I added a little more of my own "voice" to the text

Juliette’s breath hitched. “What?!” The casual concern in her voice was gone, replaced by a sharp edge of apprehension.

I described the car, the model, color, any details O could remember from Marco’s rushed and incoherent explanation. The more I rambled, the more I feared a knot of unease tightened in Juliette’s stomach. The car, we realized with a jolt of dread, belonged to someone powerful, dangerous. Someone who wouldn’t take kindly to having me borrow their car without asking.

“Allie,” Juliette’s voice was low and urgent, “This is insane. This is way beyond just street racing. This is…this is risking your life.”

“I know,” I whispered, the weight of Juliette’s words settling on my shoulders, heavier than any guilt I had felt before. But the adrenaline, the thrill of the challenge, was already starting to take hold. It was a seductive whisper, promising excitement and a high that nothing else could match. And in the back of my mind, the image of Marco, vulnerable and needing me now more than ever, loomed large, silencing my better judgment.

“But what if…” I began, her voice barely a breath, “… what if something happens to Marco?”

Juliette sighed, the sound tinged with frustration and a deep, aching sympathy. I knew she couldn’t argue with my loyalty. The same loyalty that had caused me to trust Marco in the first place. Juliette knew she had to find a way to keep me safe, to somehow navigate this treacherous path alongside a friend, without losing each other in the process.

“Okay,” Juliette said, her voice resolute. “Okay, we’ll do this together. But we’re doing it my way. We need a plan, a backup plan, and we’re making sure we’re prepared for anything.”

“So, a plan ‘C’?”

“We’ll go all the way to the end of alphabet if we have to!”

The thought of Juliette by my side, a shield against the impending storm, offered me a glimmer of hope amidst an overwhelming fear. We would face this challenge together. The plan had to be foolproof. We needed to steal the car, get the 'big score', whatever that meant, and get away clean.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of frantic activity. Juliette, a master of strategy and logistics, meticulously laid out a plan for us to follow, assuming things were going to be as bad as she believed. She even managed to acquire a battered but reliable getaway car – a beat-up, Miata. It wasn't sleek and high-performance, but it was reliable and fast enough to get us out of trouble, if everything went south.
The meticulous planning served to alleviate some of my anxieties, giving me back a sense of control amidst the chaos.

“Can I ask a stupid question?” Juliette whispered as I turned off the headlights and parked the car on the side of the road of a garage.

“Please do.”

“Okay, again, I’m not speaking bad of him but why did Marco send you to do this? Surely there are others who could ram their way through.”

“Yeah, but here we are,” I replied as I turned the engine off.

As we scouted the garage, I noticed Juliette's sharp focus, her eyes constantly scanning, like her mind was thinking two moves in advance. It was a talent I admired when we had to figure out a calculus equation or for a game in PE. It was a talent that could provide a level of comfort if we hadn't had to put it to a greater test, with no make-up exam if we failed.
It was during this reconnaissance mission I learned another facet of Juliette's skills – her mastery of lock picking. In the dimly lit alleyway next to the garage, amidst the scent of exhaust fumes and damp earth, Juliette demonstrated a skill that left me wide-eyed with disbelief. The lock on a rusty dumpster yielded to Juliette's nimble fingers, the sound of metal clicking was as quiet as a falling feather, as effortless as breathing.

I wanted to congratulate her and then ask if she ever broken into my locker with those skills but decided to keep quiet as we entered the yard. I was struck by the strange juxtaposition of my two worlds. The quiet, almost clinical efficiency of their planning stood in stark contrast to the raw, adrenaline-fueled chaos of the street races. One world was organized, methodical, the other wild, unpredictable. And yet, both existed within me and Juliette. Her pragmatism served as a grounding force, a counterpoint to the recklessness that had become increasingly ingrained in my life. As I looked at Juliette, her calm demeanor kind of scared me.

The night itself unfolded with a nervous energy that only heightened the tension. The adrenaline mixed with fear, a chaotic cocktail of emotions that kept me on high alert. We executed the plan flawlessly, moving with a quiet precision that spoke volumes about Juliette's experience and ability. As we slipped into the garage, the shadows our allies, I felt a strange blend of fear and exhilaration. The silence of the garage, broken only by the occasional drip of water, amplified my senses, creating an unsettling tension as they located the target vehicle. I was waiting for the lights to come up and a gun shoved into my face.

The theft itself was a blur of motion; the quiet efficiency of Juliette’s lock-picking skills combined with my understanding of car mechanics. We were a perfectly synchronized team, our partnership almost telepathic. I started the engine, and the car roared to life! It was a simple Ford Mustang GT, not exactly something I would have expected Marco to want to acquire.

“We forgot about raising the door,” I commented.

“Yep, but I saw that it had a lot of rust on it, it should give weigh!”

I floored the accelerator, and the car smashed through the door with a frightening crunch of twisted metal.

The adrenaline rush of success was short-lived, however, as we sped away from the garage, the sound of police sirens wailing in the distance was a stark reminder of the danger we had just stepped into. Our daring escape turned into a high-stakes chase, a terrifying dance with fate as we navigated the city streets, a blur of neon lights and speeding vehicles, the wail of sirens their constant companion.

I double-backed a few times, eventually arriving at one of our crew’s safehouses, or more like a shack with a shed big enough to fit a car. We quickly hid the Mustang and closed the doors. It was only when we moved into the sole room in the shack and sat down on the has-seen-better-days couch we could breathe, the tension finally easing, replaced by the quiet relief of our survival.
We were safe, but the aftermath of our actions was still ahead. Our daring heist, our thrilling escape was only the beginning. But for a moment, the simple fact of our survival felt like a small victory. As I looked at Juliette, a wave of gratitude washed over me.

“Thanks, Jules.”

“Allie,” she leaned over and slapped me arm. “For all of this, I fricking own you now, got it!”

I nodded.

"The Duel" Remix Theme