Chapter 1 Gianna #2
I fight the satisfaction that pulls at my lips.
New blood.
He lifts a hand, showcasing a few hundred-dollar notes wedged between his fingers.
I eye his vehicle, a souped-up Honda Civic CRX Type R.
There are probably a few modifications done to the K20 motor, but he’s focused too much on aesthetics, adding chrome accessories that increase weight.
The camber of his tyres also won’t help him on the straight.
I can take him.
‘Two,’ I say simply.
‘Done.’ He lets loose a wicked grin. ‘But when I win, I don’t want your money. I want your name. Mine’s Landon, but you can call me daddy if you want. Or maybe you prefer Papacito?’
Gross.
Also, I’m half Filipina, not Hispanic, you asshole.
He rolls to the starting line, leaving laughter in his wake. I position myself beside him. Four sets of headlights light up the asphalt. My attention zeroes in on the finish line. The Mustang has never lost a race, and tonight will be no different. I owe it to Jace.
I reach into the back, turning the knobs for the dual canister nitrous oxide tanks perched in the middle seat. The NOS has a direct fuel line to the engine. All I need to do is flick the switch for a power boost. It’s crazy what a little oxygen can do.
X holds his green bandana above his head, making his way to the middle of the straight with a trail of smoke billowing behind him.
Already in first gear, I press down on the accelerator, letting the revs rumble my threat.
I usually ignore the onlookers, but for some reason, I’m not in the zone tonight, and I can’t help myself as my eyes flicker across their faces.
My breath catches at the sight of one in particular. The motorcyclist in the black helmet.
No. It can’t be him.
I shake my head to blink the vision away and when I look up again, he’s gone.
I swallow, unsticking my tongue from the roof of my dry mouth. ‘He wouldn’t be here,’ I mumble, trying to soothe myself.
The sound of tyres squealing snaps me back to reality. X’s bandana is on the ground, and the other racers have already sped off.
Shit.
My engine roars as I release the clutch and race forward, slamming down on the accelerator to catch up. Revs howl through the night as the Mustang hits the limiter. I upshift to second gear, seeing flashes of Landon’s red Civic in my peripheral.
Third gear.
The other two drivers have fallen behind.
Fourth gear.
I lock my focus dead ahead, not allowing him to distract me.
‘I got this.’ I smile, licking my lips.
Fifth gear.
Few things make my blood rush like this.
My entire body feels like it’s both on fire and doused in ice.
The crowd blurs on either side of the track, and the red button in the centre of my steering wheel is screaming to be pushed.
I hesitate for a moment, wondering if it’s too soon, but that’s all it is, a moment.
I hit the NOS and the back of my head smacks into the headrest as my stomach gets left behind.
My speedometer reads 160 mph. Now, there’s no one in my peripherals.
I don’t risk it, hitting the NOS once more for the second canister to release. 180.
Sparks fly in my rear-view mirror while my heart lurches into my throat.
Even though the asphalt is as smooth as butter, my arms shake to keep the steering wheel straight.
Air whooshes from my lungs as the car takes on supersonic speed.
Sweat trickles down my back. My knuckles turn white around the steering wheel.
Relief consumes my body as I cross the finish line in less than ten seconds, but it’s short-lived when Landon follows a fraction of a second behind me. I nearly lost everything.
Buffering the brakes, I slow the car and it grumbles to a stop. When the other racers catch up, I notice the Charger has a smoking engine, the Camaro a shaken chassis and Landon’s Civic has a broken air splitter. Pride bubbles in my chest when I see the disappointment on all three drivers’ faces.
Stepping out of the car, my body still tingles from the rush.
A crowd gathers around to cheer me on and I’m lifted onto the shoulders of strangers.
Elation flows right through to my fingertips.
I look up at the sky. A few clouds roll in, but I find my favourite star. It shines brighter than the rest.
Another win for us, big bro.
I’m placed back on my feet when a sudden pressure settles on me and trickles into my bones. It’s disconcerting, but it’s also … familiar.
I whip around with the urge to watch my back, but everyone is just high on the octane and enjoying themselves. I frown, frantically sifting through all the faces that surround me, hoping that my mind is just playing tricks on me. My breathing slows when I don’t see him.
Stop it. He wouldn’t be here.
A small sigh of relief leaves my lungs when Chuckie and Monique appear from the crowd. ‘Let’s go get shots!’ she chimes.
Behind her, Landon steps out of his car and locks eyes with me. I beam brightly, hoping his loss stings. Papacito owes me two grand.
‘Where are you going?’ Monz asks as I start toward him.
‘I got a win to collect from him.’
She casts Landon a quick glance before flipping her hair. ‘Good, that’ll show him. The groupies were so excited, saying he used to be big here a few years ago. They were saying he runs meets of his own all across the state and that he wins every single one.’
‘A few years ago? Like, Jace’s time?’ It couldn’t be, no one was better than him.
‘I’m not sure,’ she sighs. ‘You know how it is, it’s just track talk. Go get your cash!’
As I approach, Landon leans against his car, holding out my winnings.
I grab the bundle of cash in his crooked fingers and turn, but he doesn’t release his grip on the money, pulling me back toward him and sending me crashing into his chest. I push off him just as Chuckie barrels around my legs and comes between us, flashing his teeth at Landon in a menacing growl.
My eyes widen. Chuckie is never aggressive to anyone. I soothe his sides, and although his growls soften to a low grumble, the ridge of spiked fur along his spine tells me he’s still on full alert.
‘Looks like you can handle a stick.’ Landon winks, unaffected by Chuckie’s warning. ‘What’s your name, skirt?’
I roll my eyes and try to wrench the cash from his hands again. ‘I don’t recall you passing the finish line first.’
There’s a beat where his grip tightens and provocation dances in his eyes. Finally, he releases the money as Chuckie gives another growl. Landon raises his hands in surrender, his jaw set with a humourless grin. I turn away.
‘I’ll see you around, skirt.’ I hear the smile in his voice.
‘I hope not,’ I call over my shoulder without a glance back.
Monique’s collecting more cash from a victim, a gloating aura radiating from her. When I reach her side, I lean in close. ‘How much did you get?’
‘Girl, we cleaned up.’ She fans herself with the cash, not even trying to be discreet.
An infectious laugh pours from her mouth, making me giddy with pride, then she huffs out a sigh.
‘Except for one guy.’ She scowls, counting out a few hundred-dollar bills and separating them from our winnings.
‘He refused to bet against you, and I didn’t want to seem suspicious by not taking it. ’
Smart guy. ‘Who?’
‘Ugh, he had a Ducati, but I didn’t get a look at his face. He didn’t take his helmet off.’ She scans through the crowd, stretching up on the tips of her toes until she spots him. ‘There.’
She gestures toward someone beyond the cluster of people, deep in the shadows. A man dressed entirely in black leather, his arms draped over the handlebars of his black Ducati Panigale, the same motorcycle I nearly crashed into.
I swallow down the burst of nerves. He wouldn’t be here.
‘I’ll take it to him,’ I say, grabbing the cash, needing to settle my mind.
‘Okay, I’ll go find X and give him his cut. Then we get shots!’ she yells again, but I’m not really listening, too interested in the man in front of me.
He stands as I approach, effortlessly swinging a long leg over his bike.
He’s got broad shoulders, and looks like he’s been sculpted from pure muscle and malicious intent.
The visor on his helmet is now up. In two strides, he’s killed the distance between us.
I falter when he brings his body flush against mine, my eyes level with his chest. There’s no shyness in his movements and I crane my neck, taking him in as he towers over me.
I’m instantly sucked into the vortex of his eyes – ethereal, turquoise-blue gems that swallow me whole along with everything else in sight.
My stomach flips and suddenly the thickness in the air is something I can no longer breathe. I’d recognise Ryker Edwards’ eyes anywhere.
‘You,’ I squeak, barely recognising my own voice.
He removes his helmet, and a heavy feeling drops in my gut, rivalled by the electricity that crackles under my skin.
His black hair is longer than I remember, and artfully finger-raked.
Frown lines that were once faint have set in deeper.
He still has the same strong features, sharp jawline and the scar that slashes through his left eyebrow.
A lopsided grin displays perfect teeth, and full lips that are far too inviting.
It’s been years since I saw him last, and time seems to have stolen something from him, because the familiar smile that he flashes doesn’t reach his eyes.
When my lungs remember to work, his scent slaps me back to that night so long ago. Leather, wood and bergamot. It’s been four years since I last saw Ryker, but even back then, he made it hard to breathe.
A fat tear rolls down my cheek. He reaches up and grips my jaw with strong fingers. I’m frozen as he leans in, the warmth of his breath ghosting across my cheek before his tongue darts out to trail the tear.
This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.
‘Hey, Little Suspect.’ The low timbre of his voice fills the charged air between us. ‘Missed me?’