Chapter 2: Torn Loyalty - Lying to the Toretto Crew
1393 Words
Dawn broke over Los Angeles as Ella pulled her F-150 into the garage, the tracking system still burning a hole in her jacket. The sky was pale pink, but she felt nothing but cold—every second since stealing the box felt like a countdown. She grabbed Nightshade’s tarp, yanking it over the Camaro until only the front bumper peeked out, then collapsed onto a workbench stool, her hands shaking.
Her phone buzzed. Not the Ghost Council—Mia.
Hey, you get the tracker updated? Dom’s asking about it. Said he needs it for a run later.
Ella’s breath caught. She’d forgotten Dom planned to use the system today. She typed back, fingers hovering over the screen: Almost done. Hit a glitch with the code—should fix it by noon.
A reply came instantly: Okay, don’t rush. But text when it’s ready, yeah?
She deleted the conversation, then stared at the tracking system. The red blink felt like an accusation. She needed to buy time—time to modify Nightshade, time to plan the race, time to find Leo. But the crew was already asking questions.
The garage door rumbled open. Ella jumped, shoving the system under a pile of rags. Letty walked in, wearing a leather vest and boots, her signature smirk on her face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Pull an all-nighter on the Charger?”
Ella forced a laugh, wiping oil on her pants like she’d been working. “Yeah—tinkered with the injectors. Should be ready for Dom later.”
Letty nodded, walking over to inspect the car. Her fingers brushed the hood, then she turned to Ella, her smile fading. “Mia said you took the tracker. Dom’s antsy—he doesn’t like his toys out of sight.”
Panic flared. Letty knew her too well—she’d been the one to teach her how to hotwire a car, how to spot a lie. “Just… updating the software. Like I told Mia. It’s nothing.”
Letty’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing? Since when do you need to ‘update’ something you built? You coded that tracker yourself—said it was ‘foolproof.’”
Ella’s throat tightened. She grabbed a wrench, pretending to tighten a bolt. “Technology’s finicky. You know that.”
The garage door opened again. Dom walked in, his presence filling the room—tall, broad, his jaw set. “Where’s the tracker?”
Ella stood, her hands clammy. “Still working on it. Glitch in the GPS—should be done by noon.”
Dom stared at her. He didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms, and Ella felt like he was staring into her soul. He’d never been one for small talk—he knew people by their actions, not their words. “You okay?” he said finally. “You’re quiet. Not like you.”
“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly. “Just tired.”
Dom nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave her. “Mia said Leo called last night. Sounded scared. You talk to him?”
Ella’s heart dropped. She’d avoided texting Leo, afraid the Ghost Council was watching. “No—haven’t had time. I’ll call him later.”
Dom stepped closer. “Ella. If something’s wrong—”
The garage phone rang. Ella practically ran to answer it, relief flooding her. “Hello?”
A static-laced voice—same as last night. Check your trunk. We left a “gift” for Leo. Don’t tell the crew. Don’t call the cops. Or he gets hurt.
The line went dead. Ella hung up, her hands shaking.
“Who was that?” Dom asked.
“Wrong number,” she said, her voice cracking. She grabbed her jacket. “I need to run an errand—grab parts for the tracker. Be back in an hour.”
Dom frowned. “I can send Roman—”
“No!” Ella said, too loud. She softened her tone. “I need specific stuff. Only one shop has it.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Be careful. And bring back the tracker when you’re done.”
Ella rushed out, her truck’s engine sputtering to life. She drove to a quiet alley, then popped the trunk. Inside, a small box wrapped in black tape. She opened it, and her stomach dropped—a lock of Leo’s hair, tied with a string, and a note: Remember. We’re watching.
She crushed the note in her hand, tears stinging her eyes. She couldn’t fail. Not now.
She drove to a auto parts shop on the edge of town—one she’d been going to since she was 16. The owner, Jake, a old guy with a beard, waved when she walked in. “Ella! Long time. What you need?”
“Nanotech spray,” she said, lowering her voice. “The kind that blocks GPS signals.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “That’s military-grade. You building something dangerous?”
“Just… a project,” she said. “For Dom.”
Jake nodded, grabbing a can from under the counter. “Don’t ask. But this stuff’s good—blocks any tracker within 10 feet. Cash only.”
She paid, then hurried back to the truck. As she pulled out, she saw a black BMW in the parking lot—same one that followed her last night. Ryan Voss sat in the driver’s seat, staring at her. Their eyes met for a second, then he drove off.
He was watching her. But why? Was he with the Ghost Council? Or something else?
Back at the garage, the crew was gone—Dom had taken Letty and Roman to scout a race. Ella rushed inside, pulling the tracking system from under the rags. She sprayed the nanotech spray on it, then connected her laptop. She added a fake GPS signal—one that would show the system was still in the garage, even when she took it to Mexico.
She was halfway done when the garage door opened. Mia walked in, carrying a bag of tacos. “Thought you might be hungry. How’s the tracker?”
Ella slammed her laptop shut, shoving it under the workbench. “Almost done. Just… finalizing the code.”
Mia set the bag down, then sat next to her. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything. Leo, the crew, whatever.”
Ella’s eyes stung. She wanted to tell her—wanted to scream about the Ghost Council, about Leo, about the race. But she couldn’t. “I know. I’m just stressed.”
Mia nodded, squeezing her hand. “Well, tacos fix everything. Even code glitches.”
They ate in silence, Mia chatting about the kids, about Brian, about the good old days. Ella smiled, but her mind was elsewhere—on Leo, on the race, on Ryan Voss’s cold eyes.
When Mia left, Ella finished the fake signal. She placed the tracking system on the workbench, the red blink now a lie—proof that she was lying to the only family she had.
She walked to Nightshade, pulling off the tarp. She climbed in, turning the key. The engine roared to life, smooth and powerful. She smiled—this car was her hope. Her weapon.
Her phone buzzed. A text from the Ghost Council: Race tomorrow. 8 p.m. Juarez desert track. Bring the system. No tricks.
She texted back: I’ll be there.
The sun set, painting the sky orange. Ella sat in Nightshade, staring at the Toretto crew’s photos on the wall—Dom, Letty, Mia, Roman, Tej. She thought of the lies she’d told, the trust she’d broken. But she thought of Leo, tied to a chair, scared.
She turned the engine off. Tomorrow, she’d race. Tomorrow, she’d get Leo back.
And tomorrow, she’d have to face the consequences of her lies.
Outside, the black BMW pulled into the alley. Ryan Voss watched Ella through the garage window, his phone in his hand. He typed a text to Interpol: Target has modified the tracker. Preparing for the race. Ghost Council is moving Leo to the track tomorrow.
He hit send, then leaned back in his seat. Tomorrow would be the test—for Ella, for the Ghost Council, for him.
And he wasn’t going to miss it.
- Writer
