Phantom Racer Novels & Stories

I was only a hundred feet away. Fifty. Forty. The Lancer was falling further behind. I almost had my full length of the Hellcat ahead of him. Thirty. The Lancer fell in behind my bumper. I wished I could be a fly on the wall inside that car to see the driver unravelling with fury. I knew he wasn’t a stable guy. There was no way. Not with the risks he took on the road and the game of chicken he played with the civilian driver on the open stretch near the beginning of the race.

It's long enough to reach my toes so I pull it up to my stomach. I wear his black Ghost Rider shirt and it's towers over me, but surprisingly makes the fit. Strolling downstairs with Cookie, we join Grandpa and some other people who came around to watch the race. There's a projector that films the race directly from a drone's camera. “Do the honours,” Grandpa says to me, handing over a checked white and black flag to me. A little anxious, I take the flag and rush to the spot where the two cars are firing their engines.

Although the weather was quite cold, Emma's body temperature was burning hot. Philip adjusted the moto, then proudly said: "Are you ok? I just bought this buffalo!" Emma ran her hand over the delicate parts of the car, nodding with amusement. "NCR Leggera 1200 Titanium Special!” This perfect car is very suitable for tough races, suitable for owners who have a passion for extreme thrills. Emma was full of praise, then put on her helmet and jumped into the car. Philip did not travel by motorbike with his lover, but chose for himself a familiar Maybach, then snapped his fingers and signaled:

Standing behind her, I bend over her, shielding her while I whisper into her ear. "Honey, your smashing ass is on full display for everyone here and they are sure enjoying the view. Are you now going to explain to me, what the fuck is going on here?" "Good, as long as they are focused on my ass, they are distracted and they will underestimate me. At least those who don't know me. I'm a driver Dean, a street racer. I drive illegal 1/4 mile races." "You mean, like in the Fast and Furious?" "Yes exactly like that, only that we don't end up stealing or chasing other gangsters," she chuckles full heartedly.

"Yes sir, Noah said, rushing toward those points. Behind him, and Rachel's father seemed to be warming up for the race too. A few minutes later the running race started. Noah underestimated Rachel's father too much because in fact he could run very fast than he expected for a man of his age. But one thing Rachel's father didn't know was that Maximilian Schmidt was the same as Noah parker, a former marine who has won several races at the military base. After going through a very fierce competition with Rachel's father Noah finally won the race and was only three seconds away from Rachel's father before he overtook him and win. They sat stretched out on the grass panting.

The final straight unrolled in front of Dante in a blur of white floodlight and screaming engines, the finish line a thin bright stripe across the track ahead, the crowd along the barriers a single roaring wall of sound and color and gold-foiled masks catching the light. He held the racing line as long as he dared — the inside track, tight and fast, exactly where every driver behind him expected Ghost to be, exactly where the broadcast cameras were already framing him as the inevitable winner of a race that had, twenty minutes ago, simply been a race. "Almost," Ravyn's voice crackled through the radio clipped near the wheel, tight with focus. "Hold it. Hold it—" His knuckles were white on th

I was ready. I had spent months training for this moment and I was ready. The annual Grand Hunt had finally come for this year. Until now, I couldn’t be a part of the festivities because I was too young. The age for eligibility to participate was 24. This year, it was finally my year. I’d been training since before I even qualified. I would do it; I would win. For my family. I had to. I would restore my family name if it was the last thing I’d do.

"And gets to live." "Start!" A sonic boom shook the ground. The race was on. Vehicles roared. Dust exploded. "Go! Go! Go!" Jack yelled. Marcus slammed the gas. The Land Rover surged forward. Immediately, chaos erupted. To their left, a buggy equipped with a flamethrower torched a motorcycle. To their right, the Crocodile's monster truck was trying to ram them. "Marcus! Evasive maneuvers!" Marcus spun the wheel. They drifted across the salt flat, sand spraying over the windshield.

I watched the screen, hands clenched on the metal railing, heart pounding harder than I wanted to admit. He took corners without braking. Flew over uneven slopes like the ground wasn’t allowed to touch him. He wasn’t loud like Rocco. He didn’t need to be. His silence said enough: I came to win. By the final leg, it wasn’t even close. Rocco nudged me. “That’s Romero Mastrandrea. We used to train summers back. Don’t worry, he just likes getting under people’s skin.” Too late. Romero and his co-driver, or whoever his partner was, swept the race. Luis tried, I tried, but it didn’t matter. Every time I looked across the monitor, I saw him.

Hailee smiled sheepishly. “Uh-huh! That was incredible. I wonder who’s the racer behind those mind-blowing stunts.” She giggled dreamily. Well, it got me curious too. But when I moved my gaze down on the racetrack, it was the exact moment as the racer was revealed to our eyes. A silent gasp escaped my lips, my jaw dropped and eyes couldn’t be more wide. Atlas Cameron gorgeously stood up next to his sports car, the blue McLaren. He then, removed his helmet and put it in between his arm and side as he faced the three guys who were seemingly congratulating him.