The sun hung low over the Nevada desert, casting long golden shadows across the cracked asphalt of an abandoned drag strip. Dust swirled lazily in the dry air as Jax Mercer pulled the tarp off his prized possession: a 2018 Dodge Challenger SRT Demon, its blood-red paint gleaming like sin under the setting sun.
For five years, it had sat silent in the garage behind his father’s auto shop. Jax had locked it away after the accident, after the race that killed his best friend, Cody. People said the Demon was cursed. That no man should ever tempt that much horsepower with that much rage in his heart.
But today wasn’t about the past. Today was about the ghost Jax had to confront.
He fired up the engine. The Demon growled to life with a deafening snarl, like Cerberus waking from slumber. Every bolt and piston remembered its purpose. The HEMI V8 engine roared with 840 horsepower, hungry to run.
Jax tightened his grip on the suede wheel. He remembered the feel, the launch control countdown, the way the G-force pinned him to the seat. The strip was cracked but still straight. A makeshift finish line was spray-painted in white just like the old days.
Across from him, another car pulled up. Black Nova SS. Rumbling. Aggressive. A young punk stepped out, all cocky grin and aviators.
“You sure you wanna run that antique?” he taunted.
Jax looked ahead, didn’t answer. His mind wasn’t on the kid—it was on Cody. On the promise he made at the funeral. “Never again.” But the Demon wouldn’t rest, and neither would his guilt.
Engines revved. Tires smoked. The world narrowed to a thin line of horizon.
The light turned green.
Jax slammed the pedal. The Demon exploded off the line like it had been shot from a cannon. The supercharger screamed. The pavement blurred. Jax felt the surge, the pull of inertia, the edge of control. He was in a rocket with wheels—and it wanted blood.
The Nova hung close for the first hundred yards, but then the Demon found its stride. Redline. Gears punched hard. Wind howled through open windows like a banshee.
At the finish, there was no doubt.
The Demon crossed first. Victory, raw and merciless.
Jax eased off, heart pounding. The Nova rolled up beside him, the kid nodding, respect earned.
But Jax didn’t celebrate. He parked, turned off the engine, and stepped into the fading light. The Demon was fast—but it couldn’t outrun the past.
He touched the hood, whispered, “That was for you, Cody.”
And for the first time in years, the Demon seemed… quiet.
Michael J McCluskey 