Phantom Rider - The Reckoning | Book 2

#9 | Second Runner

Mila's POV, Tokyo

Did Sergei really have to bring Tom's car back and leave the keys next to him? That old man could be a genius, but sometimes, he drove me insane. The second I hopped into my car, I saw Tom's red Mustang disappear over the horizon, weaving through traffic like a maniac, ignoring every red light in sight. I struggled to keep up with him. Had I forgotten just how skilled a driver he was?

I didn't have my phone, and even if I did, there was no way he'd pick up. How was I supposed to get him to stop? At this rate, he was going to take out an innocent bystander on these crowded city streets.

Then it hit me—my car had a two-way radio installed. Sergei had added it ages ago for those high-speed runs we'd do. I had never used it, but now seemed like the perfect time. Tom must have it too; I just needed to get close enough to his car.

I reached for the radio switch, my hand steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The crackle of static filled the air before his voice cut through, sharp and irritated.

"Mila, what the hell do you want?"

"Tom, stop the car before you kill yourself or, worse, someone else!" I shouted into the radio, weaving around a truck to keep pace. "You're not thinking straight!"

"I don't need you to babysit me," he shot back, his voice slurred from the alcohol I knew he'd been drinking. "If I crash, I crash. Not your problem."

"Like hell, it's not my problem," I growled, gripping the steering wheel tighter to match his speed. "You're angry, fine, but don't drag innocent people into your bullshit. Pull over, or I'll make you!"

"Then make me, Phantom Rider," he mocked, laughing like a lunatic.

I shot through the streets like a bullet, my engine purring like a satisfied kitten. I was high on adrenaline. I freaking loved racing. I didn't care so much about Tom as I did about beating him.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I worried he might crash, but my confidence blared—I will stop him before that happens. His driving got more reckless, swerving all over the road, dodging taxis at the last second, his back bumper scraping guardrails and spitting sparks.

He opened the window and tossed out a bottle of liquor. Great, he was drinking already. I could tell from his wild driving that he'd downed more than one bottle.

"I told you, Tom, you can't outrun me, you dumbass!" I connected to him again.

He laughed in response. "I ain't outrunning you, Mila. I'm just leading you to hell, and you're welcome to follow me, honey!"

"Don't honey me, Tom!" I shot back sarcastically.

"Okay, honey!" He cackled again, then cranked the wheel, sending his Mustang into a tight drift that almost crashed into a row of parked cars. I matched his every move, my car sliding next to his like a shadow. We were dancing with death, and I was loving it. Horns blared, and pedestrians dove out of the way while we ruled these city streets.

Suddenly, he took a sharp turn onto the highway leading us out of the city. Oh, now he had no chance of escape! I concentrated—you don't mess with a real Phantom Rider.

"You can't handle this, Tom. You're too sloppy," I taunted, intentionally trying to rattle him. "You would never beat me in a real car race!"

"You think I give a shit about some old street races?" Tom snarled, gulping down more liquor. "This is about betrayal. You, Bill, my goddamn life."

"What do I have to do with it now?" I screamed at the speaker.

"Nothing, just killed our family, remember? Hid my brother from me?" he shouted as his car lost control right in front of me.