Bound by Shadows

One new text message: Don’t get yourselves killed. The single-sentence text message on the burner sent a chill down Jocelyn’s spine. She quickly turned the phone off and shoved it into the pocket of her ripped jeans, and took a deep breath. The moon hung low in the ink-black sky, casting a ghostly glow over the tarred stretch of road and surrounding trees. Tree leaves of different shades danced lazily in the calm breeze, not concerned with what was happening around them. What should have been just an empty stretch of road on the outskirts of the little town of Chacester, was anything but. Jocelyn stilled her back and looked around her. Rows of vehicles and motorcycles, both sleek and old and very much modified, stood like restless beasts, their engines purring with a suppressed energy just waiting to be unleashed. Music played from a truck parked at the center of the chaos on the small patch of grass. The music was something from the heavy metal genre, with lots of aggressive, electric guitar sound and not enough words. It barely made any sense, but it fit the atmosphere just right and everyone around seemed too captivated with what was happening around to even care. Jocelyn’s eyes flickered across the crowd, scanning the faces for everyone like she had learned to do since she started attending these events almost twelve months ago. She knew the risks involved. At least, she hoped she did. Underground street races were not exactly what a sensible mother of two should have been attending at the unholy hour of one in the morning. But choices were not handed out like free samples at the local supermarket. This was a dangerous place to be. Not only because of the ever-present threat of the police finding out what they were doing. But also because it was a world where secrets were exchanged in whispers in the shadows. And information held a higher currency than any prize money some individuals were there to race for. Including her sister, Diane. And that was why they were there - for the secrets. The faces around looked both familiar and not. That was the usual gathering for these things. Partly because Chacester was just far enough from the bustling city to be considered rural, but still close enough to bring all the rich boys and girls seeking an illegal thrill. Hence, she saw the usual small-town bad boy and crazy girl and the unfamiliar faces of those living a double life from their upstanding citizen image back in the city. Still scanning the crowd, footsteps approaching Jocelyn grabbed her attention. Seconds later, Diane stepped up next to her. Jocelyn had been alert and watching every movement like a potential threat. Thankfully, she immediately recognized her sister, so she didn’t startle. She did, however, turn her head and study her sister for a second before turning back to watch the madness unfolding in front of them. “Anything?” Jocelyn asked in a low voice that wouldn’t carry over the breeze even though there was enough noise around to drown anything they said. Diane shook her head slightly, causing her bronze-brown hair, styled in a sleek bob to bounce around her face before her low voice came out to confirm what Jocelyn already guessed. “Everyone is too hyped up for the races to talk.” Jocelyn frowned. Her eyes wandered again to the vehicles and bikes. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was expected. Every metallic beast parked along the road looked almost spit-polished until it glowed under the combined light from the moon and the headlights of other vehicles. But despite the beauty, there were also obvious dents and scrapes in the custom paint jobs. Scars of countless late-night illegal races that had almost claimed lives. Just then, a roaring exhaust pipe and menacing spoilers sliced through the darkness. Someone was showing off to the congregation of rebellious hearts, pulsating with a shared desire to defy the rules and laws of the concrete jungle. The scent of burnt rubber and gasoline clung to the air, a heady fragrance that mingled with the faint traces of anticipation and rebellion. The aroma was sharp, yet had somehow become alluring since Jocelyn and her sister had joined these daring acts of adrenaline rush. The atmosphere was electric, crackling with a potent mix of camaraderie and rivalry. Everywhere she looked, the excitement on the faces looked the same, whether young and old, streetwise veterans and wide-eyed newcomers. Adrenaline junkies, thrill seekers, and those seeking an escape from the monotony of everyday life all came together under the veil of the night. Tattoos, leather jackets, and miniskirts clashed with sneakers and geeky tucked-in polo shirts. It was a world for everyone. So long as they had the money to pay admission, and they knew how to keep their mouths shut. Jocelyn hoped the second requirement wasn’t too prominent. She needed someone to open their lips and give her something. Laughter, jeers, and hushed conversations blended into a symphony of anticipation. People swarmed around the cars, their animated chatter merging into a collective hum. “Hey, Jo! Baby, come here!” She suddenly heard her name being called above the chaos. Jocelyn and Diane both tensed and turned to face the man with a hand raised in the air to catch their attention. Thankfully, they recovered fast and gave him a smile and a wave before anyone could sense the nervous energy radiating from them in waves. Zan arched a brow at them, obviously waiting for Jocelyn to move and walk over to him. She didn’t want to, but there was a reason she was there and not safe in bed at home. She needed information. Jocelyn released her clenched hand and flexed her fingers. She whispered to her sister, barely letting her lips move. “Let me see what I can get out of this idiot.” She didn’t wait for Diane to respond, knowing it would already be something along the lines of Daphne’s earlier message: Don’t get killed. Easier said than done, but still good advice. Especially since she had no plans to make her precious babies orphans. Just to be certain, her hand casually touched the hidden gun under her leather jacket. Technically, if the situation went south, and she was forced to draw it out, then things were already screwed six ways to Sunday. But it still gave her a little comfort knowing it was there. It was funny how two years ago she would never have imagined this would be her life. But it was. Life hadn’t handed her lemons, it had given her bullets and fire. And Jocelyn was determined to shoot and burn everyone responsible for it.