Speed

Chapter 7

The weeks following our decision to venture into pink slip racing and placing bets passed with a surprising smoothness. Victory followed victory, and the thrill of each race seemed to bind the Sun City Fires closer, instilling a sense of pride and invincibility within us. But beneath the surface, a storm was brewing, one that threatened to undo the fragile peace we'd managed to achieve. I first heard the rumors from Jennie, who'd picked up whispers of Damian's latest escapades. At first, I couldn't believe it—surely, Damian wouldn't be reckless enough to go against Jordan's explicit directives. But as more details came to light, the reality of the situation became impossible to ignore.

Damian, fueled by a mix of ambition and defiance, had convened a secret meeting with a handful of our crew members and some members of a rogue rival gang. The purpose? To orchestrate a series of carjackings around town, a move that was not only dangerous but blatantly illegal. It was a betrayal of everything Jordan had been striving to maintain—our crew's integrity and the safety of our operations.

I remember feeling a cold dread settle in my stomach as Jennie relayed the news. It wasn't just the act itself that troubled me; it was the implications of Damian's actions. How had things escalated to this point? And more importantly, how could we, as a crew, come back from this?

Alone in the dimly lit expanse of the crew's garage, surrounded by the silent witnesses of countless hours of labor—the cars, each with their own history and victories—I found myself standing across from Damian. The tension in the air was palpable, a prelude to the storm I knew was coming. My heart pounded against my chest, not out of fear for myself, but for what this confrontation might mean for the future of our crew, our family.

"Damian," I started, my voice firmer than I felt, "I know about the carjackings."

His reaction was immediate, the shift in his demeanor as tangible as a physical blow. "What?" he spat, his eyes narrowing. "Who told you that?"

"It doesn't matter who told me. What matters is that you're planning to drag the crew into something dangerous, something that goes against everything we stand for," I said, trying to reach the part of him that I knew once valued loyalty and the brotherhood we shared.

Damian laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the garage walls. "You're naive, Zac. This is the real world. We need to take what we want, by any means necessary. You think Jordan's little races are going to keep us on top?"

"This isn't about staying on top," I countered, my frustration growing. "This is about right and wrong. You're risking everything we've built, everything Ronan worked for. For what? A quick payout?"

His face twisted into a sneer. "Ronan's gone. I'm taking us into the future. If you're not with me, you're against me."

The conversation escalated quickly from there. Damian's words became more heated, his justifications more flimsy. It was clear he had no intention of backing down, no matter the consequences.

"Think about the crew, Damian. Think about what getting caught would do to all of us," I pleaded, hoping to appeal to his sense of loyalty.

But my words only seemed to enrage him further. "The crew is with me! They'll follow where I lead. And if you're going to stand in my way," Damian's voice dropped, a dangerous edge to his tone, "then you're fuckin' dead to me."

Before I could respond, Damian lunged at me, fueled by anger and perhaps fear—fear of being challenged, of losing control. His fist connected with my jaw, sending a shock of pain through my skull, the taste of iron flooding my mouth. I stumbled back, more in shock than pain. The Damian I knew, the one I once loved, done everything with and for, seemed like a distant memory. In his place was a stranger, driven by greed and desperation.