Abel clears his throat in an obvious move to get our attention. He gives Lex and me a pleading look and mouths, Sorry.

Puppy dog eyes and an apology won’t cut it. This isn’t like the time he called us from the police station after streaking through the mall in his underwear on a dare. Or when he needed a ride home from a club after the two girls he was dating at the same time ran into each other, and one of them left with his car.

A yellow Nissan and a silver Honda hatchback pull up for the next race. Video Game Girl walks between the cars and talks to the drivers. When she returns to her spot on the white starting line, the drivers gun the engines louder, and the crowd snaps to attention.

Conversations stop, and spectators climb onto the roofs of the crappier cars for a better view.

Video Game Girl raises her arms above her head.

When they drop, tires screech and the stench of burnt rubber fills the air again. The cars rocket down the street faster than I’ve ever seen any vehicle move in real life. Their taillights grow smaller and smaller until both cars vanish into the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Abel, ignoring the guy in the hooded leather jacket next to him.

He shrugs. “I met a girl in class. She told me people were racing tonight.”

Lex’s eyes drill into him. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Abel stares at the ground. “People started taking bets, and one thing led to another.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Lex says.

I jab a finger against his chest. “Save your bullshit for someone who believes it. When we get out of here, you’re going to tell me how long you’ve been doing this.” If I’m risking my dad’s wrath, I want to know why.

Abel’s prison guard smirks.

Headlights blink in the distance, and a wave of excitement ripples through the crowd. The two cars emerge from the darkness neck and neck. At the last possible second, the yellow Nissan pulls ahead and crosses the line first.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Turk snaps his fingers and points at the tall guy with the crooked teeth. “Shawn? Pass me another forty.”

“Heads up.” Shawn tosses Turk a huge beer can.

He catches it, pops the tab, and chugs the beer, giving me a clear view of his tattoo. The uneven block letters read PLAY HARD. DRIVE HARD.

Turk finishes the beer and gestures at the money rolled up in my hand. “Let’s see what you got.”

I move toward him, holding up the bills between my fingers to avoid touching him. Up close, his eyes are glassy, and his face looks even redder.

“Sung, count it,” Turk says to the guy in the leather jacket.

The bills slide effortlessly between Sung’s fingers as he counts them like a blackjack dealer. He finishes and slaps the money in Turk’s hand. “They’re short three hundred.”

“I thought he owes you five hundred dollars.” I make eye contact with Turk.

“I do.” Abel’s eyes dart between us.

Turk laughs. “You forgot about interest.”

CHAPTER 9

JEKYLL AND HYDE

A dangerous situation is like dog crap: You don’t always see it until you’re standing in it. Or, like Lex, Abel, and me, until you are knee-deep.

Nobody knows we came to V Street tonight, and it’s the last place anyone would look for us. Why didn’t I leave Dad a note? Nothing too specific, or he’d send his cop buddies to find me the minute he realized I’d snuck out. Just a trail of bread crumbs to follow in case something went wrong.

Now Turk holds all the cards.

“This is bullshit.” Abel’s jaw twitches. “I only owe you five hundred bucks. You can’t hustle me just because you know I’ve got money.”

“I can do whatever I want because this”—Turk opens his arms wide—“is my house. That means you play by my rules.”

“Fine. Take me to an ATM, and I’ll get the rest,” Abel says.

“You aren’t real smart, are you, Rich Boy? ’Cause we covered this after the race. Do I look like a taxi service?” Turk’s neck muscles bulge, distorting the words on his neck.

Even if I throw in my two hundred, Abel will still be short a hundred dollars. I don’t see Turk giving him a discount.

Calm down and think.

Dad started teaching me his this-might-save-your-life-one-day skills when I was in kindergarten, but none of them helped the night Noah died.

That’s because you didn’t do anything.

I mentally scroll through the list, searching for a way out of this mess. If you’re outnumbered, act crazy, Dad told me at least a dozen times. Start pacing and talking to yourself about crap like aliens and conspiracy theories. No one wants to screw with a crazy person. Unstable equals unpredictable.

Dad demonstrated while I lectured him about the harsh realities of mental illness. His world and mine were so different, and until three months ago, I had never witnessed the kind of violence he faced every day.

Even if I could pull off conspiracy theory–level crazy, the window for convincing Turk I’m unstable has already closed. Dog psychology—Act dominant to establish the alpha position—is also out. Turk looks like the kind of guy who would love to get aggressive.

What he cares about is money.…

“I have two hundred dollars on me.” I pull out the cash I brought and gesture at Lex. “What if we go and get the rest of the money instead? Give us thirty minutes, and we’ll bring you two hundred more.” Maybe the extra hundred will satisfy him.

Turk whips around, invading my personal space. “Nobody’s leaving. You think I’m stupid?” Yes. The suffocating combination of sweat and cheap cologne clings to his body, which is way too close to mine.

“Turk, this is between you and me.” Abel tries to take a step, but Sung throws his arm up in front of Abel, blocking his path.

“Send one of your friends with us if you don’t trust me.” The thought of being in the same car with either of them makes my skin crawl. “If we don’t go, you only get the seven hundred we have on us.”

“Frankie?” Lex sounds like a little girl calling for her mom in the dark. She’s losing it.

I give her a death glare and focus on Turk. “Will that work?”

Come on.… Say yes already.

He nods. “But your friends stay here. Both of them. You’re the only one who goes.”