CHAPTER 10
Evren
Monster - Skillet
My pain dampeners kick in a few seconds after every blow she landed.
That fucking brat just hit me.
I wanted to help her, maybe have a little fun with her.
Instead she fucking hit me.
No one.
No one has ever done that.
I touch my jaw and nose, wincing slightly.
I'm grateful for my body modifications, or I'd be lying unconscious right now.
I paid thousands of credits for pain dampeners that activate the moment an injury would normally knock someone out.
I still feel the impact, I still feel the pain.
But once the dampeners kick in, they flood the nerves around the injury with a synthetic morphine-like compound, dulling the worst of it and letting me keep fighting.
I slowly lick my lips, the metallic taste of my own blood coating my tongue.
The third lap never starts.
I frown.
What the fuck? Why aren’t there cars ramming each other right now?
Then I hear them, cars. But not the engines of racing cars heavily modified.
Enforcer cars.
Their drones are already recording everything, scanning faces and uploading the footage within minutes to whatever government database stores your identity and tags you for life.
Oh.
She fucking called for help.
I laugh, clutching my stomach for air.
That's smart, she's smart.
“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair and shake my head. “That's it, call for help.”
I grin, letting the words hang in the empty air.
“Run... but when I find you...”
I don't finish the sentence, I don't need to. It's a threat, a fucking promise to her—to myself.
I turn and walk back toward the wreckage, the guy is still unconscious.
I bend inside through the window and press two fingers against his neck.
Alive, one less corpse to get rid of.
I leave before the drones sweep the area and climb back into my car.
My Charger roars to life.
I don't head back to my apartment, I drive straight to the garage.
Everyone's going to have fucking questions about the race, about the why Enforcers came.
I just let that brat walk away on her own two feet.
How the fuck did she dare pull stunts like that? Who is she? Where did she come from?
I need to find her and make her regret ever fighting back.
Usually, every woman who sees me either cowers... or throws herself at me, begging me to fuck her because of my reputation.
The security system scans my car, and the garage doors slide open before I even reach them.
I pull my Charger inside and park.
Every head turns toward me, everyone stopping what they're doing, arms crossing as they wait for an explanation.
I step out, slam the door shut, and lean against the hood.
I catch Neo, Ren, and Varek staring at my nose and the dried blood with obvious confusion.
The others start noticing it too.
I lean back until I'm practically lying across the hood, my arms folded behind my head.
My mind is miles away.
I lost the weekly race, again.
Some of them are probably questioning my leadership already.
I'll remind them. But for now... That girl.
She wasn't afraid of me.
No.
She fought back because she didn't know who I was. That's different.
My blood boils beneath my skin at the memory of her looking at me like I wasn't one of the most dangerous men in the Lower Layers.
I can feel my eyes glowing brighter—a reminder that whenever I feel something too strongly, everyone can see it.
“Yo, what the hell, Evren?” Neo finally cuts through the silence. “What happened during the race?”
“Why do you have blood all over your face?” Ren adds. “Did you crash your car? Get into a fight?”
“No. I didn't crash my car.” I gesture toward the Charger. “Open your fucking eyes. She's perfectly fine.”
“So, what the fuck happened?” Neo asks. “You look like someone actually punched you.”
My eyes flash with anger, my hands curling into fists.
I need to calm down, I can't fucking hit my best friend.
I force myself to breathe out, but it does nothing to settle the urge.
“I bet you're all wondering why the hell I gave up the race.” I pause. “Well... I found something more interesting.”
One of the rookies steps forward.
“Found something?” he snorts. “How can you lose the weekly race? Two in a row. We need the money. And you call yourself the leader—”
I move fast.
My adrenal booster floods my system, I drive my knee straight into the rookie's stomach. He folds instantly, dropping to the ground, gasping for air.
“Does anyone else have something to say?” I wait, I already know nobody's going to answer. “I make the decisions. I found something far more interesting than the weekly race, so I took it.”
I straighten.
“This doesn't change shit. You'll all get your credits.” I spread my arms slightly. “We've got enough money to survive for five fucking years.”
I step over the rookie, dismissing him completely.
“So, the next fucker who questions my leadership will end up in a worse state than the rookie over here.” I sweep my gaze around the garage. “Are we clear?”
A chorus of Yes, Boss! echoes through the warehouse.
There.
I reminded them who's in charge. I built Crimson Velocity from scratch, this is mine.
My gang.
I will not be defied, I will not let them think I'm weak.
I don't think, I act, and I take.
That's fucking it.
Varek turns and goes back to work on his car.
Ren heads toward the rookie, helping him back to his feet and telling him to get back to work and shut his mouth.
But Neo? That fucker comes straight toward me.
“Evren,” he says, his lime-green eyes locking onto my hazel ones, deadly serious for the first time in a long while. “What the fuck was that?”
He crosses his arms.
“Talk to me. You're always asserting your leadership through violence. Fine.” He shrugs. “But you came back after giving up a race like you got hit by a car.”
He points at me.
“You. Evren Calder. The guy who usually takes whatever he wants.” His eyes narrow.
His gaze drifts to the dried blood on my face.
“And you've got blood all over your fucking face.”
“It's none of your business, Neo,” I reply coldly, narrowing my eyes. “I do whatever the fuck I want. The gang isn't going to die because of two weekly races.”
“In three months, there's the seasonal race.” A grin tugs at my lips. “And I intend to win it.”
“Yeah, you do whatever you want.” He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair.
“Next week, I race. You don't.” He raises a hand before I can interrupt. “And you'll be able to focus on whatever the hell caught your interest tonight.”
His expression softens slightly.
“It's not an order from the second to his boss.” A pause. “It's coming from your best friend.”
He turns his back on me and walks away.
“Whatever.” I scoff as I shake my head.
What the fuck am I supposed to say? Neo knows me.
We've known each other for ten years, from the Enforcers Training Academy. We got expelled together after burning down the dean's car.
I run hands over my face, rubbing it multiple times.
I need to get my nose checked, a headbutt and a kick, it's probably broken or crooked at least.
I couldn't help myself—Those eyes burning with a fire I've never seen before.
I really thought she'd be easy. Instead, she is a little brat.
My jaw clenches hard.
No one will know about her. I'll deal with her myself, I'll make sure she learns how to behave around me or I'll kill her.
No need for those fuckers to know anything about her before I do.
I shake my head again, trying to force her out of my thoughts.
I hate her.
I've got a gang to lead. Shit to do.
I throw myself into work, checking equipment for the cars and bikes, ordering transfers of enhancement compounds from the clinics to the garage, keeping track of deliveries.
I busy myself with what I can control.
For a while... It works.
The first light of dawn spills through the garage windows, sleep never came and chugging can after can of Nitro didn't help much either.
“Boss.” Varek walks over carrying a transparent tablet, a bright alert hovering above it.
ALERT: TRESPASSING
The notification flashes red while a sharp beep repeats every few seconds.
“They're crossing our lines. A new gang is trying to take over our territory.”
“Okay, so take care of it.” I roll my eyes. “They'll run the second they see you.”
Varek shakes his head.
“We need to get there.” He rotates the tablet toward me. “They're armed. They're have bikes, and they're attacking the rookies.”
His expression darkens.
“They're beating them with steel bars.”
I'm on my feet instantly.
No one fucking crosses into my district without authorization.
That's how gangs work, if there are no races, authorizations, you don't cross the boundaries.
Those are the only rules every gang respects.
But most importantly... No one touches my rookies except their own gang.
No one.
“Fuck!” I shout across the garage.
Every head turns toward me.
“We've got a fucking problem.” My jaw clenches. “Some bastards think they can beat our rookies.” A pause. “My rookies.”
I let the words sink in. I watch their expressions shift—from attention to fury.
“So we go there...” My voice drops lethal. “And we show them who the fuck Crimson Velocity is.”
Nobody cheers, nobody roars. This isn't celebration, this is war.
Some little fuckers dared to touch what belongs to us.
To me.
I slide into my car while everyone else rushes toward their own vehicles.
Bikes or cars, armed with cyber knives fitted with unbreakable blades, guns, steel bars, tire irons—Whatever they can get their hands on.
My Charger roars to life, and I burst out of the garage in reverse.
I slam through the gears, crank the wheel, yank the handbrake, and spin into a perfect one-eighty before burying my foot on the accelerator.
I glance into the rearview mirror, everyone's following.
We've got some bitches to tame.
When we all pull up at the place, my eyes narrow the second I see the scene.
Rookies bleeding across the concrete, some barely moving, one of them has his neck bent at the wrong angle.
My knuckles whiten around the steering wheel.
Then I see a broad bastard raising a steel bar over a rookie already lying on the ground, the kid crawls backward, crying, pleading.
That's it.