He went by Hot Shot, nicknamed for his exceptional ability to repair cars. Molly Pierce, an ambitious girl from the opposite side of town, went a while without ever figuring out his real name. But when the truth about his sinful name and twisted pas...
disclaimer: this is not 100% accurate to how street races are so don't come for me if it's inaccurate. not all of them are the same, so i decided to put my own spin on it!!
in this chapter there are TWO events at the street race- the tournament and then the 'No-Mercy' race. They're SEPARATE events!! Keep that in mind.
(also if u cant read something on the picture that will be shown later lmk, ik some of the words are small)
~~*~~ 'Hot Shot'
Ironically, despite owning a repair shop, I've never been to a place that smells this much like engine exhaust and motor oil.
I tread through the crowd, looking over heads to examine the track, and fighting the urge to gag at the smell. The race's location is different from last year's, and unfortunately it's further from my house than I would've liked. It's a full-sized, quarter of a mile track, with crowds of people littering it.
The races themselves are going to take place on one of the lengths of the track, distancing 100 meters. To the left of that length are seats and stands, packed with visitors. While on the other empty 300 meters of the track, are cars and their racers, preparing for the night with their teams.
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I hate to admit it, but I'd steal every car here if I could.
Just knowing how fast they run and how easily some of them could weigh out their competition is enough to persuade me.
Though, their designs are also incredible. Some of the vehicles are professionally wrapped, while others just have fancy lettering spray painted on them. Each car has the racer's name fonted on the side, with some sort of graphic to match the name. A few of the racers are even kneeled down beside their cars, spray painting their names on their vehicle last minute.
Surrounding me are hundreds of people, all walking in different directions with different places to be. The majority of them are men, however, no matter who it is that walks by, everyone that's stationed as a worker tonight is wearing the same ugly ass t-shirt. It's a white, cotton shirt with black letters on it, spelling, 'Dash's 2nd Annual Street Race Employee'. The letters are bolded and slanted on the front of the cotton, like they didn't even try to center it.
I pinch the ends of the shirt between my fingers, holding it out and off my body, "I'm assuming they didn't have much of a budget this year," I mutter to Niall, shaking my head.
"Well, clearly. They spent it all on the prize," Niall points up towards the far end of the track where a tall sign stands. It labels what the racers are trying to win tonight, and it's displayed for higher motivation. He clears his throat, summarizing it, "50 grand just for driving a car in a straight line a couple of times? Bullshit."
