A gorgeous woman in a soaking wet bikini walked to the center of the road, standing between the two idling supercars.
She raised a black-and-white checkered flag high above her head.
Duval sat in the driver's seat. He held the steering wheel with one hand, his posture relaxed and utterly indifferent.
In the next lane, the tattooed racer slammed his foot on the gas. The Ferrari's engine screamed, trying to dominate Duval with pure noise.
The woman slashed the flag downward. Both cars launched forward like bullets fired from a gun.
The tires spun wildly on the wet asphalt, burning rubber and sending up thick clouds of white smoke.
Duval's Aston Martin utilized its superior torque. He pulled ahead by half a car length in the first three seconds.
The tattooed man cursed. He stayed right on Duval's bumper, trying to use the slipstream to gain speed for a pass.
The rain poured harder. The windshield wipers thrashed violently, but visibility dropped to near zero.
In the bushes just before the hairpin turn, Eliza stood as still as a stone statue. She didn't even breathe.
The vibration in the ground grew stronger. Blinding headlights swept across the tree trunks.
Eliza counted down in her head. Three. Two. One.
The Aston Martin approached the braking zone at one hundred and twenty miles per hour. Eliza moved.
She leaped out of the bushes like a ghost. She planted her feet directly in the center of the lane, facing the speeding machine.
Duval's pupils contracted into tiny dots.
A normal driver would have jerked the steering wheel to avoid her, sending the car rolling off the cliff. Duval's reaction was pure, selfish calculation.
He slammed the brake pedal to the floor and aggressively downshifted the transmission.
The carbon-ceramic brake rotors exploded with bright orange sparks. The entire chassis shuddered violently.
The supercar lost traction on the wet road. It began to slide sideways, hydroplaning directly toward Eliza.
Eliza stood perfectly still. She didn't blink. She stared coldly through the windshield at the man behind the wheel.
The tires shrieked. The front bumper stopped exactly one inch from Eliza's raw, blood-slicked knees.
The massive G-force threw Duval forward. The seatbelt locked, bruising his collarbone.
The tattooed man saw the obstacle. He laughed like a maniac, swerved into the oncoming lane, and blew past them, taking the lead.
Duval slowly lifted his head. Pure, murderous rage boiled in his eyes. He glared through the glass at the woman who had just cost him the race.
Eliza dragged her bleeding right leg. She limped to the driver's side window.
She raised her blood-soaked left hand and knocked hard on the bullet-resistant glass.
Duval rolled the window down. The air around him felt heavy enough to crush her lungs.
Eliza ignored his killing intent. Her voice was hoarse, but steady as steel. "Do you want to win this two-million-dollar bet?"
Duval sneered. He opened his mouth to order his security to throw her off the mountain.
Eliza looked straight into his eyes. She laid out her terms. "Let me drive. I will win it for you. The price is, you take me out of here and provide the highest level of medical care."
