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A Driven World Novel
By
Vi Summers
Contents
Introduction
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue—Part A
Epilogue—Part B
Also written by Vi Summers
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also written by K. Bromberg
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places,
events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or
persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book
may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
Dear Reader,
This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I
allowed them to use the world I created and may have assisted in
some of the plotting, I took no part in the writing or editing of the
story. All praise can be directed their way.
Thank you for supporting the writers in this project and me.
Happy Reading,
K. Bromberg
Dedication
It’s an honor to write within this amazing world with you all.
Vi xx
Chapter 1
-Raf-
Exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke filled the night air, intoxicating in
a way that never failed to get me high in its own special way.
Rumbling turbo engines competed with music bass, both loud
enough to be felt throughout my entire body. Energy radiated off the
crowd of hundreds, thick enough to taste while electrifying the
adrenaline boost surging through my veins.
I was in my own fucking Kingdom; the one I owned. The one
where I was God.
Standing at the epicenter of the buzz was almost enough to
make my cock hard. The scantily-clad women scattered throughout
the sea of people had the same effect. Like the spectating guys,
they weren’t here to race. Unlike the spectating guys, those bitches
were here to showcase their cleavage, and then go home with some
deadbeat for a line of coke and a quick fuck to end their night on a
man-made high.
I heard my name being yelled above the music and I smirked
knowing Shady Sam was about to appear. Shades, as I called him,
made his way over to where I stood a few steps away from the open
hood of my Supra RZ. I owned multiple cars, and this one with the
holographic custom paint job was my baby for the streets—she
hadn’t let me down yet.
Shades was the street race orchestrator and money man.
Wanted to race? You had to front up to him with the cash. If he
didn’t deem you worthy, then you didn’t get a buy-in.
These meets weren’t for pimple-faced wannabes handing over
their weekly allowance. They didn’t belong in this world—my world—
and I should know; I’d been running these circuits for well over a
decade.
Shades stopped to appreciate a leggy brunette that thrust her
tits in his face, and I cocked a lip when he murmured low-toned
words against her ear—no doubt detailing a rendezvous time and
place for later.
A hand landed on my ass and another on my shoulder. Two lithe
bodies slid against either side of my own, and I didn’t need to look
to know Stevie and Tequila had arrived. One blonde, one dark. Who
was I to deny either of them? We had a thing, the three of us. One
where if they showed, we rolled later.
Shades finally withdrew his hand from the woman’s ass and
resumed his exaggerated swagger toward me. “How’s it hangin’,
brother?”
“Good, bro. You?”
“Rollin’, ballin’, and face deep in pussy, just the way I like it.”
I shouted a laugh that barely penetrated the thumping music as
I slapped my hand in his and pounded my fist on his back. Greeting
complete, I stepped back and extracted a tight five-grand roll from
my jeans pocket.
“Still five?” I asked with a smirk.
“You know it, brah.” Shades’ meaty fist closed around the cash
and he tucked it into his inner jacket pocket, next to a snub-nosed
revolver.
Slinging an arm around Tequila’s shoulders, I let Stevie please
herself grinding against my back. “How many tonight?” I asked
Shades.
“You’re the sixth,” he drawled, with a half-cocked grin. “Word on
the street sayin’ there’s some new kid try’na break into the circuit.”
I scoffed. Good fucking luck. “He any good?”
Shades didn’t comment. Instead, he grinned with a wicked look
in his dark eyes. He was hard to read at the best of times. Add that
to his shady dealings, and we had ourselves the ultimate ‘go to’ guy.
He’d been running the streets long before Colton and I first got
addicted to the taste of nitro, speed and pussy.
Colton hit the big time not long after we’d begun to make a
name for ourselves. He was one hell of a driver, I gave him that,
though he had issues, a volatile temper, and a past as dark as
Shades’ skin. As close as we had been as teenagers, we gradually
lost touch and I hadn’t seen him since.
All these years later, I was still street racing illegally by night
and fueling the devil that had a dirty thirst for the adrenaline that
only came with racing. Reaching speeds of up to 100mph through
the deserted suburban streets of Los Angeles, during the early hours
of the morning, was a kick like no other. I thrived on that shit. Lived
for it.
In contrast to the underbelly world I ride and die for, by day I
was an entrepreneur; legally sourcing unicorn cars for rich idiots
willing to pay whatever it took to get what they couldn’t find
themselves.
“When have any of them ever been any good?” Shades asked,
while casually pursuing the smorgasbord of ass on display.
Filling my palms with Tequila’s behind, I squeezed while
maintaining my conversation with Shades. “I could count them all on
two hands.”
“Exactly,” he replied, with a finger point.
“Well, if he doesn’t show soon, he’ll be losing the race before it’s
even started.”
“He’s gon’ pussy out anyway,” Shades drawled and shrugged.
He then turned to another woman in disastrously high heels. “Hey,
baby, how you doin’?”
She ran a hand across his chest while sauntering past, ass
hanging out the bottom of a scrap of material that wrapped around
her waist.
Despite the meat buffet, I was content with my two slices. Sure,
I liked to keep it non-exclusive, but I limited how many women I
sank my cock into during any given period; I still, of course, had
standards.
Turning to appreciate Stevie dancing to the heavy bass, I licked
my lower lip and bent back to fully appreciate her never-ending legs.
I had a good feeling about tonight; it seemed like a good night to
earn an easy thirty-to-forty grand and then celebrate with not one,
but two willing women.
The sea of people parted on demand for a revving engine, and
a pimped-out late model Toyota 86 idled to a stop close by. It no
doubt packed some serious heat under the hood, and while I was
curious, I was more interested in the driver. He at least looked the
part. His driving skills, however, remained to be seen.
The newcomer scanned the crowd, obviously searching for a
certain individual. By pure luck, his eyes settled on Shades and
recognition filtered over his face. Without looking around, he pushed
through the crowd that had gathered around his car and stopped a
few feet away from my boy.
“Shady Sam?” the kid asked, darting a nervous sideways glance
at me when I stepped close to hear the conversation.
It was none of my business, but him interrupting my
conversation with Shades just made it mine.
Shades barked a laugh. “Depends who’s askin’?”
Newbie pulled back his shoulders and stood tall with an air of
arrogance that made my top lip curl.
“Arlo Linetti.”
“And just what do you want, Arlo Linetti?” I sneered.
His eyes narrowed on me and he puffed his chest further. “You
are?”
He either had balls the size of eighteen-inch alloys, or he had a
rod so far up his ass it penetrated his brain and took away his
situational fucking awareness.
Sniggering wickedly and running my tongue over my lower lip, I
took a calculated step closer and tilted my head to the side when I
got up in his grill.
“Pretty little boy like you shouldn’t come here askin’ questions
like that. If you knew who I was, you’d fucking show some respect.”
“I’ll show some respect once I see a reason to give it.”
I lifted my brows at Shades and gave him an is this idiot for
fucking real? look.
Shades pursed his lips and shook his head. “You ain’t riding this
race, kid.”
“What?” he spluttered. “Just because of this guy? That’s fucking
bullshit. I’ve got a car, I’ve got the buy-in, so it seems that this
pussy is scared of some decent competition.”
I shot out my hand left and slammed my palm against Shades’
chest before his retort shut down the kid’s bullshit attitude.
“You know what? Why don’t we make an exception, Shades? Let
the kid race. I’ll be glad to take his cash.”
A dirty smirk crossed Shades’ face at my suggestion, and my
hand fell away.
“Sounds like a fine-ass idea, brother.”
Arlo’s expression immediately turned skeptical. “What’s the
catch?”
Spreading my arms wide, I gestured to myself in a show that
others around me knew all too well; cocky, arrogant, egotistical—I’d
been called it all, and it was all true. I walked around like my shit
didn’t stink, because that was what the crowd here tonight had
hyped me up to be.
“Losing to the best,” I declared.
The cocky little prick laughed in my face. “Seriously, are you still
here?”
I glowered in anger while Shades’ chuckle was close to
dangerously unhinged. “Ooh, kid, you’d better check yourself before
runnin’ your mouth, because what my man Raf wants, my man Raf
gets.”
With my non-existent point proven, I turned my attention back
to my two women dancing with each other, an arm’s length away.
“Raf, as in…?” I heard the kid ask.
“Ortiz,” Shades enunciated over the music with distinct
amusement in his tone.
Arlo finally put two-and-two together. “Ah fuck.”
My name was gold on these circuits, and while Arlo would have
heard it breathed in certain circles, I purposely kept a low profile
where I could; it was better for daylight business that way.
Tonight, Arlo Linetti was going to find out what it was like to
lose to the King of the street, just like every other asshole here
tonight.
Chapter 2
-Raf-
Dropping down a gear to help slow enough to take the sharp corner
without braking, I pushed my car hard and fast through the turn.
Arlo’s brake-lights flashed red in front of me for a split-second before
he surged out of the corner.
Lights blurred out of the side windows as we wove our way
through the sleeping suburban streets of L.A. I chanced a glance in
the rear-vision mirror to see the initial pack of seven had thinned out
to a breakaway pack of three, putting me in a comfortable second
place.
A long straight had me planting my foot and welcoming the
surge of power that pressed me into the seat. The sensation never
got old. The rush took me back to when I was a kid, spinning shit
and talking a big game, trying to earn a quick buck while outrunning
my demons for fifteen minutes.
The memory had my glare narrowing on Arlo’s bumper as he
braked and took a hard left a little too fast, causing him to drift
wide.
I sniggered. Rookie mistake. Despite the opportunity to whip
past on the inside line, I hung back to toy with him. Let him think he
had the upper hand while biding my time to show him how the big
boys played ball.
The guy in third dropped behind as I kept pace with Arlo’s
attempt to break away. My smirk turned into a gritted grin as I cut
the next turn tight on the inside line while the kid swung a fraction
too wide again. Obviously, he didn’t learn from his mistakes.
Accelerating out of a gear change, I glanced left and laughed at
Arlo’s expression. He was fucking losing it—tensed jaw, red in the
face, wringing the steering wheel like it needed to die. When he
dashed a quick look across and saw me laughing my ass off at him,
his brows pulled low and one hand left the wheel.
“Go on, kid. Do it already,” I goaded, despite the taunt being
lost to the noise of my engine.
I wasn’t surprised when his car shot forward and put two
lengths on me. It brought on a second round of my race-crazed
laughter.
“Another rookie mistake, Arlo Linetti,” I crowed.
Up ahead, a quarter of a mile away, the finish line lights grew
closer by the second. Smirking devilishly and biding my time until
the last possible moment, I flicked the cover off the boost button on
my steering wheel and firmly pressed it. My Supra shot forward in
response to the nitrous oxide deposited directly into the fuel line,
feeding the turbocharged beast with a surge of power that
heightened my car’s already high-end performance.
The last stretch was a velocity-induced blur. Barely a few single
seconds passed before I crossed the finish line, and in first place no
less.
Idling into the waiting crowd after getting my speed under
control, I parked up and stood from the car as my hard-core fans
packed closer. The King had proven himself once again.
Shades shoved his way through the partiers and threw his arms
wide. “And he does it again. It’s payday, motherfucker!”
My only show of celebration was clapping my palm against his
and pulling him in for a back slap. “Just another night at the office,
brother.”
“And a damn good night at that,” Shades whooped, while
digging into his inner jacket pocket.
He extracted a thick wad of cash and tossed it at me. “Don’t
spend it all at once—not when you can get your pussy for free
tonight.”
I sniggered; buying women wasn’t my thing. However, if I just
‘happened’ to find myself celebrating at a strip bar, then yeah, I
would dish out a few grand, purely for personal entertainment, of
course.
“Now that was close!” a voice crowed behind me.
Turning on my heel, I cocked a brow and laughed at Linetti
swaggering in my direction.
“Kid, that was nowhere near close.”
“Not from where I was sitting,” he shouted, so hopped-up on
adrenaline that he practically skipped.
I gave Shades a bewildered look and thumbed at Linetti. “This
kid for real?”
His reply faded into the background as I stepped into Linetti’s
space and came nose-to-nose to him. Time to school him on how we
rolled.
“Close is where they have to look at a fucking photo to see who
won. That-” I pointed over my shoulder. “Was an ass-whopping.”
Much to his credit, he held my glare and didn’t back down like
any other coward would. “Next time it won’t be.”
Anger ignited in my veins and all that was once cool, calm and
collected, charged to the surface. My hand itched to throw a punch.
In fact, it dared him to make the mistake of crossing me a second
time.
Sensing my sudden change in temperament, his cocky attitude
extinguished like a finger on a wick. He forced a smirk that didn’t
match the new fear in his eyes, and luckily for him, he stepped back
before I shoved him from my space. I continued to glare as he
strode to his car with his tail between his legs.
“Brah,” Shades’ voice broke my focus.
“I was about to throw down, man.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “He’ll get it one day, brother.
Now, let’s bounce before-”
“Cops!” someone shouted at the top of their lungs.
That one word had the same effect as pouring gasoline on
roaches; the sea of people scattered in a million different directions.
Engines roared to life over the chaotic yelling and tires squealed as
people panicked in their rush to escape.
I slid into the driver's seat of my Supra and immediately got
swept up in the mass evacuation. Brake lights flashed, doors opened
to let more people into the cars ahead, and the disorder created
confusion at every intersection.
My radar chirped when it picked up on a police conversation
across restricted channels.
“Mass gathering of illegal street racers dispersed. Majority
heading East on…”
“Fuck,” I cursed, and hung a tight left to head in the opposite
direction. I wasn’t the only one either; a handful behind me took the
same deviation.
Years of experience in this situation told me that you don’t drive
it like you fucking stole it, instead, you needed to match the traffic
flow to not draw attention. I did just that as two cars from the
gathering sped through the red light I’d stopped for.
Horror played out in slow motion.
A pedestrian stepped from the curb without checking for traffic.
The first driver swerved in the nick of time. The other didn’t.
A scream tore from my mouth as if it could halt time and
prevent the inevitable from happening. Reality crashed over me at
the same time the man’s body hit the sidewalk, unmoving. Cursing
while checking the streets connected to the intersection, I ran the
red light and pulled up at the opposite curb.
I dialed 911 and the operator’s voice spoke in my ear as I
dropped to my knees beside the man.
“Nine one-one, what is your emergency?”
“Ambulance. There’s been a hit and run on…” I panted, and
glanced around for the street names.
A slow trickle of blood seeped out from under his head. I went
to check the injury, but pulled back from touching him. The sight of
an unmoving body and pooling blood brought back debilitating
memories from my childhood. I’d never had to confront them like
this, and it took me back to when I was fourteen and fucking
helpless all over again.
“Sir?” the operated asked. “Are you with the casualty right
now?”
“Shit,” I cursed, and forced myself to swallow down the bile that
burned its way up my throat. “Yes, I am.”
I looked down at the disheveled man, only now seeing that he
appeared to be one of the city’s many homeless. With my phone on
speaker, I shrugged off my t-shirt and gingerly lifted the man’s head
with shaking hands. The increased blood flow made my stomach
churn.
“Head injuries. He’s bleeding,” I yelled through the nausea.
Dropping my gaze down his body, my gut clenched from the odd
angle of his legs. “Broken legs,” I choked out.
“Does he have a pulse?” the operator urged.
My trembling fingers were numb as I pressed them to his
throat. Closing my eyes against the scene and biting back the need
to vomit, I tried to focus on what I felt, other than what I saw and
smelled—both of which brought my dormant demons to life.
I exhaled harshly. “Faint pulse.”
A second wash of relief came when sirens permeated the night
air. As if losing time, an ambulance pulled up, followed by two police
cars.
Great.
I stepped back from the man and gave as many details to the
ambulance staff as I could, then left them to their job. Propped
against the rear spoiler of my car, I sucked in deep lungfuls of air,
desperately trying to regain control over my shaking body. I was
locked inside the memories that tore my family apart when a blue
uniform appeared at my side.
“I need to take your statement, Mr…”
“Ortiz,” I supplied gruffly.
I diligently answered his questions until he added another. “And
what are you doing out at this time of night?”
“On my way to pick up a friend from a nightclub,” I straight-
faced lied. It was plausible since I was, in-fact, heading in the
appropriate direction.
The officer’s expression filled with doubt. “In this car?”
“Yes.”
“And with no shirt on?”
I pursed my lips and stared for a beat. Was he for fucking real?
“I used it to try and stop his bleeding.”
Officer Eliopoulos’ eyes studied me intently. “Were you involved
in an illegal street race half an hour ago?”
“No.”
As if the fates aligned, my phone rang in my back pocket.
Keeping my eyes trained on the officer and moving with slow,
exaggerated movements, I extracted my phone from my jeans and
accepted the call.
Shades’ voice boomed so loud I had to pull the phone away
from my ear. “Where you at, brah?”
Thank Christ that was all he said.
“I’m on my way. Got a little held up downtown. There was an
accident…”
“Shit,” he hissed. “Okay, fuck, I’ll wait outside.”
“Yeah.” I hung up and raised my brows at the cop. “Was there
anything else?”
Shades and I had become good at code-talk over the years, and
we both knew to never give away more than absolutely necessary if
shit went down. Hence the ‘got a little held up’.
The officer noted down my phone number and registration, and
said he would be in touch if he needed further information. For the
moment, I was free to go.
Before folding myself into my car, I pointed at the CCTV
cameras above us—thankful for the first time that they were dotted
throughout the city.
“Not that I’m telling you how to do your job, but it might be
wise to check those.”
With that, I conservatively peeled away from the scene of the
accident, only then becoming aware of a media van parked across
the street.
Hissing under my breath, I called Shades back while heading for
home.
Chapter 3
-Raf-
Shit! I clicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the couch. That
was all I needed; my face plastered over the damn morning news,
videoed leaving the scene of a crime, and the media implying I had
been the one to take the man’s life.
Disturbance rolled within me again. The ghosts of my past
began to rise, bringing with them the memories I wish I could erase.
Not just for my sake, but my mamá’s and my sister’s, too.
Barely five minutes passed before I received the first phone call
from one of my clients. He’d seen the morning news and now he
wanted answers. Clients like him I couldn’t afford to lose—not when
the commission meant I didn’t have to work a normal nine-to-five.
An hour later, I was pulling out of my driveway, on my way to
meet with another client. I’d spent years building a reputable name
and business of sourcing dream cars of all descriptions. I knew at
some point in time both sides of my world would eventually collide,
but I didn’t want it to happen like this.
Barely making it a half a block down the street, the driver’s door
of a red Ferrari F12 swung open, and a guy stepped out. He pulled
his baseball cap lower, remotely locked his car, then stood in the
middle of the road. Not wanting to witness another man run down, I
slowed and wildly gestured at him to move his ass.
Intending to drive around him, I rolled down the passenger
window and leaned over. “Get the fuck off the road, asshole.”
The guy bent at the waist and flashed me a grin through the
open window. Recognition fell into place.
“The fuck?” I slammed on the brakes at the same time he
tugged the door open and threw himself into my passenger seat.
“Colton?” I exclaimed, and did a double-take.
“Drive,” he demanded. No Hello. No Hey brother, how’s it going?
Just Drive.
Hissing a curse, I planted a foot and accelerated down the
street while my head reeled. “What the hell, man?”
I hadn’t seen Colt in years, and now he was in my car, chilling in
the passenger seat as if we were still tight as fucking thieves.
“So… how’zit?” I asked, and stole another glance his way.
He adjusted his cap on his brow and chuckled. “I was about to
ask you the same.”
I barked a laugh. “Heard the news, did you?”
A snigger came from the right—one that was deeper than when
we were kids, but familiar all the same. “You do it?”
“The fuck you think, man? I’ve done some shady-ass shit over
the years, but that?” I shook my head. “Na-ah. I saw him run down,
Colton. I tried to save him.”
He reached for the overhead handle as I hooked a tight right
through an intersection.
“No need to explain to me, Raf. I know how the media twist and
warp things without giving a fuck about how it comes across to the
outside world.”
I snorted. “Well, you do have a knack of attracting attention.
Only difference here is that I’m trying to not draw attention to
myself.”
Colton’s snigger filled my car. “Don’t bullshit me, Raffie. You still
thrive on the attention and atmosphere each race night brings. I can
see it on your damn face. Once a racer, always a racer. It’s in our
blood.”
“You and I lead very different lives now, Colt.” I laughed bitterly.
I wasn’t resentful of him hitting the big time; I was bitter that I
had to keep my love of racing contained within the underground.
Finding rare cars for my clients was a thrill in itself, but nothing
compared to the one I got when behind the wheel.
As if proving the point, I weaved in and out of traffic at pace,
then circled the block to head back in the direction we came from.
“There’s more at stake now, Colton,” I added, after a few
drawn-out minutes.
“Always is,” he murmured, looking out of the passenger window.
“So, you think I did it?” I asked, referring to the hit and run last
night. Not that it actually mattered, but still, I had to ask.
Colton glanced across and flashed me another lop-sided smirk.
His green eyes danced with serious undertones. “Does it really
matter what I think?”
“Fuck no, and yet, here I am askin’.”
I caught his shrug in my peripheral vision. “You’ve never given
me a reason to mistrust you, so yeah, for what it’s worth, I believe
you.”
The background music of the radio filled the extended silence as
I mindlessly wove through the streets. All brainpower concentrated
on trying to work out why, after a decade and a half, Colton
Donavan was riding shot-gun in my black Nissan GT-R.
“So, since I’m suddenly playing chauffeur, where are we
heading?”
Colton chuckled and waved a hand. “Just wherever. This won’t
take long.”
My eyes narrowed on the road. “What won’t take long?”
His voice lost the humorous edge. “I have a business proposal.”
My sharp outburst of laughter sounded forced. “What the fuck
kind of business proposal could you have for me? You and I are in
different leagues now, brother.”
Looking each way at an intersection, I took the corner fast and
got a little drift on, just like old times.
Colton let out an amused chuckle. “You’ve still got it, Raffie.”
“Damn right, I still got it. Have you seen my track record?” I
asked, surprised as hell when he drawled, “As a matter of fact, I
have. Impressive.”
I rolled to a stop at a red light and cast a cocky look sideways at
him.
Colton scoffed. “I see your ego is still intact.”
I casually slung a wrist over the steering wheel while waiting for
the green and smirked. “Pot calling the kettle black, man. You’ve got
enough ego for the both of us.”
He simply grinned and didn’t bother denying it—we both knew I
spoke the truth.
“We started in the same league and look at us now; I’m the
best in mine, and you’re the best in yours,” he stated.
Well-earned pride rose in my chest, yet I locked down the grin.
Compliments from Colton were rarely handed-out back in the day,
and as much as I savored it, I refused to let it show.
Toggling my feet and getting the perfect balance between clutch
and accelerator, the power of my GT-R’s engine demanded to
unleash while we waited for the light to change. I would be off the
mark within a split-second of the green light, and I was primed and
waiting.
An older Skyline with three young guys in pulled up beside us,
windows down, music blaring, and yahooing at the top of their
lungs. I didn’t miss Colton pull his cap lower while sinking further
into the seat.
My head snapped to the carload of guys as soon as the driver
revved the engine. I burst out laughing at his amateur show of skills.
Revving my engine in response, I checked the light while the youths
whooped and goaded me into a race.
“You gonna do it, Ortiz, or pussy out?” Colton drawled with a
smirk.
“Don’t test me, Donavan,” I growled, trying to ignore the
heckling from the car beside us.
The traffic on either side of the intersection slowed.
Colt sniggered. “You’ve got approximately three seconds to
decide, Raf.”
Turning a smirk on guys next door, I pressed a little harder on
the accelerator and felt my car instantly react. I looked back at the
light the millisecond it turned green and stomped on the gas,
surging through the intersection with a well-timed gear change that
put us two lengths in front of the carload of wannabes.
Colton cracked a laugh. “Oh, come on, you could at least toy
with them a little.”
Sufficiently provoked, I slowed just enough to allow them to
think they had a chance, then cut sharply into their lane,
accelerating perfectly to avoid getting rear-ended.
It took a few blocks for the adrenaline to subside from my
veins, and when my ‘day driving’ had returned to acceptable speeds,
I wove through suburbia while cutting the crap with Colt.
“Look, man, as much as I’m loving this blind date, how about
you get to the point?”
He took off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his dark
hair. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, and
you’re the perfect person to bring on board to make it happen.”
“Which is?” I pressed.
“A foundation to hand-pick the cream of the street racing
youths, and give them the opportunity to break into the pro circuit.”
“Like you?” I deadpanned.
His green eyes locked with mine when I looked his way, and he
nodded. “Like the opportunity I was gifted, yes.”
I cut him off. “There’s no bad blood between us, brother. I just
don’t understand why now? All these years later?”
Silence trickled over us, and I waited for his reply.
“I guess seeing the kids where Rylee works and having kids of
my own has changed my perspective.”
Smirking, I pulled down my street. “You’ve softened, bro.”
Colton barked another laugh. “In a lot of ways I have, but not
where it matters.”
I cruised to a stop behind his parked F12.
“Not too close to Sex,” he said, leaning forward in his seat.
“I’m fucking miles away. And Sex?”
Colton flashed a shit-eating grin before tugging his cap back on.
He swung the passenger door open and climbed out. “I’ll be in touch
with my business proposal.”
“You haven’t told me the details yet!”
He softly clicked the door closed and smirked. “See ya ‘round,
Raffie.”
“The fuck, Colton? You gotta give me more details, man!”
Laughing and waving me off, he then got behind the wheel of
his F12 without further explanation.
“Son of a bitch,” I yelled, and slapped the steering wheel.
Making a show of my irritation, I boosted past him without
giving him an inch to pull out in front of me.
Sure, he owned the track, but the streets were my domain.
Chapter 4
-Greer-
Music was pumping, engines revving, the smell of weed was thick in
the air; everything I expected for a race at two AM.
I was surprised Shades orchestrated another so close to the
last, yet wasn’t surprised to find myself here; I had needs to satisfy.
Tequila and Stevie tore themselves off my sides when the signal
to start the race sounded. Before they stepped completely out of
reach, I grabbed a handful of their asses and squeezed for luck.
Smirking at their combined giggling, I stepped away with the
intention of heading to my car. A flash of gold in the corner of my
eye caught my attention, and a breath-taking smile rooted me to the
spot.
A woman like I’d never seen before stood beside her mahogany-
haired friend in a tiny black dress. Despite the gathered crowd only
giving me fractured glimpses of the mamacita, she stood out as if
she was standing on the hood of my car, gold top sparkling and
daring me to look her way. Her laughter danced across the thumping
music and sung to something deep in my soul. I had to find out who
she was—I simply couldn’t walk away. Not when she seemed placed
here for me to find.
Ignoring the fuck out of Shades calling my name, I set the
mamacita in my sights and pushed toward her. The race could wait.
Warm-brown eyes locked with mine and widened when she
realized I was heading straight for her. I couldn’t keep the prowl-like
manner from my strides because, damn, the mystery woman had
me beat before I’d even made it to the starting line.
Toned legs wrapped in skin-tight leather pants teased me, while
the golden top with barely-there strings tied around her slender neck
lured me closer. To top it all off, the stilettos brought her to the
perfect fucking height.
I barely stopped before my chest collided with hers, and I rolled
my tongue across my lower lip.
“Haven’t seen you around these parts before, mamacita,” I
drawled, looking her over with blatant hunger.
I was coming on strong; it was what I did when I saw
something I wanted.
One dark eyebrow arched as the woman pursed her lips and
gave me a look that would turn most men to ashes. “You notice
these things, do you?”
I leaned closer and lowered my voice until it was barely audible
over the thumping bass. “When it comes to a woman as fine as you,
yeah, I notice.”
Much to my delight, an involuntary shiver ran through her body.
Despite failing to hide the reaction, she rolled her eyes and laughed.
“Real smooth.” She then cast her look sideways at her friend.
“Don’t you think?”
Her friend brazenly eyed me up and down with her long-lashed
gaze. “If you say so.”
I smirked and inched closer, my advance only stopping when
the mamacita pressed a hand to my chest and took a small step
back. The warmth of her palm seared through my t-shirt and booted
my pulse up a gear.
The smile on her shiny red lips grew as if she could feel the
kick. “Nervous?”
Snagging her fingers and holding tight when she tried to pull
them from my grasp, I angled in such a way that my leg brushed
hers. Her sharp inhale was music to my ears.
Sniggering close to her ear, I watched hungrily as goosebumps
spread down her exposed arms.
“I never get nervous, baby girl.”
Much to my surprise, she met my gaze and held it. “Back down,
slick, I’m not interested.”
Taking a pace away and tipping my head to study her down my
nose, I gave her a smoulder that created desire in her eyes. The
kind that tinted them multiple shades darker.
“At least tell me one thing; what’s your name?” I asked, with
another lick of my lower lip.
Witnessing her pop a savage stance did dirty things to my
libido. “That would be none of your business.”
My blood burned hotter, and I reclaimed the distance by easily
stepping through the barrier created by her arm. I had to ball my
fists to stop myself from gripping her waist and pulling her hips to
mine. Seductive perfume rose to meet my inhale as I ran my nose
along her jawline.
“It’s entirely my business when you’ve stepped into my world
unannounced.”
Her inhale snagged. Her cheeks heated. And when her eyes met
mine again, they held desire that had me swallowing thickly.
“And you are?” she asked, dropping her gaze to my mouth.
I crooked a lip and smirked, playing her little game. “The man
taking you home after I’ve won this race.”
Her laughter wove around us and her hand briefly touched
down on my forearm. The fleeting contact sent sparks spurring
through me. That one touch would never be enough.
She started backing away. “You don’t get it both ways, slick.”
“You’re wrong, mamacita. I always do.”
Dark, glossy hair danced around her brown shoulders when she
shook her head. “Not tonight, you don’t. Good luck with the race.”
That smile of hers was impossible to walk away from; I didn’t
know what she was doing to me, but fuck, I wanted more.
“With skills like mine, I don’t need luck, baby girl,” I called.
The only thing that tore my attention away from the dark-haired
honey was Shady Sam yelling through a megaphone.
“Raf, where the fuck you at, brother? Race starts in one whether
you here or not, man.”
Rolling my shoulders to try and get my head back in the game, I
drank in one last look of my latest craving, then pushed my way
through the crowd to the starting line.
Shades shook his head as I slid behind the wheel. “Do I need to
have a word to Teq and Stevie about distracting my main man?”
“It wasn’t them,” I called, grinning my ass off while the mystery
mamacita taunted my memory.
Her smell. Her laugh. Fuck, her entire damn body…
She had to have felt the electricity between us. There was no
damn way she couldn’t have. It was intense despite hardly touching.
I could only imagine what it would be like to lick my way over her
caramel skin.
I groaned in torture and quickly adjusted my cock.
As the flag-girl strutted out to start the race, surprisingly for
once, coming first wasn’t at the forefront of my mind; finding out the
name of that woman was.
Chapter 6
-Greer-
“Ooooh, Greer, did you see the way he was looking at you? Girl, he
was eating you alive without so much as opening his mouth. Hot
damn, and that lip lick!” Roxiee groaned dramatically and fanned
herself.
I snorted and pretended I was one-hundred percent unaffected
by his sex appeal. I studied my manicure. “Really? I hardly noticed.”
A single sideways glance at Rox told me she didn’t believe a
single word. I rolled my eyes and sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine, he
was a little hot.”
“A little. I saw you get all breathy and flustered back there.”
“I was not flustered!”
Rox pursed her lips and arched one brow, and a low chuckle
came from the front seat.
I leaned forward and playfully slapped Jethro’s shoulder. “I don’t
need sniggering from you, Mr. Pickney.”
His laugh grew louder. “It’s three in the morning, Miss Landon,
and I’m driving you around the back streets of L.A. Sniggering is
part of the job at this hour.”
Roxiee and I shared a giggle. Jethro had been my driver for the
last few years, and while he went beyond the call of duty, this was
the first time I’d ever called him away from his family in the middle
of the night. And he would, without fail or complaint, be waiting to
pick me up from my apartment block at seven AM on the dot.
I huffed at the thought of only getting three hours' sleep before
rising to tackle the new day.
Roxiee tugged her barely-there dress lower and reached for her
phone with a devilish smirk. I anticipated her next move before she
made it.
“Raf,” she said, while searching up his name.
“Ortiz,” I added, while looking out of the side window.
It was him, without a shade of a doubt. The photo in the media
hadn’t done him justice. In the flesh he was utterly breathtaking—all
sharp edges and dark features, inked and oozing bad-boy sex
appeal, all the while holding a complete disregard for personal
space.
The memory of the heat radiating from his chest onto mine
made my pulse spike.
Colton wanted me to experience the street racing scene first-
hand, and between the cars, music, people, neon lights, weed, and
alcohol, I definitely received a crash-course in illegal racing. While I
saw why it might appeal to some, I didn’t understand it. Not when I
sat high in my office tower by day and actually liked to sleep at
night.
“Rafael Ortiz,” Roxiee announced. She flashed me a picture of
him that burned his sexy smirk further into my retinas. “That’s him
for sure. Do you think he’s Colton’s guy?”
I shook my head despite wondering the same thing. “Not a
chance. He’s too…” I paused, and searched for the appropriate word.
“Reckless.”
Roxiee snickered. “You mean, a PR nightmare.”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Rox. Can you imagine what kind of
attention a man like that would draw to a foundation trying to find
its feet?”
She hummed and zoomed in on his photo. “The guy’s fine, I’ll
give him that. He’s going to be hella disappointed that he’s not
taking you home tonight.”
I pushed down a similar kick of disappointment; oh, the many
fantasies a man like that would fulfil. It had been too long since I’d
scratched that itch, and tonight Rafael unexpectedly woke my sexual
appetite with no more than a single touch and a searing look.
I snorted to dissipate the gathering lust. “Guys like him are all
talk.”
Another random document with
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nonante brasses de haut, et il y renferma la chapelle qui contenait
les restes des deux amants.
Il imita ainsi le superbe mausolée qu’Adrien fit élever sur les rives
du Tibre. Il voulut qu’auprès du sépulcre se dressât une haute tour
qu’il destina à lui servir pendant quelque temps d’habitation. Il fit
construire sur la rivière qui courait au pied un pont étroit, large
seulement de deux brasses. Le pont était long, mais si étroit qu’à
peine il pouvait donner place à deux cavaliers,
A deux cavaliers qui auraient marché de front, ou qui seraient
venus à la rencontre l’un de l’autre. Le pont n’avait ni parapet, ni
barrière, et l’on pouvait facilement tomber de chacun de ses côtés.
Rodomont voulut que le passage de ce pont coûtât cher à tout
guerrier, soit païen, soit baptisé, car il jura de faire avec leurs
dépouilles mille trophées pour le tombeau d’Isabelle.
En dix jours, peut-être un peu moins, le pont, jeté au-dessus du
fleuve, fut achevé. Mais le sépulcre ne fut point aussi prompt à se
construire, non plus que la tour à s’élever. Lorsqu’elle fut terminée,
on établit sur la cime une vedette, chargée d’indiquer à Rodomont,
par le son du cor, la venue de tout chevalier.
Rodomont s’armait aussitôt et venait disputer le passage, tantôt
sur une rive, tantôt sur l’autre. Si le chevalier se présentait du côté
de la tour, le roi d’Alger se transportait sur l’autre bord. Le pont étroit
servait de champ clos, et pour peu que le cheval déviât de la ligne, il
tombait dans le fleuve qui était très profond. Il n’y avait pas de péril
égal au monde.
Le Sarrasin avait imaginé ce genre de combat pour être exposé à
tomber souvent du haut du pont la tête la première dans le fleuve, où
il aurait été obligé de boire beaucoup d’eau. Il voulait expier ainsi
l’erreur où l’avait entraîné le vin bu outre mesure. L’eau, non moins
que le vin, rachète la faute que la main ou la langue a commise sous
l’influence du vin.
En peu de jours, beaucoup de chevaliers passèrent par là ;
quelques-uns y arrivèrent tout naturellement en suivant leur chemin ;
c’étaient ceux qui allaient en Italie ou en Espagne, et qui n’avaient
pas d’autre route plus fréquentée. D’autres y vinrent d’eux-mêmes,
estimant l’honneur plus que la vie, et désireux de faire montre de
leur vaillance. Et tous, là où ils croyaient cueillir la palme, étaient
forcés d’abandonner leurs armes ; beaucoup y perdaient en même
temps la vie.
Si ceux qu’il abattait étaient païens, Rodomont se contentait de
les dépouiller de leurs armes qu’il suspendait aux marbres de la
chapelle, après y avoir fait inscrire les noms de ceux à qui elles
avaient d’abord appartenu. Mais il retenait prisonniers tous les
chrétiens, et les envoyait ensuite en Algérie. Les constructions
n’étaient pas encore achevées, lorsque le fou Roland vint à passer
par là.
Le comte, dans sa folie, arriva par hasard sur les bords de cette
grande rivière, où Rodomont, comme je vous l’ai dit, faisait bâtir en
grande hâte. La tour ni le sépulcre n’étaient terminés, et le pont
l’était à peine. Le païen armé de toutes pièces, hors son casque, se
trouvait justement sur le pont, au moment où Roland y arriva.
Roland, poussé par sa folie furieuse, franchit la barrière et se met
à courir sur le pont. Mais Rodomont, la face troublée par la colère —
il se tenait à pied en avant de la grande tour — crie de loin après lui
et le menace, ne le jugeant pas digne de le repousser avec l’épée :
« — Arrête-toi, vilain, indiscret, téméraire, importun et arrogant.
« Ce pont est fait uniquement pour les seigneurs et les
chevaliers, non pour toi, bête brute. — » Roland, dont la pensée
était fort loin, s’avance toujours et fait la sourde oreille. « — Il faut
que je châtie ce fou — », dit le païen. Et, dans cette intention, il
s’élance pour le précipiter dans l’eau, ne pensant point trouver qui lui
réponde.
En ce moment, une gente damoiselle arrive sur les bords du
fleuve et s’apprête à passer le pont. Elle est richement vêtue ; sa
figure est belle, et, sous ses manières accortes, elle montre une
grande réserve. C’était, s’il vous en souvient, seigneur, la damoiselle
qui s’en allait cherchant des nouvelles de Brandimart son amant,
partout ailleurs qu’où il était, c’est-à-dire à Paris.
Fleur-de-Lys — c’est ainsi que se nommait la damoiselle —
arriva près du pont, au moment même où Roland entrait en lutte
avec Rodomont qui voulait le jeter dans la rivière. La dame, qui avait
longtemps fréquenté le comte, le reconnut sur-le-champ, et s’arrêta,
remplie d’étonnement à la vue de la folie qui le faisait ainsi aller nu.
Elle s’arrêta pour regarder comment se terminerait la lutte
furieuse de deux hommes si vigoureux. Pour se faire tomber l’un
l’autre du haut du pont, tous deux concentrent toute leur force. « —
Comment se fait-il qu’un fou soit si fort ? — » se dit entre ses dents
le fier païen. Et de çà, de là, il tourne et s’agite, plein de dépit,
d’orgueil et de colère.
De l’une et l’autre main il cherche à le saisir à l’endroit le plus
favorable ; il lui passe adroitement entre les jambes, tantôt le pied
droit, tantôt le pied gauche. Rodomont, aux prises avec Roland,
ressemble à l’ours stupide qui croit pouvoir déraciner l’arbre d’où il
est tombé, et qui, lui attribuant sa mésaventure, s’acharne contre lui
dans sa rage haineuse.
Roland, dont l’esprit était perdu je ne sais où, et qui se servait
uniquement de sa force, de cette force prodigieuse dont personne
au monde, à quelques rares exceptions près, n’aurait pu se
défendre, se laissa tomber à la renverse, du haut du pont, avec le
païen qu’il tenait embrassé ; tous deux tombèrent dans le fleuve et
allèrent jusqu’au fond. L’onde rejaillit en l’air et le rivage en gémit.
L’eau les fit sur-le-champ se séparer. Roland est nu, et nage
comme un poisson. Des bras et des pieds il fait si bien qu’il regagne
le rivage. A peine hors de l’eau, il se met à courir, sans s’arrêter à
regarder en arrière, et sans s’inquiéter s’il s’expose au blâme ou à
l’éloge. Mais le païen, empêché par ses armes, revient plus
lentement et avec plus de peine au rivage.
Pendant la lutte, Fleur-de-Lys avait, en toute sécurité, traversé le
pont et la rivière. Elle avait visité le sépulcre dans ses moindres
recoins, pour voir s’il n’y avait pas trace du passage de son
Brandimart. N’y voyant ni ses armes ni ses vêtements, elle espère le
retrouver ailleurs. Mais retournons au comte qui laisse derrière lui
tour, fleuve et pont.
Ce serait folie à moi que de promettre de vous raconter une à
une les folies de Roland. Il en commit tant et tant, que je ne saurais
comment en finir. Mais j’en choisirai quelques-unes des plus
éclatantes et dignes d’être citées dans mes vers, et qui me
paraissent nécessaires à mon histoire. Je ne tairai point, entre
autres, l’aventure merveilleuse qui lui arriva dans les Pyrénées, au-
dessus de Toulouse.
Le comte, depuis qu’il avait été pris de folie furieuse, avait
parcouru beaucoup de pays ; il arriva enfin au sommet de la chaîne
de montagnes qui sépare la France de l’Aragon. Il se dirigeait du
côté où le soleil se couche, suivant un étroit chemin qui surplombait
une vallée profonde.
Du côté opposé, s’en venaient deux jeunes bûcherons qui
poussaient devant eux un âne chargé de bois. S’apercevant à son
aspect qu’il avait la cervelle vide, ils lui crièrent d’une voix
menaçante qu’il eût à reculer ou à se ranger de côté, et à laisser
libre le milieu du chemin.
Roland ne fit pas d’autre réponse que de presser le pas d’un air
furieux, jusqu’à ce qu’il fût arrivé vers l’âne. Alors, il le saisit par le
flanc et, avec cette force qui n’avait point d’égale, il le lança si haut,
qu’il semblait un petit oiseau volant dans les airs. L’âne alla tomber
sur la cime d’une colline qui se dressait à un mille de la vallée.
Puis le comte s’approcha des deux jeunes gars. L’un d’eux fut en
cette circonstance plus heureux que prudent. Il se jeta, par peur, du
haut d’un ravin haut de deux fois trente brasses. Il tomba au beau
milieu d’un amas de ronces, d’herbes et de terre molle. Il en fut
quitte pour quelques égratignures au visage, et put s’échapper sain
et sauf.
L’autre s’accrocha à une souche qui sortait du rocher, espérant
grimper jusqu’à la cime assez promptement pour éviter les atteintes
du fou. Mais celui-ci, acharné à sa poursuite, le saisit par les pieds
pendant qu’il s’efforçait de grimper, et, écartant les bras autant que
faire se put, il le fendit en deux morceaux,
De la même façon qu’on écartèle un héron ou un poulet,
lorsqu’on veut donner leurs entrailles en pâture au faucon ou au
vautour. L’autre, qui avait risqué de se casser le cou, put se vanter
d’avoir échappé à une belle mort ! Il le raconta dans la suite comme
un vrai miracle, et ce récit vint aux oreilles de Turpin qui l’écrivit à
notre intention.
Roland fit encore beaucoup d’autres choses étonnantes en
traversant la montagne. Enfin, après avoir longtemps erré, il
descendit, du côté du midi, sur la terre d’Espagne. Il prit la route qui
longe la mer dont les flots baignent les rivages de l’Aragon, et, sous
l’influence de la folie qui le poussait, il songea à se creuser une
tanière dans le sable,
Afin de se garantir du soleil. Il s’enfouit dans le sable aride et
léger, et il y était à moitié caché, lorsque survinrent par hasard
Angélique la belle et son mari qui descendaient, comme je vous l’ai
raconté plus haut, des monts Pyrénées sur le rivage espagnol. Elle
arriva à moins d’une brassée du comte sans l’avoir encore aperçu.
Que ce fût là Roland, elle ne pouvait le penser, tellement il
différait de ce qu’il était d’habitude. Depuis que cette fureur le
possédait, il était toujours allé nu, à l’ombre et au soleil. S’il était né
dans les champs de Sienne, dans les pays où les Garamantes
adorent Jupiter Ammon, ou près des monts où le grand Nil prend sa
source, il n’aurait pu avoir la peau plus brûlée.
Ses yeux étaient quasi cachés dans sa tête ; il avait la figure
maigre et décharnée comme un os, la chevelure inculte, hirsute et
en désordre, la barbe épaisse, épouvantable, hideuse. A peine
Angélique l’eut-elle vu, qu’elle s’empressa de tourner bride, toute
tremblante. Toute tremblante et emplissant le ciel de ses cris, elle se
retourna pour chercher secours auprès de son compagnon.
Dès que Roland, dans sa folie, l’eut aperçue, il se leva d’un bond
pour la saisir, tellement son gracieux visage lui plut, et tellement
l’appétit lui en vint subitement. De l’avoir tant aimée et respectée,
aucun souvenir ne restait plus en lui ; il court derrière elle, à la façon
d’un chien qui poursuivrait une bête fauve.
Le jouvenceau qui voit le fou poursuivre sa dame, le heurte avec
son cheval, et le frappe en même temps juste au moment où il lui
tourne le dos. Il croit lui séparer la tête du buste ; mais la peau était
dure comme un os, et, à vrai dire, plus que l’acier. Roland en effet
était né complètement invulnérable.
Roland, se sentant frapper par derrière, se retourne, et en se
retournant, il serre le poing ; avec cette force qui dépasse toute
mesure, il frappe le destrier du Sarrasin. Il le frappe sur la tête et,
comme s’il était de verre, il la brise et tue le cheval. Puis il s’élance
de nouveau sur les traces de celle qui fuyait devant lui.
Angélique chasse sa jument en toute hâte ; elle la presse du
fouet et de l’éperon. Il lui semble que si elle pouvait voler aussi vite
qu’une flèche, elle irait encore trop lentement. Soudain, elle se
rappelle l’anneau qu’elle a au doigt et qui peut la sauver. Elle le porte
à sa bouche, et l’anneau, qui n’avait rien perdu de sa vertu, la fait
disparaître comme une lumière qu’un souffle éteint.
Soit qu’elle eût peur que la jument ne trébuchât, soit qu’elle fît un
faux mouvement en changeant l’anneau de place, — je ne puis
affirmer quel est le vrai — au moment même où elle plaça l’anneau
dans sa bouche, et où elle rendit ainsi invisible son beau visage, elle
leva la jambe, vida les arçons et se trouva à la renverse sur le sable.
Il s’en fallut de deux doigts qu’elle ne fût atteinte par le fou, qui,
dans le choc, lui eût ôté la vie. Elle fut, en cette occurrence,
grandement favorisée par la fortune. Cependant elle cherche le
moyen de se procurer une autre monture, ainsi qu’elle a fait déjà, car
elle ne peut plus songer à ravoir jamais celle qu’elle vient de quitter,
et qui galope sur le rivage, poursuivie par le paladin.
Ne doutez point qu’elle ne sache se pourvoir, et suivons Roland,
dont l’impétuosité et la rage augmentent en voyant Angélique
disparaître. Il poursuit la jument sur le sable nu, et en approche
toujours de plus en plus. Déjà il la touche et, la saisissant par la
crinière, puis par la bride, il s’en rend enfin maître.
Le paladin s’en empare avec la même joie qu’un autre se serait
emparé d’une donzelle. Il rassemble les rênes et la bride, et, d’un
bond, saute en selle. Il la fait courir pendant plusieurs milles, de çà,
de là, sans lui laisser de repos, sans jamais lui ôter la selle ni le
frein, et sans lui laisser goûter ni herbe ni foin.
En voulant franchir un fossé, il roule au fond avec la jument. Non
seulement il n’éprouve aucun mal, mais il ne sent pas même la
secousse. Quant à la malheureuse bête, elle se brise l’épaule au
fond du fossé. Roland ne voit pas comment il pourra la tirer de là ;
finalement, il la charge sur son épaule et, sous ce poids énorme, il
parcourt encore trois portées d’arc.
Mais sentant que la charge devient trop lourde, il la dépose à
terre, et cherche à la tirer après lui. La jument le suit d’un pas lent et
boiteux. Roland lui disait : « — Marche ! — » mais il parlait en vain.
Du reste, l’eût-elle suivi au galop, que son désir insensé n’eût pas
été satisfait. A la fin, il lui enlève le licol et l’attache par le pied droit.
Puis il la tire après lui, et la réconforte en lui disant qu’ainsi elle
pourra le suivre plus facilement. Le poil et la peau de la malheureuse
bête restent aux pierres du chemin, et elle meurt enfin de fatigue et
de coups. Roland ne s’en aperçoit même pas, et, sans la regarder, il
poursuit son chemin en courant.
Il va, la traînant toujours, bien que morte. Il dirige sa course vers
l’Occident. Sur son passage, il saccage palais et chaumières.
Lorsqu’il éprouve le besoin de manger, il s’empare des fruits, des
viandes, du pain ; tout lui est bon, pourvu qu’il l’engloutisse. Partout il
use de sa force contre les gens, laissant celui-ci mort, celui-là
estropié. Il s’arrête rarement, et va sans cesse devant lui.
Il aurait traité de même sa dame, si elle ne s’était cachée, car il
ne distinguait plus le noir du blanc, et croyait être utile en nuisant à
tout le monde. Ah ! que maudits soient l’anneau et le chevalier qui
l’avait donné à Angélique. Sans lui, Roland se serait vengé, et du
même coup en aurait vengé mille autres.
Et ce n’est pas celle-là seulement qui aurait dû tomber aux mains
de Roland, mais toutes celles qui existent aujourd’hui, car, de toutes
façons, elles sont toutes ingrates, et, parmi elles, il ne s’en trouve
pas une de bonne. Mais avant que les cordes détendues de ma lyre
ne rendent un son en désaccord avec mon chant, il vaut mieux le
renvoyer à une autre fois, afin qu’il soit moins ennuyeux pour qui
l’écoute.
CHANT XXX.