Chapter 7 Talon’s Past
The thing about Lark is, time moves differently around her.
I notice that before anything else. Before ambition. Before the way she looks like she knows exactly how to cut a man open if he ever gave her reason.
I didn’t get it at first.
Didn’t even realize what was happening until a couple of days after I took on the Camaro. That was when she asked me if I ever wanted something better than my life. She just looked at my hands and saw someone I don’t normally let exist.
And yeah, I told her the truth.
That there’s a cap on me somewhere.
A ceiling I can see but never break.
Guys like me don’t evolve. We just try not to die too fast.
That was then.
Now I keep showing up at that half-collapsed garage even though there’s no reason to anymore. The Camaro’s been running perfectly for some time. Doesn’t matter. I still make excuses.
Like a fool.
Rey and Fisher have no idea.
Thank God.
If they ever clocked how deep I let this go? I bet I’d be dead by now.
But what can I say? Lark’s got that something, and I don’t mean sex.
She’s a mystery by design. Talks with her hands when she’s fired up.
Gives me her history in broken shards, never in order, never enough to make a clean picture.
Sometimes she disappears for days and comes back with a split lip, won’t say where she got it.
And we’re not a couple. Not officially.
But I’ve never stuck around this long before.
I kind of stopped seeing other girls, too.
It’s comfortable like this. I keep my world off-limits; she keeps hers to herself. She doesn’t know anything about the crew, and I don’t ask about her side of town.
It works… until it doesn’t.
Because one night, after a late run down the coast, we’re sitting on the hood listening to waves punch the shoreline, and she decides to ruin things.
“There’s a race next Friday,” she says. “Big one.”
I smirk sideways. “I race all the time, sweetheart.”
“Yeah,” she says, brushing hair off her cheek, “but this one matters.”
“How?”
“Winner takes ten grand. Cash. No trail. And the Camaro?” Her smile is sharp. “She’ll devour the lineup. Was thinking we could run together and split the money.”
I freeze. Five grand. That’s a lot. With the cash and the parts I fenced, I could finally fix Gran’s headstone—replace the cracked marble the cemetery shoved her under.
Took me years to scrape together what I did the last time, but it’s all gone to shit again.
If I don’t fix it soon, they’ll move her. Unmarked.
The only red light flashing in my head: if a race this big was happening, Fisher would want me on it.
“Where?” I ask.
“North industrial strip,” Lark replies.
Fuck.
North end. Rey’s backyard. His real backyard. No wonder Fisher said nothing.
My hands itch. Five grand. Maybe it’s worth the risk. But someone’s bound to recognize me, even if I dyed my hair.
And if my crew found out, they’d want a cut. That’s how it works. But only after skinning me alive for going against Fisher.
Fifty-fifty I win or die.
“Why tell me?” I ask, forcing a smirk. “You could have the ten grand all to yourself.”
“Come on,” she says, swinging her legs. “I know I drive good, but you’re the real deal. You’d do all the work. I just figured, as the owner of the car, I deserve the half.”
Yeah, the logic’s not bad.
“Look at you, bargaining like a loan shark,” I tease. “Sharp, aren’t you?”
“What can I say?” She shrugs. “An asset’s an asset.”
“Please, I could steal this car from you in minutes.”
“And I could track you down and put a bullet in your head just as fast,” she snaps.
My heart thunders. There’s a reason I don’t stay long with any woman. Commitment, complications... But the longer I hang out with Lark, the more I see she’s just like me.
We make a great team. Maybe it could work.
Somehow, I’m not scared she’ll rip me off.
“You sure you’re ready to risk your precious baby?” I ask. “Ten grand’s a good payday, but bent frames don’t spend so well.”
“Why, you scared?” She scoffs. “If you don’t want in, just say it.”
Yeah, I should.
I should tell her no.
Tell her I’ve got other jobs.
Tell her the Camaro’s got one more thing wrong with her.
But I don’t.
Lark’s looking at me out of the corner of her eye, and I can feel it, that electric, unspoken challenge that’s been running between us since the day she called me pretty boy in that half-collapsed garage.
“I’m not scared,” I say finally. “I’m thinking.”
“Oh, you can do that?” She grins. “Didn’t know.”
Uh-uh. She knows very little about me.
I push off the hood, close the distance, until the wind carries the scent of gasoline and cheap cigarettes off her jacket.
“Alright, babe.” I take a strand of her jet-black hair between my fingers. She wants to slap my hand away but stops herself. “Tell me something. How would we get in? Rey’s boys don’t just let strays roll up and take their money.”
“They will if they think you’re not a stray,” she says. “I’ve got a friend on Rey’s crew. I used to run races with him before he got too deep in the game. He owes me a favor. One name drop, and you’re in.”
Great. Instead of just sneaking onto Rey’s turf, you’re gonna play traitor. Get your head straight, Talon.
Plus, hello? She has a friend on Rey’s crew.
I knew Lark knew people. Otherwise, she wouldn’t survive around here. But I’d hoped it was friends of Fisher, not Rey.
“Doesn’t sound very airtight,” I say.
“It’s airtight enough,” she replies, leaning back with that lazy-cat grin.
“You’ll be driving my car, under my entry.
Rey’s guys don’t care whose hands are on the wheel, as long as the name on the pink slip isn’t an enemy’s.
And last I checked…” she tilts her head, eyes glinting, “…you’re not anyone’s enemy. ”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Not anyone’s enemy.
Christ, if she knew.
“Am I wrong?” she prompts. “I can always give my guy a fake name, if you’re paranoid.”
I drag a hand down my face and look toward the shoreline. My gut says don’t do it. My bones say never in hell. Fisher’s voice in my head says if I pull a stunt like that, I’m done.
But my pulse? It’s doing something else entirely.
Why? I don’t know.
Maybe because it’s her asking.
“It’s one night,” I say. “One race. We’re in, we’re out, we’re ten grand richer.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I shove her hands into the pockets of my jacket. “But if Rey’s boys decide they don’t like my face…”
“Then you’ll just have to drive fast enough to make them go fuck themselves.”
I let out a long breath, mind already sketching the route, the escape angles, the way the Camaro’s tuned suspension will bite into the turns on the industrial strip. I’ve been on Rey’s turf once, when I was young, when Gran had just died, before I chose a side. The place must’ve changed since then.
Fuck, I hate myself for it.
Hate that I’m picturing the race instead of telling her to shove the keys in someone else’s hand.
I could at least tell her who I really run with.
But if I did, she’d vanish.
Time’s limited for everyone.
I like spending mine with her.
“Alright,” I hear myself say, like it’s coming from somewhere far away. “But if this goes sideways, you never saw me.”
Lark hops down from the hood, boots hitting the gravel with a crunch. She pulls her hands free and leans in until her nose almost brushes mine.
“Knew you weren’t chicken shit.”
Then she’s gone, sliding into the Camaro’s driver’s seat like a queen taking her throne. I stand in the sodium glow, watching my reflection warp across the black paint, wondering if I just signed my own death warrant.
The race night comes faster than I’m ready for. One blink, and it’s time to slide behind the wheel and roll onto the track.
As I said, Lark and time? She’s some kind of fucking time-bender.
The track—technically an old industrial strip—reeks of burnt rubber and grilled sausages. It’s a full-blown party: chrome flashes, a roaring crowd, more engines than should ever be allowed this close together.
Lark’s beside me, leather jacket zipped, hair tied back. She’s twitching in the passenger seat, one leg bouncing nonstop. Every so often she shoots me a grin, like she’s already counting the money.
Me? I’m not smiling.
Not even close.
I know I tend to grin like a maniac—half the time it means nothing—but now it’s gone. Every set of eyes out there could be the one that clocks me. And as I shift gears in the Camaro, I’m hit with this sudden self-awareness: I didn’t think I could be this reckless.
This must be a new record.
If it all works out, maybe I’ll even circle the date.
I should fucking remember it.
“We’ve got this, Tal,” Lark says.
I swallow the nerves clawing at my throat and glance her way. If there’s ever a time to pull off my charm, it’s now. Maybe if anyone spots me through the windshield, the easy grin will throw them off just enough not to recognize me. The black hair dye helps, but who knows?
“If only,” I say, smirking at Lark through my lashes. “I’m gonna wipe them out.”
“Yes!” she giggles, slapping her knees and bouncing in her seat. At least one of us is in a good mood.
The cars line up. The crowd’s roaring. My heartbeat syncs with the engines like it always does. Sparks travel all the way to my knuckles, and I grip the wheel tighter.
Speed, noise, danger—that’s air to me.
All I have to do is what I always do.
What’s the difference? Just the scale of it. Pfft—scale. Fuck the scale. I’ll outscale everyone.
Lark does all the talking. She drops the name we settled on, and just like that, we’re waved into position. It’s almost effortless. Nothing goes wrong. Before long, we’re slid in beside the other drivers.
By the time the starter girl drops the flag, I’m locked in.
It’s just my foot on the pedal, the road, and the competition.