CHAPTER 9
Riven
Beast - Mia Martina feat. Waka Flocka
It feels like my heart jumped straight out of my rib cage and launched itself through the windshield.
I was too frozen to care about that man, too focused on the fact that I was actually going to die.
I don't think I hit my head or anything. The seatbelt took most of the impact, and my death grip on the seat did the rest.
I'm trying to process that crazy bastard just made us crash.
I breathe heavily, every inhale sharp and uneven. I'm still paralyzed, still completely traumatized.
My body feels trapped somewhere between panic and shock, like I physically can't react or move.
I hear footsteps.
Please tell me that's a medic or someone here to help us.
I glance over at Elyas.
He grunts and shifts slightly, blood running from his nose and temple, but somehow that idiot is still alive.
Good, because he's absolutely going to pay for dragging me here.
Even if I agreed at first, I didn't agree to this.
Cars, speed—My worst fucking nightmare.
And definitely not an accident caused by a maniac.
I didn't even know illegal street races existed. My father works at the Central Authority, but since I never talk to him or take any interest in his work, I had no fucking idea.
The footsteps come closer, followed by a voice.
My stomach drops instantly.
It's him.
The complete psycho who crashed into us, who almost killed us.
I grunt, trying to move, trying to react.
His hand closes around my chin, tilting my head up and forcing me to look at him.
I blink against the harsh light outside until I finally manage to focus on his face.
“Need a hand?” His voice drops into a purr.
He tilts his head slightly, black-and-red streaked hair falling across his forehead as the glow in his hazel eyes intensifies.
What the hell? Why do his eyes glow?
It's mods, it has to be since it's not natural to have glowing eyes.
“You should've been in my car instead.” His smirk spreads slowly. “Not with this novice fucker. Are you an idiot?”
Excuse me?
I probably am, considering I agreed to come with Elyas. But not to that, I didn't know where he was dragging me in.
And anyway, who the hell does he think he is, insulting me?
I'm about to tell him to fuck off when one of his hands suddenly shoots forward.
Not toward me, toward the seatbelt.
Click.
The belt retracts instantly.
Before I can react, his other hand slides to the nape of my neck.
I tense immediately.
I grab his wrist and yank, trying to shove him away, but it doesn't budge an inch.
“Don't touch me!”
“I'm helping you,” he whispers, leaning farther into the car until his face is only inches from mine. “So, stop fucking shouting like you're getting murdered.”
This close, I can finally make out the details of his face.
A silver diamond-shaped piece of jewelry sits on his cheekbone, almost like a piercing.
I've never seen anything like it—and I work with a piercer.
Everything about him looks dangerous.
“See something you like?” he asks.
He's noticed the way I'm studying him, mapping every detail of his face.
I don't even have time to snap back before his hand shifts, wrapping around my waist.
Then I'm moving.
He hauls me through the shattered window like I weigh absolutely nothing.
No warning, no hesitation.
And definitely no respect for boundaries—or basic fucking medical protocol to check whether I can even be moved after a crash.
I can feel the muscles in his arms flex against my body.
He could snap me in half so easily.
As he carries me like a fucking doll, my face ends up only inches from his neck.
I notice more piercings, silver earrings, a lot of them.
Three hoops, maybe, and two silver helix piercings climbing his ear.
I should not be noticing details like this. Is this really the moment?
No.
So why is my brain choosing now to catalog things I normally wouldn't give a damn about?
My breathing accelerates. I'm so close to his neck, I need to calm down.
Or I'll probably sink my teeth into it and wrench sideways until he's bleeding out.
He settles me back onto my feet.
I wince slightly the second they hit the ground, probably from the shock of the impact. I know I don't have anything broken, just maybe a couple of bruises.
But his hands stay on my hips, lingering.
What the actual fuck?
He tilts his head and leans closer again, invading my space like he has every right to be there.
“Can you walk?” he asks, his voice low and rough, “or do I need to throw you over my shoulder?”
“Wh-What...” My voice finally comes back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
I shove against his chest—or at least try to.
The man is a complete fucking mountain compared to me.
He barely moves.
If anything, his grip on my hips tightens in response.
I yelp, feeling the warmth of his hands seep through the bones of my hips.
When I look back at him, he's smiling. He's actually smiling.
Did I say something funny?
“What is wrong with me?” he repeats slowly, like he's genuinely considering the question.
His hands tighten slightly again on my hips.
“Letting some little bitch drive you into a street race where one wrong move gets people killed.”
He leans even closer.
Far too close. Close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off his skin.
“So, tell me,” He murmurs, his glowing eyes locked on mine, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me—" I cut myself off, staring at him in complete disbelief. “You're the one who crashed into us!”
My voice rises despite the shock still choking my lungs.
“You're a fucking psychopath!”
I shove harder against his chest, trying to force some space between us.
It's still useless.
“Let go of me right now or I'll fucking break your nose.”
I throw the threat anyway, hoping it lands.
But looking at a man like him? I'm not sure threats actually work on him.
“Cute. Very cute.” His eyes glow brighter. “A girl like you, with those eyes, having a mouth full of herself, huh?”
He leans closer until his mouth hovers near my ear, making my spine shiver all the way down to the bone.
“Try,” he murmurs. “I dare you.” His voice drops lower, even rougher. “We'll see if you're all talk...”
A pause.
“Or if you actually act.” Another pause, longer this time. “Or I'll find a better use for that mouth.”
My jaw tightens instantly at both the dare and the threat.
Like I would ever let him do shit with my mouth, like I would never actually break his nose.
My head snaps forward before I can even think twice, and I slam it straight into his nose.
I wince at the impact.
Blood wells instantly, his head jerking back. His grip falters for a second—just enough.
“Fuck off!” I shout as I rip myself free and throw a punch.
My fist lands against his jaw, but his head barely moves.
He recovers too quickly.
What is happening? Is he even human?
I barely register his head snapping back toward me before I see it—a full grin spreading across his face, blood dripping from his nose down to his mouth, staining his teeth red.
He moves fast. Too fast.
Suddenly, I'm yanked forward, and his other hand shoots up to cover my mouth.
“I didn't think you would actually fucking do it,” he snarls, blood spattering across my face. “You've got balls, I'll give you that.”
His face is inches from mine, his eyes hard and bright.
His scent hits me immediately.
Burnt rubber, metallic heat, something synthetic and spicy underneath.
Usually, I would love that kind of scent.
But right now? Fuck that shit.
I bite down hard on his hand with a growl. He wrenches it away, his eyes hardening.
I barely have time to process it before he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head backward with his free hand.
I pant heavily, my jaw clenched so tightly it aches.
“You little...” He rasps, his voice dropping to a dangerous hum. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”
He raises a finger to his nose, swiping away the blood before slowly smearing it across my lower lip with his thumb.
He's spreading his blood on my lips.
He clearly has a fucking problem.
“Your little stunt?” He chuckles low in his throat. “Cute. No one ever actually hit me, bite me and walked away alive.”
“Really?” I grin. “Then there's a first time for everything. Guess you're not that scary as you think you are.”
He tugs sharply at my hair, making me hiss through my teeth.
“You little brat.” He leans closer, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Shut your mouth before I show you that the crash was fucking nothing.”
A shiver runs through my skin.
I need to move. Act.
“Try it,” I snarl. “You little piece of shit.”
I know I'm an idiot for trying to fight him, but I need to get out of this.
I slam my boot into his calf and twist my body violently.
He grunts in pain, hopping once on one leg while grabbing the other, releasing my hair.
I whirl and run.
I don't even know where I'm going. I just need to get away from that man.
I hear him less than ten seconds later.
A laugh echoes through the empty docks, deep and unhinged, making my heart slam even harder against my ribs.
“Okay,” he sighs. “If you want to play it like that, let's fucking play.”
I need to go faster, so I push harder, stumbling over myself before catching my balance on the asphalt, nearly going down from the impact.
I ignore the pain shooting through my bruised body from the crash.
Panic clings to my skin as I run.
Then footsteps thunder behind me, and his voice tears through the docks.
“Run, troublemaker!” His laugh follows right after. “It makes the capture more delicious...”
A pause.
I swear to any god, if I manage to escape that psycho, I will never come back down here.
“And I wonder what your defiance and defeat taste like.”
The barrier comes up in front of me.
I jump over it.
But before I can even get my feet back on the ground, arms wrap around my waist, yanking me backward and throwing me over his shoulder.
The impact knocks the air out of my lungs.
I gasp, trying to catch my breath. By the time I realize where I am, it's too late.
His hands are already on the backs of my thighs.
I pound on his back, scratch at him, trying to make him put me down.
He chuckles, and one hand slides higher along my flared jeans before tightening its hold with a squeeze.
His voice, when he speaks, is a low rumble, deep and dangerous enough to stop me dead in my frantic movements.
“Stop moving like a worm, or I'll break your legs.”
“Go to fucking hell!” I shout and start struggling again, grabbing his short, messy hair and yanking.
Suddenly, a sharp pain snaps through me.
Crack.
I cry out.
He just fucking slapped me. He slapped my ass.
A blush creeps from my neck to my ears. I'm not frustrated, I'm enraged and embarrassed.
“See? That's how you behave.” he says, deadly calm.
He keeps walking like he owns me.
My face burns with pure, unfiltered rage.
I didn't fight all those people in high school just to let this fucker humiliate me.
I twist my body enough to lift one leg, slipping under his grip, then roll.
Not toward freedom—toward his neck.
My other leg wraps around his neck, and I squeeze as hard as I can.
His steps falter and stop as I tighten my hold, locking him into a chokehold from behind.
I use my hands on his hair to maintain my balance.
But instead of fighting for air, his hands slide to my thighs and make me squeeze harder.
My eyes widen at the sheer insanity of this man, my hold loosens slightly, but it's enough.
He twists into it and drops hard onto the road, dragging me down with him.
My back slams against the asphalt.
I gasp, the impact instantly making me dizzy.
I shake my head, trying to see clearly again, before I suddenly feel weight on top of me.
When my vision finally clears enough, I see him.
On top of me.
Grinning like a complete madman.
I freeze, my heavy breaths mingling with his rough, hoarse ones from the chokehold.
He shifts and yanks me closer by my collar.
“Do you have a name?” he murmurs, “Or do I need to call you a troublemaker before I fucking kill you for having the fucking nerve to try to kill me?”
Like I'm going to give him my name.
“Let go of me!” I bark “I’ll rip your fucking throat out!”
He laughs, a deep, low sound, dark enough to rumble straight through me.
“Will you?” He releases me completely and stands up, looming over me. “Go ahead. Try again. See how far you get. Or...”
He steps closer again, looming over me.
“You tell me your name, I might be gentler. Either way, you're not leaving alive.” His voice lowers into something eerily calm. “And I always get what I want. So go on, try again, little troublemaker.”
I can't move.
This man is terrifying.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
I try to choke him, and he tightens the hold? What kind of kink is this?
He is insane.
I need to get away from him, now or never.
I look around rapidly.
The only things I've got are my comm and my boots.
“I asked your name,” He says, taking a step forward before crouching right in front of me. “I don't like repeating myself.”
He tilts his head slightly, almost amused.
“The third lap is about to start, and I could easily push you right in front of a car.” His voice drops again, colder. “Answer me or die.”
My heart pounds wildly.
What the fuck am I supposed to do?
His hand shoots out suddenly, fingers wrapping around my throat hard enough to make me gasp, but not enough to cut off my airway.
His thumb brushes over my pulse, and I can feel my heartbeat practically exploding beneath my skin.
His other hand lifts, and with two fingers, he tilts my chin up, forcing me to hold his gaze.
“I am talking to you,” he snarls. “You will not fucking ignore me like I'm some piece of furniture.”
His grip tightens slightly around my throat.
He leans even closer, his lips now barely a breath away from mine.
My jaw clenches so hard I swear you could hear my teeth cracking.
Think, I have to think.
I have an idea, but it could be a gamble, could have me killed by him or a car.
Or actually works.
I shove backward, rolling onto my back, and as I roll, I kick blindly in his direction.
My boot hits something. I don't know what and I don't want to know.
A sharp hiss rings out.
I don't wait to see what happened.
Considering everything I've seen so far, I know he'll recover far too quickly through some fucking miracle.
I scramble to my feet, turn, and run.
“You fucking bitch!” he roars, his voice shifting from anger to pure fury.
Then his laugh echoes behind me again.
God, he's creeping me the fuck out.
He's probably already back on his feet, because apparently his body doesn't function like a normal human's.
I vault over another section of the barrier, hit the ground in a roll, then take off again, disappearing between the shipping containers.
I yank out my comm.
Somehow, it managed to stay unscathed through all that shit.
The screen is slightly cracked, but I don't care.
“Comm,” The words coming out breathless as I run, “localize me and call the cops and medics. Elyas Hurrian is injured in a car crash.”
The comm flickers to life with a faint alert.
I shove it back into my pocket and keep running.