Burned: A Stepbrother Romance by Teagan Kade

“Three shifts. I’ll help you, shifting every time that little light in the middle of the dash there lights up. Now tell me what you’re doing.”
    “Foot on the brake, revs up to five-thousand.”
“Three-thousand-five-hundred! Jesus.”
    “Three-thousand-five-hundred, lift off brake and accelerator flat.”
    “Yes.”
    Brock checks his watch again, twitchy beside me. “Ready?”
    I grip the wheel tighter.
    “Whatever you do, don’t lift off the gas. If the car goes sideways, the answer is more speed, more gas.”
    “Got it.”
    “Ten seconds out.”
    The lights change and I can hear bells clanging in the distance. The Lambo revs beside us. I don’t want to look at it. I focus on the lights in the distance.
    The train starts to rush past ahead.
    I press my foot hard into the brake and begin to press the accelerator down. The revs move to 900rpm.
    “More,” says Brock.
    I push down a little more and they hit 1500rpm, the car beginning to lurch. It wants to be set free.
    The train’s almost through, the Lambo revving away wildly beside us.
    I bring it up to two-thousand-five-hundred, the engine really straining at the leash now, all that power under my fingertips.
    “More!” cries Brock and in fright I push down on the gas harder, the revs suddenly spiking to four-thousand and the car almost getting away. At the same time the lights go green ahead.
    “Now!”
    I lift off the brake and slam my foot down into the accelerator. The front of the Camaro lifts again and I’m pinned into my seat, forced to pull on the steering wheel hard as the entire thing begins to skew sideways.
    “Hold it!” cries Brock beside me, and I manage to bring the car back into line.
    The Lambo is already ahead, its slit-like taillights moving away.
    “Harder!”
    I mash my foot all the way to the floor and the Camaro picks up, slowly gaining on the Lambo.
    I’m blinded by a bright yellow light from the dash.
    “Shift!”
    Brock moves my hand on the shifter into the next gear. The distance between the Lambo narrows until we’re almost side by side. The crossing comes into clearer focus, the engine screaming with everything it’s got.
    I’m blinded again.
    “Shift!”
    Next gear and we’re pulling in front of the Lambo.
    The crossing’s coming up fast, Brock’s hand moving again and my foot pinned to the floor so hard my thigh burns.
    We come flying over the crossing airborne, the car crashing back down and Brock squeezing my thigh telling me to back off. I let my foot off the accelerator.
    We’ve done it—just.
    “Brake, brake.”
    I prod the brakes, the feeling like two bricks being mashed together coming shuddering from the back before the car finally comes to a halt.
    The Camaro ticks as we sit there. The Lambo pulls up on the passenger side. Brock exchanges words with the owner, but over the sound of the cars I can’t hear what’s going on.
    Greaseball throws something through the window. The plastic bag falls onto Brock’s lap, the Lambo doing a donut around us and whipping back down to the highway in a swirl of dust through the headlights.
    Brock opens the bag and tosses a wad of notes into my lap.
    I pick it up. “Holy fuck. How much is this?”
    “Five large.”
    “Five-thousand dollars?”
    “You earned it.”
    I thumb through the bills, more money than I’ve seen in my life. “Are you kidding me?”
    Brock’s hand wedges itself between my legs. “Now tell me you aren’t just the littlest bit excited?”
    I have to admit I am. It’s like my blood’s been replaced with soda pop. “Okay, fine. That was kind of exciting. I can’t say the money’s bad either. Maybe I could take this up full time.”
    Brock shakes his head. “Not a good idea. Take it from me personally.”
    I’m buzzed. I don’t want this night to end. “Where to now?”
    “Well, aren’t we the eager beaver?”
    “Maybe I’m changing.”
    “The others are go-karting. What do you say?”
    I put on my best Tom Cruise face.