Read Online The Lovely Reckless by Kami García - Free Book Online Page A

Abel say?”
    Lex weaves between lanes and swallows hard. “Just that he bet on a race and lost, and he needs us to bring him five hundred bucks, or they’re going to beat the shit out of him.”
    â€œWe can’t take that much out of an ATM, but I’ve got two hundred on me.”
    â€œRelax. I’ve got it covered.” She flips over her purse and dumps the contents onto the console between us. Makeup and loose change fall into my lap and onto the floor—along with a wad of bills. “The ATM machine in the Senator’s sock drawer doesn’t have a daily limit.”
    I collect the bills and count them—five hundred dollars. I roll up the money and clench it in my fist. “I still don’t understand why Abel went to a street race. Usually, he screws up closer to home, and there are plenty of places to gamble in the Heights.”
    Rich guys from Woodley and the other private schools in the Heights will bet on anything.
    â€œWe’re talking about Abel, and he’s been even more unpredictable than usual.” Lex flies across three lanes of traffic to catch the V Street exit.
    â€œWhat set him off? His mom?”
    Lex doesn’t respond. Instead, she stares down the dark street. There’s something she’s not telling me, but pressing her for answers never works.
    â€œHe said to turn on Second Street,” she says finally.
    â€œWe just passed it.”
    She flips a U-turn and loops back. Three tough-looking men sit on the porch of a boarded-up house, smoking. “I can’t believe he came here.”
    The street runs parallel to a set of train tracks rusting on the other side of a chain-link fence. Trains stopped coming through the Downs a decade ago.
    â€œHeadlights.” I point at glowing halos in the distance. “Park under a streetlight.”
    â€œI’m not walking all the way over there.”
    â€œIf the cars racing here look anything like the ones in Lot B, the Fiat won’t exactly blend in.”
    â€œFine.” Lex parks next to the curb. “But if it gets stolen, Abel is buying me a new one.”
    I hope that’s the least of our problems.
    Lex follows me toward the lights. “He said to look for a black car with white racing stripes. I can’t remember what he called it.”
    We reach the edge of the crowd and spot the main attraction—dozens of classic muscle cars, like the Camaro in Shop class, and sports cars with flashy paint jobs, lined up a row. Hoods are popped and doors hang open while music pulses from sound systems loud enough to rival the ones in most clubs. Girls dressed in everything from fitted shorts and heels to boyfriend jeans and metallic high-tops mill around between the cars or check out the engines with the guys like they’re at a car show, while the owners lounge in the driver’s seats.
    At the end of the row of cars, people are standing along an empty stretch of road.
    â€œWho’s ready to race?” a girl with straight jet-black hair that reaches past her waist shouts from the middle of the street. The combination of knee-high lace-up boots, black tank, shiny black pants, and deep red lipstick against her alabaster skin makes her look like a character from a video game.
    People whistle and shout, and the atmosphere instantly changes from street party to casino floor. Bookies rush to collect bets as a midnight-blue Mustang and an iridescent-white Acura line up side by side in front of Video Game Girl. Engines rev, and a surge of energy buzzes through the crowd like an electric current.
    Video Game Girl raises her arms.
    The moment they drop, tires squeal and clouds of exhaust billow into the air. The whole place smells like burnt rubber and rotten eggs.
    I scan the sea of unfamiliar faces, searching for Abel or a car like the one Lex described.
    Off to the side of the racing strip, three guys are drinking in front of a black car parked on the grass—a car