sat in the driver’s seat of her ’69 Charger, knuckles white. She was the veteran, the Queen Mother of the asphalt circuit—gravel-voiced, calm, and dangerous. Beside her, Holly West thumbed a switchblade open and shut, her sharp grin never reaching her eyes. Holly was the loose cannon, the one who’d rather burn a bridge than cross it.
Avi smiled. “You get to not explode.”
“I see her.” Tara cut the engine. The silence was louder than the roar.
Holly laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “And what do I get out of babysitting?” Road Queen 11 S3 Tara Lynn Foxx Holly West Avi
Holly leaned across Tara, knife blade catching moonlight. “Why should we trust you?”
Avi walked over, boots crunching on gravel. She tapped Tara’s window with a single knuckle. “The pass is rigged. Three switchbacks, dynamite on the second. Someone wants the Queen dead before the finish.”
Tara unlocked the door. “Get in. But if you cross us, Avi, I’ll put you in the dirt next to the dynamite.” sat in the driver’s seat of her ’69
Their headlights caught a silhouette in the middle of the road.
Holly looked at Avi in the rearview. “Okay. Maybe we keep you.”
stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the hood of a matte-black interceptor. No crew. No backup. Just a long coat and a stare that said, I know where you sleep. Avi was the wildcard this season—a former dispatcher turned rogue fixer, playing no team but her own. Holly was the loose cannon, the one who’d
“Let me ride shotgun. We take the old mining road. Dusty, slow, but alive. At the junction, we split the prize—the cash to Holly, the garage to you, the routes to me.”
The desert highway unspooled like a cracked black ribbon under a bleached sky. Season 3 of Road Queen had been a bloodbath—territory wars, broken alliances, a sheriff who played both sides. Now, the final run for the season’s prize (a clean title to a garage in Santa Fe and enough cash to disappear) was down to four.