A Curve In The Road Novels & Stories

Cameron leaned forward, squinting through the visor like he was aiming us at the future. “Okay, next part’s tricky,” he said, fast and focused. “S-curve, downhill. You take it too hard and we spin.” “Confidence, Cam,” I teased. “We’ve literally played Mario Kart for this exact scenario.” “Brandon, this is not Rainbow freaking Road!” I laughed, swerved hard, and nailed the curve. We dipped into the s-curve, and for a second, it was just the hum of the car and Cameron’s breath in my ear. I could feel the tension leave him—like he trusted me. And that?

"It's getting late; let's start." Brad nodded in agreement, and everyone else followed suit. Today, they were racing on a U-shaped road, where the first to reach the finish line would be the winner. The main challenge lay in the sharp bend; controlling speed and drift angle was crucial to avoid crashing. The cars lined up, with the guys sliding into the driver's seats and the girls into the passenger seats. "Buckle up, Iris," Brad reminded her, looking every bit the rebellious young man in his black leather outfit.

That stretch of road was narrow as hell and barely lit – sharp curve, poor visibility, steep fall. Perfect for a fucking nightmare. He'd tried to swerve and missed. The front of his car was crumpled like paper. The roof had caved slightly. One of the front wheels was completely off. Steam hissed from the hood. One of the back doors was hanging open, and there was no movement. No fucking movement. My chest tightened. It was 5 PM, but the sun was already dragging its golden corpse down the sky. The road was lonely without a single car in sight.

On both sides of the car, even the dust and the thin mountain air were sliced in half. The purple body line gently landed and without losing speed sped ahead. It was as if it was driven by an extremely reckless gambler who refused to slow down for even a second. Gary looked at the scene unfolding before him in shock and nearly slowed down. In that almost 45-degree curve, the opposite side of the road was his blind spot. He only saw the front of No.14 but due to the distance between the inner and outer lane, he did not see No.16 for a brief period of time.

she muttered, but she followed the rhythm anyway. In. Hold. Out. The silver hummed hotly, resisting, then slowly slid back from the edges. Ahead, the road bent toward a major intersection—a natural bottleneck. On the corner, under the washed‑out glow of a streetlamp, a **CHECKPOINT** sign hammered into the asphalt reflected back their headlights.

Drew Our vans travel three deep across the Louisville Road bridge, taking a right at the river. We trek a few more miles out into the county and then turn right down one of those old country roads. You know the kind I'm talking about. It has no shoulder, no lines down the middle, and the only people traveling it are those up to no good and the maybe five people who live down it.

“Supply roads.” Rowan jerked the wheel right at the fork so hard Cassian had to brace one hand against the dashboard again. The SUV left the smoother road and slammed onto a rutted dirt path that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Branches whipped against the windshield. The whole vehicle bounced violently, my teeth clacking together as Kael threw one arm across the back of the seat to keep from slamming into me. I hated that his body still angled toward mine like protection was instinct.

I let it take me. The road came first. Dark. Wet. Shining under streetlights that stretched too long, too thin, like they’d been pulled apart. The asphalt glistened as if it were holding its breath. I knew it instantly—the curve near Asher’s house. The place where the trees leaned inward like they were listening, their branches clawing at the night sky. My chest tightened painfully. I wasn’t in a car. I was standing in the middle of the road. No. Running.

“Route 63?” “His Thursday night shortcut. He takes it to avoid traffic after leaving La Cubana. He speeds. Always.” She grins. “What a shame.” “There’s a blind curve about a mile from the cliff. I already measured it. No camera coverage, no lighting. And when it rains?” I tap the photo. “It’s suicide.” Her fingers drum against the map. “We make it rain, then.”

The car was sleek and black and quiet, and the driver looked serious like he had been trained by spies, but the road was not serious at all because it twisted and curved like it was trying to test everyone’s balance and patience at the same time. I had imagined a smooth ride where I would look elegant and mysterious while staring at the sea, but instead I was gripping the door handle like it had personally offended me. “Why is the road shaped like this?” I asked, trying to sound calm even though my body leaned left and right every three seconds. “It is scenic,” Matteo replied with far too much peace in his voice. “Scenic for who, mountain goats?” He actually laughed, and Matteo does not laug