out of the car.