“Ortiz,” I supplied gruffly.
I diligently answered his questions until he added another. “And what are you doing out at this time of night?”
“On my way to pick up a friend from a nightclub,” I straight-faced lied. It was plausible since I was, in-fact, heading in the appropriate direction.
The officer’s expression filled with doubt. “Inthiscar?”
“Yes.”
“And with no shirt on?”
I pursed my lips and stared for a beat. Was he for fucking real? “I used it to try and stop his bleeding.”
Officer Eliopoulos’ eyes studied me intently. “Were you involved in an illegal street race half an hour ago?”
“No.”
As if the fates aligned, my phone rang in my back pocket. Keeping my eyes trained on the officer and moving with slow, exaggerated movements, I extracted my phone from my jeans and accepted the call.
Shades’ voice boomed so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “Where you at, brah?”
Thank Christ that was all he said.
“I’m on my way. Got a little held up downtown. There was an accident…”
“Shit,” he hissed. “Okay, fuck, I’ll wait outside.”
“Yeah.” I hung up and raised my brows at the cop. “Was there anything else?”
Shades and I had become good at code-talk over the years, and we both knew to never give away more than absolutely necessary if shit went down. Hence the‘got a little held up’.
The officer noted down my phone number and registration, and said he would be in touch if he needed further information. For the moment, I was free to go.
Before folding myself into my car, I pointed at the CCTV cameras above us—thankful for the first time that they were dotted throughout the city.
“Not that I’m telling you how to do your job, but it might be wise to check those.”
With that, I conservatively peeled away from the scene of the accident, only then becoming aware of a media van parked across the street.
Hissing under my breath, I called Shades back while heading for home.
Chapter 3
-Raf-
“INNOCENT BYSTANDER KILLED AFTER STREET RACE HIT AND RUN.”
Shit! I clicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the couch. That was all I needed; my face plastered over the damn morning news, videoed leaving the scene of a crime, and the media implying I had been the one to take the man’s life.
Disturbance rolled within me again. The ghosts of my past began to rise, bringing with them the memories I wish I could erase. Not just for my sake, but my mamá’s and my sister’s, too.
Barely five minutes passed before I received the first phone call from one of my clients. He’d seen the morning news and now he wanted answers. Clients like him I couldn’t afford to lose—not when the commission meant I didn’t have to work a normal nine-to-five.
An hour later, I was pulling out of my driveway, on my way to meet with another client. I’d spent years building a reputable name and business of sourcing dream cars of all descriptions. I knew at some point in time both sides of my world would eventually collide, but I didn’t want it to happen like this.
Barely making it a half a block down the street, the driver’s door of a red Ferrari F12 swung open, and a guy stepped out. He pulled his baseball cap lower, remotely locked his car, then stood in the middle of the road. Not wanting to witness another man run down, I slowed and wildly gestured at him to move his ass.
Intending to drive around him, I rolled down the passenger window and leaned over. “Get the fuck off the road, asshole.”