Street racing. Very much dangerous and very much illegal. So what the hell was Joshua doing here?

Cash had told him to meet him in a seedy lot next to one of the less-used highways in the late hours of the night— for what exactly, he didn’t specify— and expecting to go somewhere else after, he showed up.

What he wasn’t expecting was that a. they were staying, and b. the sheer amount of people there.

They were all around his age, holding drinks and laughing, leaning on parked cars of all shapes and sizes, seemingly waiting for something.

“This better not be what I think it is.” He hisses to his cousin, who just laughs it off. “No, man, if Ruben finds out about this— no, actually, if my mother finds out about this, she’s gonna kill me first, then you, yeah? Do you want to risk your neck too?”

“Oh, buck up a little.” Cash thumps him on the back. “Blame it on me if you’ve got to, but I made sure we have straight cover stories. Besides, you might get, like… inspiration.” “Inspiration.” Joshua repeats in a deadpan voice. “Right. Inspiration from an illegal sport, that I can use in a legal sport…” “Stop all that whining, bruv, the drivers are here, come on…”

And with that, he’s whisked off before he can utter another word. Sure enough, as they approach the front of the crowd, there are four drivers with their cars.

Shipping containers ring this part of the lot, and one of the drivers is showing off, doing donuts and burnouts for a crowd of screaming girls. Joshua just rolls his eyes and looks at the other three.

One driver on the end catches his eye. They’re sitting on the hood of their car and checking the rearview mirrors almost idly, completely unbothered by the competition’s jeering.

He looks around for Cash, but he’s chatting up one of the other drivers, so he shrugs and decides to approach them.