Lightning Mcqueen Fanart Mga Nobela at Kwento

Then he looks back at the lineup. “Then that’s a neon-accented McLaren. See how the doors are tilted up a little? Like wings getting ready to fly.” He points at a car with glowing green accents that make it look like it’s from the future. “And… a Bugatti. Midnight blue finish.” “She’s so glossy you can see your own reflection trembling on the surface.” He whispers that last part right into my ear, and his breath tickles, making me shiver. “So tell me, baby. Which one?” he asks again, his lips still close to my skin like he'd rather ruin me with kisses than make the choice himself.

I nodded. So he is the heir to the Chua-Sy Empire. “Malcolm Sullivan McQueen” the guy with green eyes introduced himself. I tilted my head to study his face. “You don’t look like a race car to me but how are you related to Lightning McQueen?” I asked. His brows furrowed clearly confused. “What? Who’s that?” “You know the race car that says kachow!” I imitated the cartoon character. “Seriously woman?” he said and went back to his other friends while shaking his head and scratching the back of his neck. I heard he owns an automotive company.

It was low, lethal, and painted a stunning, iridescent volcano blue that shimmered in the sunlight. It looked fast just sitting there. Its roof was down, revealing a cream leather interior that looked softer than butter. "Is that..." I trailed off, not knowing anything about cars other than the fact that Stellan drove expensive ones. "It’s a McLaren Artura Spider!" Maya yelled, shaking my shoulders. "And not just any Artura. That’s the limited Vision edition! It just dropped last week! It’s worth like... three hundred grand! Maybe more! Someone famous must be in the building!"

“Shit. This is nice.” “And hella expensive,” Rick added. “That paint job,” Mason purred. The paint job was slick. I’d give him that. The pearlescent fade between a glittering black and dazzling sapphire blue made for a show stopping vehicle. It was the sort of car you couldn’t drive through the city without drawing the eyes of every man, woman and child on the sidewalk. The cops would fucking hate this thing. The power was unreal and the sound that was sure to come out of it would shake eardrums.

The garage was enormous, a brightly lit cavern with mirrored walls reflecting the gleaming machines within. Six exotic cars, sleek and menacing, sat like sculptures under the spotlights: a midnight blue McLaren P1, a gleaming silver Lamborghini Aventador, a stark white Ferrari 812 Superfast, a dark green Aston Martin DB11, a stealth black Bugatti Chiron, and a vibrant yellow Porsche 911 GT3. Two powerful, almost alien-looking motorcycles – a Ducati Panigale V4 and a Kawasaki Ninja H2 – stood proudly on custom stands. As Hades parked the Mustang, he revved the engine, a raw, deafening roar that vibrated through the concrete space.