35. Levi
Chapter 35
Levi
W e’re running on fumes.
Every muscle in my body aches. Every breath tastes like metal and paint and desperation.
But we’re here.
And somehow, somehow , when the final buzzer sounds, SKC’s bike gleams under the spotlights like something out of a dream.
It's unreal.
But we did it.
We fucking did it.
Kick drops her tools and leans against the table, sweat dripping off her jawline. Ghost sets down the leather seat he finished hours ago. Gramps pops the rag off his shoulder and gives the gas tank one last swipe like he’s polishing a trophy.
And Joey’s standing there staring at the bike like he can't believe it’s real. Like maybe if he blinks, it’ll all disappear.
I reach out, ruffle his hair, and pull him into a rough hug before letting him go.
Kick throws a wrench at him—missing on purpose—and shouts, “You’re a fucking legend, Skid!”
Ghost grunts something that sounds suspiciously like agreement.
Joey just beams from ear to ear.
And for the first time since we set foot in this arena… Hope doesn't feel so far away.
The judges make their rounds. Inspecting the frame, the paint, the innovation. I hold my breath when they get to Joey’s work, but their murmured words— Flawless execution,” “Clean lines,” “Risky design but damn if it doesn’t work —settle the knot in my gut.
Still, no one breathes easy.
Not until the announcement.
We line up behind the barrier with the other crews. The lights are brutal, blinding. The cameras are rolling. The crowd buzzing like a swarm of hornets.
Eight teams. Three trophies.
Savage Rides is standing cocky and smug in their polished shirts, arms crossed like they already know they’ve won second place.
We’re a mess.
Grimy. Exhausted. Wild-eyed.
But we earned our mess.
The announcer steps up to the mic.
Third place is called. Some team from Oklahoma who barely pulled it together by the skin of their teeth.
Second place—my heart pounds so hard I can barely hear.
Second place is Savage Rides.
The entire SKC crew jerks like we’ve been hit by a live wire.
Grayson Holt’s face twists, somewhere between disbelief and barely concealed rage.
But it’s the next announcement that shatters everything.
“And your first place champions… S teel King’s Customs! ”
For a beat, a full second, no one moves.
Like the words didn’t register.
And then I’m yelling… roaring… charging toward my crew, grabbing Sienna first.
I haul her right off the ground, spinning her in a circle while she laughs and cries at the same time.
Gramps whoops so loud the cameras swing to catch him. Kick’s jumping on Ghost’s back, screaming victory. Joey’s tackled by the entire crew. Their mussing his hair and pounding him on the back like he's just did the world's hardest thing.
We won.
Against the odds.
Against the clock.
Against every motherfucker who said we were dead and buried.
SKC is alive.
And we’re undeniably here.
* * *
The hours after pass in a blur.
Interviews. Photos. Handshakes.
The crew sticks close together, taking turns pulling Sienna to the front whenever reporters try to shove a mic into my face.
“She’s the captain now,” I say more times than I can count. “She made it happen. Not me.”
And God, the way she shines when she smiles and accepts it—it kills me a little.
Because I know. No matter how much I want her… I’m already a ghost standing in the ruins of what I could’ve had.
* * *
That night, after the noise quiets, after the last camera clicks off, I find myself outside her door.
Heart pounding harder than it had even during the competition.
I raise my hand.
Knock once. Twice.
The door creaks open.
She’s standing there in a simple T-shirt and shorts, barefoot, hair damp from a shower.
Vulnerable. Beautiful.
Mine.
But not for long.
"One night," I say, voice hoarse. "Just tonight. Let’s pretend."
She doesn't hesitate.
She pulls me inside.
The second the door clicks shut, I have her pressed against it, my mouth devouring hers, hands roaming over every curve like I'm trying to memorize her by touch alone.
Her fingers tear at my shirt, yanking it over my head.
I lift her, carrying her to the bed without breaking the kiss, laying her down like she’s made of glass and the most precious thing I’ve ever held.
We strip each other in a rush of hands and mouths and breathless laughter that dies into soft, desperate sighs.
I take my time with her.
Slow.
Worshipful.
Every kiss, every stroke of my hands across her flushed skin is a goodbye I’m too much of a coward to say out loud.
"You’re beautiful," I rasp against the hollow of her throat. "So beautiful it wrecks me, Angel."
She cups my face, her eyes shining.
"Make me forget," she whispers. "Just for tonight."
I slide inside her slow, both of us groaning at the contact, the connection that’s so much bigger than just our bodies.
It’s everything . I move slow at first. Drawing it out.
Savoring the heat and sweetness of her, the way she clutches me to her like she never wants to let go.
She kisses me back just as desperately. Arching into me, whispering broken little pleads that sound a lot like my name.
We move together, finding a rhythm that feels less like sex and more like worship—until I feel her tighten around me, her nails digging into my back, and she falls apart beneath me, crying out my name.
I follow her a heartbeat later, burying my face in her neck, breathing her in like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.
Because it is.
Because after tonight, it has to be.