America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

Chapter 104 Professional Drivers

"It hasn't come to that yet."

Chen Ming gave Elena a perfunctory reply, opened the car door, sat in the driver's seat of the Hellcat, and started warming up the car.

As night deepened, the camp became increasingly lively, with the roar of engines rising and falling. The rich kids crowded around the betting booths set up by the Iron Horse Gang, placing their bets.

Chen Ming was checking the various data on the dashboard when the passenger door was suddenly pulled open.

Sofia squeezed in, panting, her face even more pale than the sand outside.

"Chen, we're in big trouble!"

"What's wrong?" Chen Ming didn't even look up, continuing to test the feel of the steering wheel.

"Is it the LAPD or the IRS?"

"It's even worse than that! Your and Michelle's scarcity marketing was so successful that it attracted the wrong people."

"I was just checking the encrypted wallet addresses used for entry verification. Several accounts showed fund flows that went through multiple coin mixing processes, but I still managed to get the underlying data—the ultimate source of these funds is related to several top professional racing teams in California!"

Chen Ming paused, raising an eyebrow.

"You mean, a professional race car driver has infiltrated?"

"Yes, although they used aliases and even deliberately drove modified muscle cars that they don't usually drive to cover their tracks, they are definitely active NASCAR or rally professional drivers."

"These bastards must have heard there's a multi-million dollar gambling den here, and they're just here to make some extra cash!"

"Chen, we're no longer dealing with rich young masters who only know how to floor the gas pedal; these are monsters who make a living driving!"

She grabbed Chen Ming's arm.

"Cancel the race immediately, or quickly change your story and say that the ten million prize money is in Zimbabwean dollars—if a professional driver wins, how will we compensate them?"

"Calm down, my head butler."

Chen Ming remained calm.

"If we cancel the betting now, we won't get a single penny of the millions of dollars in betting odds, and we'll even have to pay the Iron Horse Gang for security."

"But he's a professional driver!"

"So what if they're professional drivers? They are indeed very good on tracks with smooth asphalt, guardrails, and clear rules."

Chen Ming started the Hellcat's engine, and the V8 engine let out a deep roar.

"But this is a desert highway. There's no navigation, no repair shops, and you might even encounter wild coyotes on the road."

O

"You just collect the money, I'll figure out the solution."

"Whatever—if you lose, I'll immediately buy a ticket and escape to Tijuana, and spend the rest of my life as Maria selling tequila on the beach."

"Don't expect me to take you with me unless you beg me!"

Sofia slammed the car door shut and, in her high heels, plunged headlong into the crowd of people frantically betting on the outside.

Despite her complaints, even if there was a cliff in front of her, the profits she could squeezed out were enough for her to jump off with her eyes closed.

The passenger door had only been closed for less than two seconds when it was suddenly pulled open again.

"Coach, I'm ready! I'm completely ready!"

Chad forced his way in like a sausage stuffed with cotton.

He changed into a full set of fireproof racing gear, and his helmet was taped with two GoPro cameras.

"Are you dressed like that to go for a walk on Mars?" Chen Ming glanced at him.

"That's called professionalism—I even consulted my personal doctor, who told me to wear adult diapers, and I did." Chad then excitedly pointed to the sky.

"See my family's helicopter? They're broadcasting live right now—if my dad finds out I did this tomorrow, he'll definitely launch me into the sun."

"You'd better promise not to die in my car first—get in the back seat."

"The back seat? I told you I'm in the passenger seat—"

"Either sit in the back seat or get out of the car, it's one of the two options."

Seeing Chen Ming's resolute attitude, Chad finally sat in the back seat.

Chen Ming floored the accelerator, and the Hellcat slowly drove towards the starting line formed by discarded tires and burning metal barrels—

This place is already filled with all sorts of expensive steel beasts.

On the right, Brad's white Pagani Huayra was revving the engine at full throttle, blue flames shooting from the exhaust pipe. He even rolled down the window and arrogantly made a throat-slitting gesture at Chen Ming.

But Chen Ming's gaze didn't linger on him at all; instead, he searched for the truly threatening opponents.

really.

Interspersed among the Ferraris and McLarens with their flamboyant chassis lights are three extremely understated muscle cars: a matte gray Camaro and two Ford Mustangs with their rear seats removed.

These vehicles don't have any fancy decals; all the tires have been replaced with professional all-terrain tires.

Most importantly, the driver didn't rev the engine wildly; he simply kept the RPMs steadily within the optimal operating range, his eyes calm and without excessive excitement.

This kind of mentality is something that professional athletes must have cultivated by spending real money on track and circuit racing.

The driver of the Camaro on the left seemed to notice Chen Ming's gaze, rolled down the window, and revealed a burly white man chewing gum.

"Asian kid, I heard you're the 'pilot' who made quite a splash before?" The white man said with a disdainful look and a mocking tone in a typical Southern accent.

"Keep a close eye on me, I'll try my best not to throw sand into your air intake grille."

"Yeah?"

Chen Ming rested one hand on the steering wheel, responding without any politeness.

"There are no repair shop guys in the desert with jacks to change your tires—I'm afraid you won't have enough money for the rescue fee later."

The white driver's face darkened, and he was about to say something more when Mike in front of him raised the starting pistol.

Several Latin American girls in bikinis swayed their hips as they retreated to the sides of the track, waving glow sticks vigorously. Above them, the searchlights of a news helicopter swept across the starting line like sharp swords.

"Hold on tight." Chen Ming pressed the button for sports mode.

"Preparation—"

""

boom!

The gunshots rang out briefly, then were instantly drowned out by the roars of dozens of high-powered monsters.

The Camaro and the two Mustangs shot off like arrows, with perfect grip control.

Meanwhile, the rich kids driving supercars were skidding and burning their tires wildly at the start because they pressed the accelerator too hard, and white smoke instantly enveloped the starting line.

"They're moving too fast!" Chad screamed, gripping the handle above his head.

"Don't be afraid, even a fool can figure out how to accelerate on a straightaway."

Chen Ming slammed on the gas pedal, and the Hellcat tore through the white smoke, tightly gripping the taillights of the three cars in front.

"The curves are where your skills are truly tested."

The first major bend is a gravel road in an abandoned mining area.

Brad's Pagani, with its terrifying horsepower, caught up at the end of the straight, its blinding high beams flashing wildly as it attempted to overtake.

"Damn it, that idiot Brad tried to run us over!" Chad yelled in the back seat.

"He wouldn't dare—besides, his car is quite delicate." Chen Ming didn't even look in the rearview mirror, but simply tapped the brakes lightly.

as predicted.

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