Chapter 14 #3
I kissed her hard, taking her mouth because I needed the taste of her before I rode away. She clung to me, and I poured everything I couldn’t say yet into that kiss until she was breathless. “Stay here. Don’t move without me or one of my brothers going with you.”
“I know,” she replied.
But I wanted to be sure. I needed my mind on the track not worrying if she was safe. “I mean it.”
“I know, Levi,” she reassured me softly as she touched my jaw, her fingers warm. “Go win.”
I kissed her once more, quick but hard enough to leave my claim on her mouth, then made myself turn toward staging.
Kane stood near my bike when I reached it, his eyes cutting past me to Saylor, then back to my face. “You good?”
“No.” I swung my leg over the bike. “But I’m focused.”
“That’ll do.”
Gauge appeared on my other side, handing me my helmet. “Try not to race with your dick. It’s probably making emotional decisions.”
I took the helmet and shot him a look. “Always so helpful.”
He shrugged. “Only when I care.”
“Touching.”
“Don’t make it weird.” His hand landed briefly on my shoulder. “Smoke him.”
I pulled the helmet on, strapped it, and let the world narrow. The noise dulled and sharpened at the same time, filtered through the helmet and the hot pulse in my blood. I rolled toward staging, the bike humming beneath me, tuned to respond without thought.
She was one of mine, built and adjusted by my hands, and she felt eager under me, hungry for road and speed.
Across from me, the Serpents’ rider sat on a black-and-silver machine that looked fast enough to make stupid men confident.
His helmet turned toward me, and even through the visor, I could feel him watching, waiting for me to look nervous.
They still thought their little trap waited for me in that turn, that the race had been won before it started. Motherfucker wouldn’t know what happened until he crossed the finish line a loser.
The starter moved us into position. I glanced once toward the pit and found Saylor standing between Nitro and Blitz, with Kane just a few steps away. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in her face. I took one breath, deep and slow, and let it all settle.
The flag dropped.
I launched hard, my front end light for half a breath before the tire bit and the bike tore forward under me.
The first stretch of track was a blur of floodlights and shadows.
I shifted by feel, tucked low, and let the machine breathe beneath me, every movement precise, no wasted corrections.
Speed wasn’t something I feared. It listened when you knew how to talk to it.
The first turn came sharp. I took the inside line tight, and the Serpent driver tried to stay with me, edging closer than he should, probably hoping to crowd my line early.
I let him think he could. Men like him needed encouragement before they embarrassed themselves properly.
He pushed wide through the second stretch, sloppy in the places he thought aggression would make up for discipline.
I could feel the road under me, the rough patches, the seams, the spots where rubber had built up and the pavement dipped just enough to punish you if you leaned wrong.
The sabotaged section waited ahead, safe enough now, but still sitting in my head like a marked target.
I knew what line they expected me to take, what they’d planned, and that their rider was probably waiting for the moment my bike hit slick and grit and went sideways. So I gave him a show.
I drifted toward the outside as we approached the dip, letting him think I was taking the bait.
He hung just behind and to my left, too close and eager.
Then at the last possible second, I cut tighter, using the line Nitro had pointed out earlier, the one their rider hadn’t accounted for because he’d built his confidence around sabotage instead of skill.
His bike wobbled when he realized the trap hadn’t done a damn thing. Just a tiny crack in control, but at these speeds, those became wide-open doors.
I took the opening, and the bike surged under me as I opened the throttle through the exit, gaining distance.
The sound of his engine shifted wrong, just hesitation, and that was all I needed.
I pushed harder, leaned deeper, and rode the track like I’d built it.
The crowd’s roar rose higher, feeding the air while the Serpent tried to recover ground he wasn’t good enough to take back.
By the final stretch, he was done, he just didn’t know it yet. The finish lights burned ahead, and I let the bike run. I crossed with enough distance to make sure there was no question who’d come out on top.
The yard erupted, and I eased off the throttle, and circled back toward the pit, the bike vibrating beneath me. Almost purring like she knew she’d done exactly what she was built to do.
The Diesel Serpents’ side looked ugly from where I rode past, men shifting, shoulders tight, arrogance curdling into something closer to fear. Guess they had some sense in their thick heads. They should be afraid. The race settled the public terms, but the private debt still had blood on it.