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Fast Cars and Freedom

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Growing up in a family where your dad operates illegal street races isn't easy. My mother didn't like it either but she loved my father. They were in love. They grew up as best friends, and when my dad moved away, she waited for him. I wanted that kind of love. They were each other's ride or die.

Little did they know, they were going to end up dead on a street in Mexico.

It was my 22nd birthday today, and I wanted more than anything to wake up to my dad watch car shows on tv and my mom in the kitchen making breakfast. Instead, I woke up in Mexico, where I still currently reside in. Most of my family fled to L.A. while I stayed back in Mexico. After being on the run for so long, I decide to give up and stop here. Something was calling me here, but I didn't know who or what. If someone told me that I would have to change my identity to escape from the cops, I would have laughed in their face.

They were right, though.

I had two full sleeves of tattoos, my favorite being the portraits of my parents connected by roses. I had to die my hair black and put dark blue in it so it wouldn't be recognizable. I had to change my name from Freedom Price to Freedom Lopez. I had no idea who I was, and that made my stomach fip. Everytime I stood in the mirror, I saw what was once the old me and I knew my parents were disappointed in me.

I threw my black rope on and walked to the tiny kitchen that came with the equally tiny apartment and poured myself a cup of coffee. I took a sip of the liquid energy and began to feel less of a walking zombie. I switched the tv on, and saw on the T.V. that the old me is presumed to be dead according to that bitch of a news anchor. It was better that I was supposed to be dead than alive and on the run. Cops have stopped swarming the areas where I was "last seen" and seemingly gave up. I turn the T.V. off and decided that a hot shower was best for me.

"Yo, Free. Where's the new parts I ordered? I'm supposed to get a new hydraulic suspension and bullet-proof tires?" Rodney asks. He's one of my annoying regulars and I wish that this guy would just buzz off, not to mention his brother has been hitting on me for three years.

"Rodney, I told you they would be here in a few weeks. We just ordered them yesterday." I said calmly, I was not going to let him anger me. I had to hire new employees today and I didn't want his annoying ass to stop me from my neverending to-do list.

"Well, I need them now, sweetheart. A few weeks isn't going to cut it." Ignoring him, I walked to my office and shut the door, locking it, knowing he would try and come in. No one comes into my office unless they either need something, have something to tell me, or they want a death wish.

"Alright, fine bitch. Be that way. I'll be here in three weeks and I better have those parts!" He slams the shop door and I grab the glass monkey that always seems to fall off my shelf when that damn door shuts.

"At least you don't bother me, buster." I pet the monkey and place him back in his rightful spot.

The time comes for me to close the shop but someone knocks on the glass door, preventing me from shutting the lights off. I sigh, opening the door to only have my breath stolen from me. There was a man about 6 foot tall, bald, and has muscles up the nines. He was wearing a plain black muscle shirt and black cargo pants. Boots and a silver chain with a cross completed the look.

"C-Can I help you with something? I'm about to close." I felt my voice faltering and I cursed my hormones for it.

"Yeah, actually. I need a NOS tank." He puts his hands in his pocket and he stands there and I realize that I didn't open the door all the way for him to come in.

"Oh, god. Yeah, sorry. Our prices range from 100-400 dollars on these bad boys. Make your car go from 30 seconds to 10. Unfortunately, my last one ran out so I'm due for a new one soon."

"You race?" He asks, his hands trailing along the tanks, looking the fine print.

"No." I lied to him, "My Dad used to hold one the illegal street races downtown."

"Wait. Your dad was Malcolm Price? So that means that you're that girl they think is dead."

Shit. "Are you the cops?" I ask, slowly getting behind the counter and resting my hand on the button beneath it.

"No," he shakes his head. "I spent my life on the run too. I'm not a nark, either." I stole back the breath I've been holding in and proceeded to cash him out.

"Thank you." I say quietly, looking at him with respect. "I never caught your name, by the way."

He smirks, causing the heat to pool between my thighs. "Dom. Dominic Toretto." He turns his back and walks out the door, and I think that will be the last I'll see of Dominic Toretto.

There's been talk that was going to be a race held tomorrow night downtown and I was planning to go to it. I was half hoping I could race and half hoping I'd see Dom. So I prepared myself for a long day at work by getting to sleep early and was anxiously waiting for the night.

The next morning I woke up with an insane headache and took some ibuprofen to combat it. I took a scalding hot shower, taking my time to realize what I was risking going out to the races tonight. I didn't care, I missed the adrenaline, and I'm tired of running from good things in my life. Call me crazy, but I feel like Dominic Toretto will be reckoning.

The shop was slow today, so I closed early. I thought that getting early to the races would get me a good spot to watch them. Boy, was I wrong. It was packed and it was only 10 o'clock. Girls in skimpy outfits, guys fighting over who's car is the fastest, and regular people lined the outskirts of the street watching as cars zoomed by them, feeling the adrenaline rush through their veins. I managed to get to the front and I felt underdressed compared to the others. I was wearing navy green cargo pants that hung low on my hips, showing off my Tommy Hilfiger's, with a long sleeve black crop top showcasing my eagle tattoo on my stomach. My shoes were regular tennis shoes because all my other shoes were boots and since I was racing, I didn't want to ruin them.

"Sweet tat, what does it mean?" A girl asks, she's about my age. Latina with dark brown shoulder length hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a dingy t-shirt with black pants and boots.

I smirk at her, "Thanks, for me it means power and self-independence."

She laughs, nodding. "Right on! Are you here to race? It' buy-in, winner takes all."

I nod, grinning and handing her a wad of cash. "I'm in, lemme get my car." I jog to my car, smoothing my hand over the dash. "Alright, baby. Make mama proud."

I roll in with my 1968 Red Chevy Camaro. It's a 7.68 second car with an engine of a 549 big-block Chevy, built with a Dart block, Callies crank, Venolia aluminum connecting rods, and SRP pistons. All the people lined up on the streets back up, intimidated by my muscle car.

"What's your name, kiddo?" The girl from earlier asks, fist-bumping with me.

"Freedom Lopéz. But just Freddy is fine."

"Alright, people! Quiet down! The race is about to start. Tonight we have Freddy in her 1968 Chevy Camaro and Dom in his charger! Be safe, and god be with you sons of bitches!"

What the fuck? I'm racing against Dom? Shit, I should've know he raced. She looks at the cars in front of her and lifts the red flag, and we're off, Dom in the lead and me behind him by a few inches.

We swerve around a corner, and the sound of our tired screeching brings me comfort and I skid by him, smirking at him in the rear view mirror. He races up alongside me and his face is priceless. He didn't know I raced and I hit my NOS button and fly through the finish line skirting to a halt and flying dust up into the people's faces.

"Oops! Sorry, dudes!" I shout out of my car window. I shut of my engine and do a

victory stroll towards my 4 grand.

"Letty, where's the money?" A man asks, he's tall, dark and handsome.

"Roman, hold your fucking horses, I'm coming!" The girl now know as Letty, answers him. She hands me the cold, hard cash and congratulates me.

"It was like taking candy from a baby." I grin.

"Is that so?" A familiar voice asks, and I turn around and it's Dom. He looks good, too good. He was wearing a white t-shirt, and black jeans with boots. He was smirking at me, his arms folded together and the taut muscles bulging out.

"Yeah, it is." I smirk back at him.

"Well, maybe if it weren't for that messed up NOS tank that you sold me, I wouldn't have lost." He steps closer to me and I could smell pine mixed with musk and sweat and It smelled like home … except for the sweat part. "Oh," I say incredulously, "Messed up tank? Last time I checked, I gave you it for 200 dollars instead of 6. I sell only the best, and that's why I have everyone with 10-second cars waiting in line for their shipments." I fold my arms and step closer to him as well, our foreheads almost touching. His chocolate eyes were captivating, pulling me into a place I was scared to go into. His eyes flicker to my lips and then back to my hazel orbs. I smirk at him, I knew his game. He was trying to get me to surrender, little did he know he met his match.

"Yeah, right," He scoffs, "You're good at racing, meet me at my place at 6 o'clock. You'll meet my team." He boldly slips a piece of paper into my exposed bra strap, his fingertips brushing against my skin, sending searing hot tingles throughout my body.

"Maybe." I smirk at him, taking the piece of paper and put in between my teeth, and walk away, swaying my hips and turning back to look and see him watching me, his lips turned up slightly.

"Checkmate," I say to myself, smirking once more.