Free Burned: A Stepbrother Romance by Teagan Kade Page A

like the council purposely built it like a dragstrip. Making it from the start and hitting Main at the top doesn’t seem implausible in twelve seconds until you realize it passes through two intersections.
    We arrive at the bottom of Second Bridge around nine PM. As suspected, Second Bridge itself is absent of traffic, but I can see cars moving through the intersections ahead. I’ve been down this run countless times before. I know there is no way you’ll get both intersections green. No car is fast enough for that.
    Brock sits on the side of the street observing. He doesn’t look nervous at all. “You ready?”
    I hold my cell phone set to stopwatch. The screen reads 0:00. My finger hovers over the ‘start’ button. “Last chance to pull out,” I warn.
    Brock turns to me. “I never pull out.” One foot on the brake, he brings the revs up sharply, the engine struggling to be let free. I look at the tachometer, RPMs reading three-thousand. I think that’s quite high in the scheme of things considering we’re standing still.
    Brock has to shout above the noise of the engine. “And… go!”
    I hit ‘start’ and he lets his foot off the brake, no sign of wheelspin at all, the rear tires hunkering down hard into the blackstuff and the front of the car lifting as we fire forward.
    “Heeeeeeelp!” I mutter, pushing back against the mighty torque of the motor. There’s a clunk as Brock shifts a gear, the car falling forward and picking up speed so quickly I’m scared my spine’s about to wind up in my mouth.
    I’m wedged hard into the seat, wired.
    I glance down at the screen and see it only reads five seconds.
    The lights go green as we approach the intersection just in time, the Camaro blitzing through and still gaining speed.
    Brock’s face is a mask of concentration, one hand on the steering wheel, the other firmly fixed to the shifter, absolutely no relent on the accelerator.
    We’re coming up fast to the next intersection—too fast. The lights are still red.
    “Brock,” I warn.
    He doesn’t pay any attention.
    “Brock!” I scream, harder, the intersection approaching too quickly, the time growing too short.
    “Trust me,” he says.
    Cars are blurring through the intersection going the other way. We are not going to make it. Still, I resist the urge to protest and grab onto the top of the door, holding myself tight for impact and praying Brock has a plan.
    Three.
    Two.
    One.
    The lights are still red.
    Brock shifts a gear, the engine soaring in aural agony, the back of the car swinging left and then right just enough to squeeze through the smallest of gaps between two lanes of cars coming in the opposite direction. We come so close to one I can see the shock register on the driver’s face, that look of ‘what the hell was that?’
    The car corrects and we power on, the revs growing slower now but still climbing and the end of Second Bridge approaching at lightning speed.
    We come onto Main and I hit ‘stop,’ Brock swinging the car in a wide drift until we’re back into the flow of traffic.
    I’m actually sitting off my seat, my feet planted onto the floor and my heart a wild horse set free.
    I look at the screen of my cell: 11:89. “Fuck.”
    Brock’s smiling like a goofy idiot. “Told you it could be done.”
    “You almost got us killed.”
    “I knew precisely what I was doing.”
    “There’s no way you could have equated for that gap.”
    The engine has simmered down ahead of us, the heat washing through the cabin, swimming around my ankles.
    Brock slowly nods his head. “It’s a gamble, yes, but that’s the rush. It’s just like life. You can’t always prepare yourself for what’s coming. The best you can be is ready.”
    “My, my, aren’t we full of wisdom today?”
    “Didn’t you even feel the slightest hint of excitement?”
    “I think I might have to wash out my pants when I get home is what I think.”
    Truthfully, I’m still buzzing. There was something there, the