CHAPTER 63
Evren
The Devil Within - Digital Daggers / Turbo Killer - Carpenter Brut
The seasonal race is tonight—so the garage is deafening. Members run in every direction, hauling parts, shouting across the workshop, engines roaring to life one after another.
Neo and Ren bark orders over the chaos while Varek stands there like the silent mountain he always is.
I'm buried elbow-deep in the Charger's engine.
My mind keeps drifting back to the map every participant received.
The Seasonal Race tears through multiple increasingly brutal stages spread across Kairo-9. Each course demands a different balance of speed, precision, and adaptability. With every stage, more racers are eliminated.
The pressure only gets worse until only the city's best are left.
I always make it to the final stages—Most gang leaders do.
Winning the Seasonal Race means far more than Ghost Credits. The victors earn elite vehicle upgrades, a massive jump in reputation and ranking, and a place in the higher-tier circuits—The Yearly Race.
I've only won it twice. Ryker, the leader of Ghost Void, has won it four times. The other gang leaders only once.
That's one of the reasons why Crimson Velocity is respected and number two. And that's exactly why Ghost Void sits at number one.
My troublemaker will be there tonight. So I need to fucking win that seasonal race.
I need everyone watching to understand exactly who she belongs to.
For hours, everyone's moving. No one dares sit their ass down.
But when I turn to reach for the torque wrench, my eyes scan the garage and lands on one idiot asleep on the hood of his car.
I straighten myself, stalk over and punch him.
“You're out of the race,” I state before turning my back on him and heading back to my Charger.
The man grunts in pain but doesn't argue. He just climbs off the hood and goes back to working on his car.
Four hours before the race, Neo's voice booms through the garage.
“Everyone get your asses over to the boss's car!” he barks.
I stay where I am, leaning against the hood of my Charger, my arms crossed over my bare chest.
I look at Ren, he gives me a sharp nod.
Behind me, a digital map flickers to life, projected by one of his devices.
“So,” I begin, letting my gaze sweep over every face in the garage. “In four hours, some of you are racing your first Seasonal. The rest of you already know the drill.” I pause. “Some of you will probably die tonight.”
Silence settles over the garage.
“Speed.” I raise one finger. “Stupidity.” A second. “Or someone else.” A third.
“If any of you want to back out... now's the fucking time.” I wait patiently.
It's one of the rare moments in my life where I actually am.
Some take a step back, mostly new recruits, I nod slowly.
“The rest of you, listen the fuck up, I won’t repeat myself.” I point a finger behind me to the map “We got it two days ago, Neo sent it to you to study it, I hope you did. Or you’re already dead.”
Neo grins and Varek nods.
“The first stage is ours—the Industrial Belt.
This is Crimson territory, so don't expect an easy ride just because we know these streets.
The route starts on the freight highways, where you'll have room to open the throttle.
Use it, but don't get greedy. After that, it throws you into the warehouses.
Tight corridors, blind corners, steel pillars, containers stacked so high you'll never see what's waiting on the other side.
One mistake in there, and you're scraping metal instead of chasing first place.”
No one speaks so Neo takes it from here.
“The track opens into the factory sector.
Steam vents, maintenance bridges overhead, machinery everywhere.
Visibility drops fast, and the road twists when you least expect it.
Stay fucking sharp. Once you're through, you'll hit the refinery straight—the longest stretch on the map.
That's where everyone's going to burn their boost trying to prove something. Let them. Save yours for the final section.”
I nod, approving.
“The finish runs through the loading yards.
It's rough, uneven, littered with abandoned cargo and concrete barriers.
You'll be fighting for every meter while everyone else is desperate to survive the cut.
This stage isn't about being the fastest. It's about getting to the line with your car still in one piece.
Half the racers won't. Make sure not to be part of it.”
Everyone nods, their gaze hardening.
I push myself off my car and walk to my office, my comm buzzes.
I snatch it, annoyed, I was about to do my pre-race ritual—roll my shoulders, crack my knuckles, drink a Nitro, stretch and spare with Varek.
I growl and a message appears from Riven.
I blink once, twice then burst out laughing, clutching my stomach. When I finally calm down, I shake my head in disbelief.
I don't reply but the smile never leaves my lips.
After our night at the club—drinking, dancing, and somehow ending up talking with her friends, I've decided they're just as much of a disaster as she is.
Jules looked at me like I was a monster.
Which, to be fair, I am.
But after a few drinks, she was jabbing a finger into my chest, bluntly informing me that if I ever hurt Riven, she'd peel the skin off my balls.
Charlie didn't even bother threatening me, she just kept looking from me, to Riven then back to me again.
Her eyes always landed on the hand resting on Riven's neck. She never said a word to me.
Instead, she laughed and teased Riven so relentlessly that Riven eventually had to strangle her just to make her shut up.
I like them, they're funny. It's a good trio.
Not threatening her, so I don’t give a fuck.
Riven was fucking magnificent in that outfit. The bare skin drove me crazy.
Just the thought of how tight and wet she was when I fucked her against the counter in the toilets makes me painfully hard.
I shift uncomfortably.
I spent the whole night glaring and growling at every man who so much as looked in her direction.
One idiot actually tried to talk to her. He ended up with a glass bottle shattered across his skull.
After that, no one else came anywhere near our table.
What I can't stop thinking about, though, is the charm.
She still wears it even after I told her there was a tracker inside.
She is wearing it.
She is wearing something I made.
She is wearing me.
I don't understand what the fuck I'm feeling. I just know that when she looked at me like that, I had to pour every ounce of possessiveness, obsession, lust, and every other fucked-up thing inside my head into that kiss.
I don’t want to think about it now, I have a race to win and a woman to show everyone that she owns me.
I shake out my whole body, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet.
Varek steps into my office.
“Ready for the ritual?” he asks, his voice as calm as ever.
“Of course I am.”
The air is alive with the roar of overclocked engines and the high-pitched scream of racing bikes revving at the starting grid.
Neon lights wash over hundreds of spectators packed behind barricades and perched on rooftops, their cheers blending with pounding bass that echoes through the industrial skyline.
Holographic displays flicker above the crowd as bookmakers shout the latest odds and Ghost Credit bets change hands in seconds.
Mechanics make last-minute adjustments beneath glowing work lights while racers exchange silent glances, each one knowing that when the countdown begins, only skill—and a little luck—will carry them to the next stage.
Ren is sitting beside me in the Charger's passenger seat.
The race starts in five minutes.
Racers are lining up.
My own people are making their final preparations.
My eyes glow as they scan the crowd, searching for one particular pain in my ass I can't—and won't—let go of.
There.
My breath catches.
She's walking toward the starting area in sneakers, oversized low-rise jeans, and nothing but a red sports bra.
But that's not what steals the air from my lungs, she's wearing Crimson Velocity's colors—Red and black.
I step out of the Charger and stalk toward her.
Without a word, I sweep her off the ground, spin her once, and crash my lips against hers violently.
“You got a death wish showing up here dressed like that?” I set her back on her feet. “Or are you trying to make me forfeit and leave with you? Because I fucking would.”
Riven chuckles and punches my shoulder.
Hard.
The pain dampeners kick in instantly.
“You're a brat,” I spit.
“So leave.” She crosses her arms, one eyebrow arching. “I've been telling you to leave me alone since day one.”
“Leave?” I lean closer, my voice dropping into a dangerous rumble. “The hell I will. I'm in this to the fucking bone. You're mine, troublemaker.”
I reach out and roughly brush my thumb across her lower lip.
“I'm exactly where I want to be. Anyway, I've gotta go.”
I straighten up.
“Or Ren will start scolding me, and when he does, it's all smart words only he understands. I don't need that shit.”
I tilt my head, searching her face. “You gonna watch me win?”
She grins. “You'd better win. If you die...” She points a finger at me. “I'm killing you.”
I laugh.
I wrap a hand around her neck, yank her forward and kiss her again, deep enough to steal another breath before catching her lower lip between my teeth hard enough to sting before soothing it with my tongue.
When I step back, I can't stop smiling.
“Don't miss me too much, baby girl,” I call as I walk back toward my Charger. “I fully intend to make sure you can't walk after I win as a trophy.”
She blushes furiously before flipping me off. That only makes me laugh harder.
Fuck.
She's got me at her feet.
I slide back into my seat, buckle in, catch her eye through the window and wink.
A drone hovers above the starting line, its holographic display flickering the countdown.
Five.
The roar of dozens of engines crashes together with the growl of my Charger.
My knuckles turn white around the steering wheel and gear lever.
Three.
Two.