I like women like my cars: expensive and dangerous. But the brunette hammering on the inside of the trunk lid of my 2015 Mustang GT was in a different class on both counts. Seemed like she was trying to outgun the pistons that raged a few feet ahead of me as I swerved around a beaten-up Honda and cut back in front, tires squealing, wipers on overdrive. Collateral is such an ugly term and I felt terrible to the pit of my s...

Until now, I'd never needed to watch my own house for signs of someone trying to kill me. How things change in the space of a few hours. I stared hard through the windshield, eyes watering between blinks, keeping low in the luxurious Recaros. My normally blood red Mustang glowed muddy orange beneath the sodium-vapor hue of a street lamp. A few hundred feet ahead of me, the suburban box I soon wouldn't be calling home stoo...

Wheels. I'm as choosy about wheels as women these days. Wasn't always that way. While I can drive pretty much anything with an engine, I've found I only truly enjoy that thunder beneath the hood. The rush when pedal meets floor, beating through every bone in my body. Something only the raw horsepower of a V8 delivers. And if it's a dependable American hunk with a short shift ratio and high-quality tires, all the better. M...