DRAG - [h.s. au]

1

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Let the games begin

Are you ready for it?

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BENTLEY

I moved out to Oakland with my family when I was a kid.

We lived on the west side of the city, home to the people who worked for the east siders. There was a clear divide between the two sections of the cities. If you're from the west side, stay there unless you're required on the east side.

The east side of Oakland is reserved for tourists from San Francisco and people who owned property there. The people who could afford to be there and them some.

The east side of Oakland was paradise to many. It was the picture of perfect wealth, and family values. The east side of Oakland was ballgowns, hotels, the newest model cars and showing off the aesthetic of owning vintage cars that they had to bring to the west side to upkeep because none of those rich pricks knew how to take care of an older car.

All they knew was Silicon Valley and Siri.

Fucking brats.

My mom worked at a restaurant on the east side of town, and my dad ran the car repair shop.

They died three years ago, but that's just because they were fairly old. Dad had me at 42, and my mom was 40 when I was born. The notorious accident.

I'm 24 now.

Being from the west side meant a lot of things. It meant if you were rich you kept quiet about it. It meant that you were either an employee of the east or a weapon of the west.

I took over the repair shop, and hired a few people to take care of most of the work. I knew my way around cars really well, but I had another job that needed my attention.

Car repairs could only bring so much money into your pocket, and well, California isn't cheap.

I got into street racing the second I got my license when I was sixteen. I had been driving my whole life, my father taught me how to drive and I taught myself how to race. It was an easy way to get some cash on the side, and when I started winning more races when I was around 21, the money flow became ridiculous.

After my parents died I became a little more reckless behind the wheel, not really caring about whether or not I made it to the finish line dead or alive. There wasn't anything else to live for anymore, my death would have killed my parents so I made sure to stay safe... but once they were dead I really pushed the limits.

I was different, too. Unlike other racers, I didn't race for a crew- better yet, a gang.

That's another thing about the divided sides of Oakland. The west was run by the Kings and the east was run by the Lions. Could those names get any more cliche? Normally races were set up to settle disagreements between the two sides, but I always found a way in, and I always won. I hadn't lost a race in three years. I raced for myself, and it'd piss off the gangs because they'd send in a representative to come into the repair shop to try and get me to race for them, but I wasn't about to become gang affiliated.

Racing against them was enough.

Taking their money at the end of a race was probably enough to put a target on my back, but my winning is what kept them in business. The thing about idiot gang members with cars that I worked on the engineering for is that their egos are so big they forget that when the stats show you're going to lose-- you're going to lose.