“Pair up. You’ll get the chance to change drivers a few times, as well as swap cars too, so it doesn’t really matter what you start with.”

“I bags the Lamborghini,” Jones barks. She tosses him the keys and Stone moves beside the car with him. The boys laugh and gawk at the car as if they’re seventeen again and going for their first burnout session.

“I’ll be driving the blue muscle car up front and Johnno will be in the Porsche out back.” She motions towards a short guy with brown hair, who’s wearing the same black polo shirt as she is. “We’ll communicate with the two-way radio as we guide you to Lake Mead, which is out east. Keep it on channel two. Once we get out there you might even get the chance to put your foot down.” She winks and hands the next set of keys to Brett.

“I’m not paying all that money to sit on the speed limit, you know,” Brett says, and cackles with Billy.

“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter under my breath. That douche doesn’t know when to shut his fucking mouth.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, freckles,” Terri teases. “That’s one hefty excess if there’s so much as a scratch on any of my cars.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mocks, in the dickiest attempt at an American accent I’ve heard yet. The fucker sounds more like Kermit the Frog.

“Just keep it safe, boys, and follow my lead.”

Steve and Nate jump in the Ferrari behind Jones’s car and Billy and Brett take the Maserati. I get to drive the convertible Corvette on my lonesome, which I couldn’t be happier about.

We move out onto the road in close succession, following Terri. I’m second last in the group. It takes a bit to adjust to driving on the wrong side of the road, but having someone guide you takes that stress away. Being in a machine like this, it takes all of my self-control not to speed off like a maniac. The accelerator is taunting me to push it. It’s such a tease, knowing what power lies beneath the bonnet. The engine’s purring like a kitten now, but give it time and it’ll be roaring like a fucking cheetah.

Within the blink of an eye, we turn off into what looks like a national park. The landscape of the desert is so surreal compared to anything I’ve ever seen. Rich earthy colours, like one big pallet of rust, are splashed across the horizon in large boulders and rock formations. It’s like looking at some kind of masterpiece, and nothing like the Australian landscape that I’ve seen. The sweeping turns curve around the mountains, intensifying the thrill of the ride.

Brett is driving like a lunatic—flat-out fast and then slow. Does he know how fucking annoying he is? I wish to fuck Jones hadn’t invited him, but I guess he couldn’t exactly ask the rest of the team and not him.

“Okay, boys. Follow my lead.” Terri’s voice comes across the two-way, all Smokey and the Bandit. The muscle car roars off into the distance, followed by the other boys in formation.

My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel tight. I shift up a gear, listening to that sweet purr growing louder as the distance increases between me and the car in front. When there’s plenty of space, I slam down my right foot. The roar of the engine sends a shot of adrenaline right through me as I let loose. I breathe in deep as the wind whips through my hair. If only V was sitting in the passenger seat next to me—better yet, the driver’s seat. He’d soon forget all that shit from his past. The De Luca brothers in Vegas would be something to behold. Even without alcohol.

With the top down, the blinding sun and dry heat is so intense that my mobile phone in the centre console starts beeping a warning about being dangerously hot. I slide it under my arse to keep it out of the sun.

I cruise around the next bend and have to slam on the brakes. Smoke curls from the squealing tires. I clench my teeth as I stop within an inch of the Maserati.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I yell out to the dry desert air.

Johnno on the two-way radio directs all cars to stop in the next waiting bay about a mile up the road.

When we pull over to the side of the road, I swear steam is shooting from my ears as I contemplate exactly how I’m gonna make Brett a new hat with his freshly cut scrotum.

“Who the fuck stops on a turn like that in a normal car, let alone a fuckin’ car like that?” I screech as I storm towards Brett. “Are you tapped in the head?”

“Relax, Rocco,” he says, and runs his fingers across the rim of his black baseball cap.

“Relax? Not fuckin’ likely,” I spit at him as I take another step closer. Jones leaps out of nowhere and presses his hand to my chest.

“You ride with me,” Jones says, widening his eyes. He’s not asking; he’s telling.

Terri struts up to Brett and stands toe to toe with him. She is about ready to tear shreds through him by the look of her flushed face and chest, which is labouring to take breath.

“A word?” she says, her jaw tight.

Jones grips my shoulder, turning me towards the Ferrari.

“Your fuckin’ mate,” I grumble as I get into the passenger side of the car.

We both turn and stand in awe as the expletives pour from Terri’s mouth like lava erupting from an angry volcano. Brett cowers like a frightened animal, and then gets into the passenger seat of the rear car with Johnno. Suck shit. Your ride is over.

“My mate, huh?” Jones says, and laughs. His face lights up as he curls his fingers around the steering wheel, stroking it as he would his girlfriend. He turns to face me with a smile that’s trouble. “With any luck we lose him to a transvestite hooker on the strip tonight.”

“Poor hooker.” I chuckle, as we take off into the bowels of the desert again.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

SOPHIE

I place two hundred–dollars in purple chips on number thirteen on the roulette table. This is all I’m gambling this weekend. The rest of the planned events I’ve carefully budgeted for. I won’t be drinking a huge amount, not that I care, because I feel like I owe it to Rocco to take it easy, and there’ll be no fine dining. Not that I think that’s the plan, anyway. It’s not that hard to eat cheap here.

“Soph,” April shrieks. “Thirteen!”

“What?”

April points at the wheel, which has the white ball resting on my number.

“Oh my fucking God! I won?”

“Can you refrain from swearing at the table please, ma’am,” the balding croupier says in his very thick American accent, as he runs a hand down the front of his black vest. I’m still getting used to not hearing an Aussie accent come out of people’s mouths.

“Sorry, I’m just … I never win.” I squeal and wrap my arm around April’s shoulders as the croupier places a clear glass object on my chips. He clears the bulk of chips from the rest of the numbered felt, pushing them into a hole on the far side of the wheel.

Carefully, he pushes a small chip stack to a player on the opposite side of the table to me, and then assembles a few tall piles of purple chips, with several black chips sitting on top. My eyes light up as he pushes this goldmine in my direction.

“Sorry. How much is that?”

“Seven thousand neat.”

I clutch at my chest as it hammers faster. I can’t believe I won.

“I never win anything,” I gush.

“Number thirteen. Unlucky for some; tonight it’s come up for you,” April announces, with her arm outstretched and her finger pointed at my chest.

I can’t fucking believe it.

It’s enough to pay back April for accommodation, pay another month’s rent in advance with Rocco, and have some left over. Fuckface has paid a big chunk of the debt, alleviating the pressure. There’s still the risk he won’t pay it all, but for the first time in years I have breathing room. I also need to ask Rocco what he paid so I could keep my car and return that, too.