He is not breathing!

Adonis

The hostess was standing in the middle of the race track, a harsh white spotlight bathing down on her as she placed one hand on her hip, her skimpy leather clothes shining under the light. She let out a wicked grin, “READY!”

The crowd had simmered down, eagerly watching, hundreds of eager eyes straining to catch every tiny bit if the action. Engines revved. Breaths slowed. Gloved hands gripped harder. Boots inched down on the accelerator. Adrenaline spiked. Heartbeats pounded. She raised her other hand, holding a red flag, slowly bracing her legs in stripper heels apart for more balance. My eyes followed her movements like a hawk, ready to fly the moment she brought that flag down.

The race track was some kind of very dangerous road with sharp bends and ugly surprises, and like any illegal race, there was no fucking way to monitor whatever the racers do once they speed out of here.