Speed

Chapter 6

The atmosphere back at the crew garage in El Paso is a mix of relief and subdued celebration. After the heated altercation with Los Diablos and the tense escape from law enforcement, the Sun City Fires gather, seeking solace in the familiarity of their shared space. Drinks are passed around, a silent acknowledgment of the night's trials and the crew's unity in the face of external threats. Yet, beneath the surface camaraderie, the unresolved tension between Jordan and Damian simmers, a reminder of the ideological rift that threatens to divide the crew from within. As the night progresses and the alcohol loosens tongues, their earlier argument over the direction of the Sun City Fires resurfaces.

Damian, leaning against a workbench with a beer in hand, breaks the uneasy peace. "We can't keep pretending tonight was just about Los Diablos," he states, his gaze fixed on Jordan. "It's a sign we need to be tougher, more ruthless if we're going to survive."

Jordan, who's been quietly speaking with some of the newer members, turns to address Damian directly. "Survive? By turning into the very thing we've always stood against? We're racers, Damian, not criminals. What happened tonight... it was about protecting our own, not proving we're the biggest thugs in the city."

The division in the room is palpable, members of the crew unconsciously aligning with one viewpoint or the other. The debate, once theoretical, now carries the weight of real consequences, underscored by the scars of the night's battles.

"I'm not saying we go looking for fights," Damian counters, his frustration growing. "But if we don't adapt, if we don't take every advantage, we're going to be left behind. The streets don't care about honor; they care about power."

"And what about the police? You think they're going to ignore us if we start branching out into carjackings or worse?" Jordan shoots back, his voice rising. "We've built something here, a reputation, a family. I won't see it destroyed because you think we need to become something we're not."

The crew watches the exchange, silent spectators to a clash that could define the future of the Sun City Fires. The respect for both Jordan and Damian is evident, but so is the uncertainty of how to reconcile their differing visions for the crew's path forward.

In the dim light of the garage, surrounded by the smell of oil and metal, the argument between Damian and Jordan reaches a boiling point. Their voices, laden with passion and frustration, echo off the concrete walls, capturing the attention of every member present.

Jordan, usually the epitome of calm leadership, finds his patience frayed by Damian's persistent advocacy for a darker path. "You're not hearing me, Damian!" Jordan's voice booms, cutting through the murmurs of the gathered crew. "This isn't us. We're racers, not thieves. You think turning to crime is going to save us? It'll be the end of everything we've built."

Damian, unfazed by Jordan's rising anger, stands his ground. "And what's your plan, huh? Keep racing and hope the money just rolls in? Wake up, Jordan. The world's changing, and if we don't change with it, we'll be left in the dust. We need to take control of our destiny."

The intensity of the debate draws the crew in, their own concerns and opinions simmering just below the surface. The garage, usually a place of unity and shared purpose, feels divided, the air charged with uncertainty about the future.

Jordan, realizing the eyes of the entire crew are on him, takes a deep breath, attempting to regain his composure. "Our destiny, Damian, isn't to become criminals. Our strength has always been our skill on the track, our ability to outdrive anyone else out there. That's how we make our name, not by stealing and risking everything on quick, dirty money."

Damian scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "Skill on the track won't pay the bills, Jordan. You're living in a fantasy if you think we can survive on racing alone. It's not just about the money; it's about respect, power. We need to be feared, not just respected."

The standoff between the two, symbolic of the crew's broader dilemma, leaves the room in tense silence. Members exchange uneasy glances, the realization dawning that the decision they face is not just about the legality of their actions but the very identity of the Sun City Fires.

As Jordan and Damian lock eyes, the unspoken challenge clear, the crew knows that the outcome of this argument will set the course for their future. Will they hold fast to the principles that brought them together, or will the pressure to evolve push them into a world far removed from the purity of racing they've cherished? The garage, once a sanctuary, now stands as a crossroads, the unity of the Sun City Fires hanging in the balance as they confront the most challenging race of all: the battle for their soul.

After the tension-filled celebration at the garage, the argument between Jordan and Damian seemed to reach a fever pitch, threatening to split the Sun City Fires down the middle. But then, something unexpected happened. Maybe it was the late hour, the aftermath of our collective adrenaline from the races, or perhaps the realization that internal division could only lead to our downfall. Whatever it was, Jordan and Damian decided to call a temporary truce to hash out a compromise, a decision that would steer the crew into uncharted waters.

I watched, somewhat warily, as they huddled in a corner of the garage, their heads bowed in intense conversation. The rest of us pretended not to eavesdrop, but the silence that had fallen over the garage was telling; everyone was listening.

Finally, Jordan cleared his throat, signaling that they'd reached some sort of agreement. The crew gathered around, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in the air.

"Alright, listen up," Jordan began, his voice steady, commanding the room's attention. "Damian and I have been talking, and we've come to a decision about the crew's direction."

Damian, standing beside him, nodded, a rare sign of solidarity between them. "We're going to start pink slip racing and taking on bets with other rival gangs," he announced, a hint of his usual defiance in his tone.

Murmurs rippled through the group. Pink slip racing—racing for the ownership papers of the cars—was high stakes, high risk. It was something Ronan, our previous leader, had always steered us clear of, prioritizing the crew's safety and legal standing above the quick financial gains such activities promised.

"But," Jordan quickly added, seeing the concern on our faces, "we're doing it on our terms. Strict rules, only with crews we trust, and we're all in agreement about every race we take on. No one goes in alone."

Damian chimed in, "It's a way to boost our income, sure. But more than that, it's about proving we're the best. Not just in El Paso, but beyond."

I couldn't help but feel a knot of anxiety at their words. The stakes were higher than ever, and with higher stakes came greater risks. I remembered the late nights worrying over Damian, the fear of what could go wrong on the streets. Now, it seemed, those fears were about to multiply.

Jennie, always the voice of reason, raised a valid concern. "And what about the cops? This isn't exactly low profile."

Ryan, ever the mediator, added, "And the crew's safety? We've always been about the thrill of racing, not risking everything for a win."

Jordan nodded, acknowledging their points. "We're aware of the risks, which is why we're setting strict guidelines. As for the cops, we'll be smart, keep it discreet. And safety is our top priority—always has been, always will be."

The meeting ended with more questions than answers, the crew divided in their excitement and concern. Damian and Jordan seemed united, at least for now, but the path they were choosing was fraught with danger.