Hot Wheels: A Short Story

By Christina van Deventer

A son’s passion. A mother’s guilt. A husband’s commitment.

When the night train screams into the station at four in the morning, the racing starts. That’s also when the memories are at their most vivid. But when a mother loses her only child, does she have anything left to live for? Or is her loss justified by her own past sins?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christina van Deventer
• Release date: Jun 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463642849

Christina van Deventer

Christina van Deventer is a girly-girl, protector of furry and scaly creatures and wife to a real-life Viking. She loves beautiful things, good company and she feels good food, good wine and great books have something fundamental in common: they make people happy.When she is not writing, she loves creating magic in her Arctic kitchen or craft room, or playing ESO, which is her virtual second home. Christina is always excited to hear from fellow bibliophiles!

Book preview

Hot Wheels

A Short Story

by

Christina van Deventer

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. All materials contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should neither be replicated nor relied on for accuracy.

Smashwords Edition 2018

Text Copyright © 2018 Christina van Deventer

Cover art Copyright © 2018 Christina van Deventer

The right of Christina van Deventer to be identified as author of this work has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system by any means or in any form - graphic, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying, taping or recording - without written permission from the author.

For more information, or to contact the author, visit her website at

www.christinavandeventer.com

I hear them starting up their cars, revving the engines, their exhausts burning white hot against the quiet of night. It’s just past four in the morning, but I’ve been waiting for their ritual to start. Some of them are just kids. I know, because I have seen them around; sitting on hoods smoking cheap cigarettes, teasing girls in tiny shorts and laughing with the abandon only teenage boys know. They drive in a similar way. They’re the Rustenburg Street Racers’ Club. They don’t know that, but that’s what I’ve dubbed them. They steal mags from Beemers and Humvees and buy decals at the local Midas. They mechanic the hell out of piece-of-shit cars while they drool over the real thing in magazines