Greg Newsome and the S2000: A Love Story on Four Wheels (with a Body Count)

There’s love… and then there’s Greg Newsome’s love for his 2007 Honda S2000. You can keep your roses, your handwritten poetry, your Nicholas Sparks-level romance—we’re talking about a man who’s had bullets flying past his head, countries trying to kill him, women trying to love him, and mobsters trying to own him… and yet, the only thing Greg’s ever been truly monogamous with is that cherry-red convertible from Honda’s glory days.

Forget the Batmobile. The S2000 is Greg’s spirit animal. It’s compact, angry, and—if you know how to drive it—fast enough to get you into trouble, and barely fast enough to get you out. It doesn’t have lane assist, a backup camera, or cupholders that make sense. You don’t get in the S2000—you strap it on and pray.

Every time Greg slides behind that wheel, he’s not just driving—he’s meditating at 9,000 RPM. It’s his rolling confessional, his therapist, his sanctuary. Need to flee a sniper attack? Need to get from Vienna, Virginia to a hockey rink in Rockville before puck drop? Or maybe just need a place to cry after your CIA ex-girlfriend sends back your toothbrush in the mail? The S2000’s got you.

Let’s not forget, this is a man who’s owned performance BMWs and a Porsche. He’s been shot, stabbed, emotionally gutted, and nearly assassinated by every flavor of evil on the geopolitical spice rack—and yet, the one thing that’s truly broken his heart? Seeing his S2000’s body panels desecrated by Russian mobsters with a can of spray paint and a hatred of beauty.

When Greg took that bullet in the shoulder in Cross My Heart & Hope to Die, his first instinct wasn’t to call 911. It was to manually drop the garage door and shield the S2000 from incoming fire. Priorities.

And sure, Nina left. And Izzy keeps him at arm’s length when he’s being a jackass. But the S2000? It’s always there. Like a loyal dog. A sleek, rev-happy, possibly-possessed-by-the-ghost-of-Ayrton-Senna loyal dog.

Greg once said the Honda handled like a dream—rear-wheel drive, a six-speed manual, 50:50 weight distribution, and an engine that sounded like it wanted to kill you if you didn’t respect it. And he loved that. Because if there’s one thing Greg Newsome understands, it’s complicated relationships.

Hell, the car’s been shot at, vandalized, dinged, dented, and still, he brings it back to Norman at the Honda dealer in Bethesda like it’s a wounded soldier returning from battle. Norman doesn’t even flinch anymore. He just sighs and says, “Again?”

Again, Norman. Always again.

Because if Greg Newsome’s going to die, it won’t be in a beige Camry. It’ll be behind the wheel of that S2000, redlining toward destiny, blasting Springsteen, and flipping the bird at fate.

So yeah. You want to understand Greg Newsome? Don’t look at his women. Look at his wheels.

Because in a world where loyalty is rare and trust is earned one downshift at a time… that little red convertible might be the only thing he’s ever really believed in.

Pick up a Greg Newsome book series and go for a spin in his little red wagon. Get all the books here.

You can get your copy of the Greg Newsome Series books by linking here on Amazon.