Race to the Line

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Max Hamby came off the pole position running hot and never let go of the lead. Fifteen of fifty laps through the Las Vegas streets, he hadn’t eased off yet. Everyone said this was his race to lose—and The Max-Hammer didn’t do that. Though the season wasn’t a third over, the media already touted him as The Unstoppable Season Champion.
They didn’t know shit. For one thing, everybody gunned for the leader. For another, they didn’t have Amy Marsten as a teammate. She was the main reason for his success—because she kept hounding his ass. They’d finished most races this season running one and two, thankfully his one and her two. Today, he’d had a breather for the first fifteen laps because she’d gotten snarled up behind four other drivers and they weren’t letting her through.
The drivers were near as hot for a second-place finish as they were to take his first. Times ten because debut teams were not supposed to dominate until they were old teams. First-year teams like theirs weren’t expected to finish, never mind contend.
Tough shit, Sherlock.
And while Amy kept them all busy in the backfield, he’d gain distance on the pack.
Lap Sixteen, forty-four to go. Second gear around Turn One. Four, fifth, sixth as he slalomed through the next three turns. Then punching up to eighth on the Koval Ave straightaway, rocketing along over three hundred kilometers per hour. Half a klick and six seconds later, he hammered back down to second, barely a hundred kmph into Turn Five. A fast punch up to eighth, around The Sphere—the massive dome shining in the night sky with a graphic of a green flag—then down to second through the double-twist of the tight chicane going under fifty. A brief punch up the gears then down along Sands Ave, readying for the dead slow Turn Twelve.
After that came the Vegas Strip. Two kilometers of wide-open space—he’d soon be cracking three-fifty. Two hundred and twenty miles an hour past The Venetian and the old Flamingo. Gods, but this was the best job on the planet! He’d rocket past the high-firing Bellagio fountains and the towering pinnacle of Paris’ Eiffel Tower in a blur. In the far distance, Aria’s twenty-five story LED billboard marked the end of the run and the three sharp (and slow) turns around Planet Hollywood.
As he eased into Twelve, there she was in his rearview, her car shining in the glow of the course’s night lighting.
Out of nowhere, Amy Marsten had broken free and now sat hot on his tail as he cleared the corner and entered the head of the Strip. He definitely had to watch the tape of how she’d pulled that off. Damn but she was good. Which would have made her seriously sexy, even without looking the way she did.

Initial Publication: June 1, 2025 (Thrill Ride Magazine #10, Fast Cars)
Edit / Re-release: November 1, 2025
Print pages: 70