Chapter 507

Chapter 507:

Everyone froze at Madisyn’s words, eyes wide with disbelief.

“No chance. Madisyn, racing is a wrong move, and you could get hurt. Most people can’t handle those speeds,” Waylon said, his refusal sharp and immediate.

“Then I’ll tell Mom,” Madisyn replied.

Waylon’s words caught in his throat as he stared at his sweet, innocent-looking sister. He cursed himself silently for ever bringing her along.

“Relax. I’ll be fine. I won’t get hurt,” Madisyn said. Her tone was light but determined.

Waylon’s shoulders slumped in defeat. The last thing he wanted was for their mother to know about this. Reluctantly, he gave in. After all, he knew this track like the back of his hand. He’d raced here a hundred times and trusted his own skills. There was no way he would let anything happen to his sister.

Madisyn climbed into the passenger seat beside him, a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

With the crack of a starting gun, the race erupted into action. The roar of engines filled the air as sleek sports cars shot forward, a blur of colors and metal.

The HB Club boasted some of the finest vehicles, and the gap between the cars became obvious within moments. Wesley’s car surged ahead, dominating the track. Jada and some others crowded around the monitor, their faces tense.

“I have no idea what the YM Club members are thinking. Even if Ronan showed up, they wouldn’t stand a chance,” one of the HB Club members said with a sneer, unable to hide his disdain.

Jada lifted her cup, her lips curling into a subtle smirk as she took a slow sip of coffee.

Then something unexpected happened.

Waylon’s car started to inch ahead, slipping past the other HB Club cars until it was running in second place, just a breath behind Wesley’s.

“This Ronan guy is impressive!”

The HB vice-captain was fazed. “No way! Our cars are all ahead of the other cars from their club. I’ll signal Aikin now,” he said, already reaching for his radio. Inside his car, Waylon’s focus was razor-sharp, his eyes locked on Wesley’s taillights.

Wesley had definitely leveled up his game.

Three hundred meters ahead was a sharp right turn. “Madisyn calmly announced from the passenger seat.

Waylon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. His sister had even seen this track before. How could she possibly know the turns?

“Madisyn, be honest. Have you been sneaking out and racing here?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Without missing a beat, Madisyn replied, “Now’s not the time for that. A series of tight turns are just ahead.”

Waylon’s lips twisted into a confident smirk. “Alright, sit tight. Drifting is where I shine!”

Madisyn barely blinked as Waylon expertly tackled the turn. “Hit the gas, shift to sixth, angle thirty degrees for the next one,” she instructed.

“Are you out of your mind? That’s a hairpin turn! We’ll crash if we go any faster!” Waylon hesitated, his grip tightening on the wheel.

“Trust me; nothing’s going to go wrong.” Madisyn’s voice was calm, her eyes locked onto Waylon’s. For reasons he couldn’t explain, her steady gaze made him follow her lead without question.

In the blink of an eye, his car slid into a flawless drift, hugging the curve and overtaking Wesley in one motion.

Wesley blinked, startled by the sudden shadow that zipped past him. A second later, he realized he’d been overtaken.

The HB Club members erupted in shock.

“Wait, what? Isn’t that Rosemarie’s signature drift?”

“When did Ronan pick that up?” Even Jada’s jaw dropped.

Rosemarie was a legend, the queen of the racing world, known for racking up international awards. That drift was her trademark, one that Jada had tried—and failed—to master for years.

“What are you doing out there? Wesley just got overtaken!” the vice-captain barked into the walkie-talkie, his voice sharp with frustration.

The other racers scrambled to keep up with Ronan, but they were powerless. Some considered dirty tactics, but it didn’t matter—they couldn’t get close enough to touch Ronan’s car.

They had to race two laps to decide the winner, and Waylon now led the pack. Bewildered for a moment, he quickly snapped back to the present. There was no room for error. They had to win!

“Madisyn, how do you know that move?” Waylon asked, disbelief creeping into his voice.

“Just focus on the race. We’ll talk after,” Madisyn replied coolly.

Waylon clenched his jaw, swallowing his questions, and refocused on the track ahead.

But as they hit the second lap, two HB Club cars swerved in front of them, blocking their path and cutting off their speed.

“These jerks!” Waylon slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the horn blaring angrily into the trees around them.

Wesley was closing in fast.

The moment he approached, the HB Club cars parted, letting Wesley slip through effortlessly before closing ranks again, blocking Waylon’s car.

“Unbelievable! These guys have no shame!” Waylon’s frustration spilled out, but there was nothing he could do. The YM Club members, who were not racing, got angry. “You’re breaking the rules! Move out of the way!”

“Who said it’s against the rules?” a smug HB Club member shot back. “Racing’s all about skill. If you can’t pass, that’s your problem.”

These HB Club racers were shameless—all of them!

One of the YM Club members snapped, fist raised, ready to strike. But before he could land the punch, an HB Club racer sneered, “Go ahead, hit me. We’ll get the cops involved and see how you deal with that.”

Another YM Club member quickly grabbed his teammate’s arm, pulling him back. “Cool it. Hitting them won’t win us this race.”

“But they’re taking it too far! I can’t stand this!” the man shouted, his frustration boiling over.

Was this really how it would end for them—blocked and helpless?

The YM Club members stood in silence, shoulders sagging with defeat. Life seemed brutally unfair.

Their boss had been harmed by the HB Club’s boss, and now they were being publicly humiliated by the same members.

What was the point of even racing anymore? “If there’s no fairness in this circle, should I stay?” one of the YM Club racers muttered, unzipping his racing suit in frustration.

“Hold up—look at that!” someone slapped him hard on the shoulder. The racer froze, eyes widening as he glanced at the monitor, witnessing something unbelievable.

Inside Waylon’s car, Madisyn remained calm. “Hug the edge and get ready to floor it,” she instructed with precision.

Waylon didn’t hesitate. After what had just happened, he was fully convinced by her skills. As they approached the cliffside, he skillfully followed Madisyn’s plan, steering with a sharp focus.

The HB Club cars in front had no intention of moving aside; they were content to block Waylon until the finish line. The racers inside their cars snickered, smug in their dirty tactics.

But one of them caught something shocking in his peripheral vision. His head whipped to the side, eyes widening in disbelief as he saw Waylon speeding along the cliff’s very edge, overtaking them with ease and vanishing ahead in an instant.

The shock was so intense that the HB Club members froze—long enough for the cars behind to slam into them, creating chaos.

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