The cheering outside suddenly grew louder, a clear sign that the new arrival was someone with a lot of fans.
Owen was curious. Max had told him that tonight's race would feature three cars, but he had only mentioned Dom. He hadn't said anything about the third driver. Now it was obvious that this wasn't just some random nobody.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, Owen saw an old fastback muscle car approaching. Its shape was similar to Dom's Dodge Challenger. Among the three vehicles, only Owen's Camaro had a somewhat streamlined design, making it the most modern-looking of the bunch.
Both Owen and Dom turned their attention to the middle lane as the newcomer's car gradually moved forward, revealing its driver.
It was him.
No wonder he was getting such a huge reaction from the crowd.
Owen took one look at the man in the driver's seat—wearing a sharp suit, his signature style. Unlike the other racers, whose passenger seats were occupied by stunning women, his was taken by a dog.
The man glanced at Owen and Dom but didn't say a word.
Owen knew this guy. They had crossed paths before, though they had never spoken.
Monica, however, looked confused. She glanced around at the frenzied crowd before turning her eyes to the solemn-looking man and his dog. She couldn't help but ask, "Who is that guy? Why is everyone cheering for him?"
Owen cast another look at the man and explained, "His name is John Wick. He was once a legendary hitman—the king of L.A.'s underground. But after getting married, he retired and completely left the killing business."
Pausing to let Monica process that, he continued, "This guy is good at only two things—killing and driving. And there are only two things he loves: his wife and his dog…"
"That's… kinda weird," Monica muttered, her curiosity piqued. Clearly, this was the first time she'd heard of him.
"It is," Owen admitted. "Here's the thing—after he retired, his wife passed away shortly after. He started drinking heavily, became depressed, and withdrew from society. He disappeared so completely that a lot of the younger generation had never even heard of him."
Then, Owen smirked slightly. "But then, one day, the son of a mob boss took a liking to his car. Not only did he steal it, but he also killed his dog. And that was a huge mistake.
"He went on a one-man rampage across all of L.A., hunting that little bastard down. Nothing could stop him. He didn't care who tried to talk him down—because his dog was dead.
"In the end, not only did he kill that mob boss's son, but he also wiped out the entire gang that tried to protect him. From that day on, his name once again struck fear into the entire L.A. underground."
"All that… over a dog? One man wiped out an entire gang?"
"Yep. Just for a dog."
Monica was stunned. "And what, the cops just let that slide? What about the FBI?"
Owen shook his head. "They didn't interfere. He was just getting revenge, and once it was done, it was over. But if they had tried to go after him and pissed him off enough to come out of retirement? That would have been L.A.'s worst nightmare."
Monica let out a small "Oh…" She treated the whole story like a wild urban legend, but it was definitely entertaining.
Just then, a bikini-clad woman strutted toward the starting line, instantly drawing everyone's attention. The race was about to begin.
The three drivers remained silent inside their cars. Their engines roared, revving aggressively as they pushed their RPMs to the optimal range. All they were waiting for was the signal—one release of the brakes, and these beasts would tear down the road.
"Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!"
The engines kept growling.
Suddenly, the bikini girl reached behind her back, unclasped her top, and flung it high into the air.
With her bare upper body on full display, she started blowing kisses at the three drivers.
But none of them paid her the slightest attention. Their eyes were locked on that airborne piece of clothing.
The moment it hit the ground—
Three sets of brakes released simultaneously.
With the raw power of their V8 engines unleashed, all three cars shot forward like arrows from a bow.
Among them, Owen's Camaro was the slowest. It couldn't be helped—this was a straightaway. Both Dom's and John Wick's cars were absolute kings of drag racing. His Camaro couldn't compare to them in sheer acceleration.
Especially Dom's Dodge Challenger—an absolute monster. Its modified V8 engine not only had increased horsepower but also featured a supercharger system that protruded aggressively from the hood, adding to its intimidating presence.
Owen had no idea how Dom had tuned that engine, but the moment the car launched, its front wheels lifted off the ground. No wonder it was nicknamed the "nine-second quarter-mile beast."
Owen's hands and feet worked in perfect coordination—clutch, gear shift, throttle, all changing rapidly. His speedometer climbed from 0 to 80, then 80 to 120, then 120 to 180.
He was getting faster, but the gap between him and the other two cars was only increasing. This wasn't good. If he fell too far behind on the straightaway, no amount of skill would help him catch up later.
Making a quick decision, Owen flipped open a small cover on the dashboard, revealing a red button—the nitrous oxide boost.
This system, known as NOS (Nitrous Oxide System), injected liquid nitrous oxide into the engine. The compound would break down into oxygen and nitrogen, increasing combustion and power while cooling the engine and raising compression.
Anyone who modified cars knew about this—it was a drag racer's best friend. The downside? It only worked for a few seconds. Use it for too long, and the engine would blow.
Dom and John Wick's cars almost certainly had NOS as well, but they were saving it for later. Owen knew he should've done the same, but he had no choice. He needed to close the gap now.
Boom!
As he slammed the button, flames shot out from the exhaust. The car surged forward with a sudden burst of speed. Owen gripped the wheel tightly—at this velocity, even a small rock on the road could cause a fatal crash. He had to stay razor-focused.
Monica clutched the grab handle, but a wild exhilaration spread across her face.
The Camaro flew down the road.
Dom's Challenger was still in first place, followed closely by John Wick's Mustang. The Mustang was only about a car length behind.
But Owen's Camaro was rapidly closing the distance on the Mustang. Within moments, he was side by side with it.
"Whoooaaa! Ohhh yeah!!"
The crowd erupted in excited cheers. They hadn't expected such an intense moment so soon—not even thirty seconds into the race!
Especially with Owen's Camaro using NOS this early—it was an unconventional move, but that only made the crowd even more hyped.
Owen couldn't hear them. His full attention was on the road ahead. At this speed, even if Monica spoke to him, he wouldn't register it.
Everything was happening at the limits of human reaction time. Owen had to focus completely just to process the road conditions in real-time.
By sacrificing his Camaro's NOS early, he had finally caught up to the Mustang. The two cars were now side by side.
John Wick, an experienced veteran, didn't panic over the loss of position. He knew better than to lose his composure.
The three cars tore down the highway, Dom's Challenger still in the lead.
The straightaway was ending—first corner up ahead.
Owen grinned.
Now it's my turn.
"SCREEECH—"
The tires screeched as all three cars drifted into the corner simultaneously, kicking up smoke.
Owen's earlier positioning paid off—his tighter entry angle let him overtake the Mustang by half a car length.
Now he was in second place.
His Camaro clung tightly to Dom's Challenger, blocking John Wick's Mustang from advancing.
Another sharp S-curve came up. Owen yanked the wheel, tapped the handbrake, then countersteered—executing a perfect drift while keeping the throttle pinned.
The move was flawless.
But Dom wasn't easy to shake.
For Owen to take the lead, Dom would have to make a mistake. And that was unlikely.
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