CHAPTER 18
Riven
Play With Fire - Sam Tinnesz feat. Yacht Money
Colossal industrial elevators connect the polished Upper Layers to the Lower Layers.
I took one when I escaped him the night of the race, roughly a week ago.
Glass and marble give way to exposed steel, weathered concrete, and flickering lights.
Neon glows over crowded streets as steam rises from vents, the air thick with the smell of oil, exhaust, and street food.
The steady hum of engines and machinery replaces the quiet order of the Upper Layers.
I don't know where I am or where I'm supposed to go.
Everything looks the way I remember it.
But now that I'm completely alone, I'm starting to think this might be the worst idea I've ever had or at least one of them.
Me and my stubborn ass--I never seem capable of thinking more than two steps ahead before I end up neck-deep in trouble.
I don't belong here.
Despite my outfit, people keep looking at me.
The strange girl with mismatched eyes and oversized clothes that somehow look far too normal compared to all the cyber-styled outfits around me.
Every glance makes me more aware of it, I stick out like a sore thumb.
I wander the streets, trying to find anything connected to Evren.
But I might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack.
No matter how notorious that fucker is, I still can't find him.
Just more crowded streets, more unfamiliar faces and the growing realization that I came down here with absolutely no plan.
I walk for hours.
At some point, I start asking people if they know anyone named Evren.
But every time I say his name, people either turn away, pretend they didn't hear me, or outright tell me to fuck off.
It's perfectly normal that everyone avoids him like the plague.
The real question is...
Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to pick a fight with a gang boss twice my size?
I know I can't take him one-on-one. He'd crush me like a fucking pancake.
I have to be smarter, I have to hit him where it hurts, just not physically.
I keep exploring the Lower Layers.
I didn't expect them to be this clean, the place is still a dump but the people, the neon lights, the tangled wires have a certain authentic charm that I kind of like.
I scoff at myself.
“What the fuck are you thinking, Riven?” I mutter. “Focus.”
Apparently loud enough for a few heads to turn toward me.
They stare at me like I'm some crazy bitch who belongs in a psychiatric ward.
I don't even blame them, I probably look like I belong there.
I stop at a food stand, I shouldn't but I'm starving, and whatever they're selling smells amazing.
I order a slice of pizza with extra spice.
I keep walking, eating, until I stop dead in my tracks. I frown and tilt my head, finishing my slice.
A bright red neon sign hangs above it, bearing the initials C.V.
The letters glow against the darkness, sharp with a gothic font.
I like it, it's bold.
It has a clear visual identity.
Even if this isn't the time, I can't help studying it—I always absorb art wherever I find it, no matter the form.
Even if it's just a sign.
I duck behind a dumpster.
The smell hits me instantly. I wrinkle my nose and pull the sleeve of my hoodie over it.
This has to be a biohazard. Is there a corpse in there or what?
My eyes widen at the thought, I glance down.
Hell no, I'm not checking.
I shake my head and force myself to focus on what's in front of me.
There's a garage.
Though my artist brain definitely isn't appreciating the smell coming from that dumpster.
I take a step back and look at the garage again.
Is this the place or not?
Those initials could stand for anything like it could just be a garage owned by some guy named Chris Vicomte.
I roll my eyes.
Like a garage down here would just happen to belong to someone with a name like that.
I swear, sometimes my brain goes completely off the rails.
I turn and start walking away, it's probably not the place.
“Make sure you find that fucker! It's been a week,” a voice echoes through the street, impatient and angry. “I wanted it done yesterday!”
A door slides open, then slams shut with a heavy thud.
I freeze mid-step, my heart skips a beat.
That voice.
I found him.
My disappointment twists into a feral grin.
“Well...” I pause. “Guess who came back first, freak?”
I whisper it more to myself than anyone else.
Maybe even to the maybe-corpse in the dumpster I almost walked away from.
I look back at the garage.
This is it.
I scan my surroundings, searching for something that would hurt him to lose.
My eyes land on a car parked outside the garage doors.
I remember that car. The same one that crashed into Elyas and me.
His car.
It looks expensive, very expensive. And very, very inconvenient to repair.
I glance around again, looking for a weapon, I need something heavy, something I can really swing.
That's when I spot a steel bar.
“Fuck yes,” I mumble, walking over to pick it up.
It's heavy as hell.
“Payback's a bitch, Evren.” I test its weight in my hand. “You came to my place.” A grin spreads across my face. “So, I'm coming for yours.”
I wait until no one is outside the garage.
My heart pounds with adrenaline, my breathing quickens and my grip tightens around the steel bar until my knuckles turn white.
I can't wait to destroy it, it'll be so fucking satisfying.
You deprived me of sleep, I'll deprive you of your car.
Fair's fair.
I won't be the traumatized girl again. Never again.
The harder you push, the harder I'll push back.
I walk up to the car and throw one last glance around.
If one of his men—or worse, him—steps outside, I'm dead.
I swing.
The steel bar slams into the chassis of the same fucking machine he used to crash into Elyas and me.
The clang of metal against metal echoes through the street.
The impact shoots violent vibrations up my arms and deep into my bones, rattling my entire body.
I freeze.
That was loud enough to wake the whole damn neighborhood.
I wait but no one comes out.
They're really that confident no one would ever attack them.
Works for me.
I climb onto the hood, the metal dents beneath my weight.
I straighten, raise the steel bar above my head, and bring it crashing down onto the windshield.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The glass finally explodes into thousands of glittering shards.
I jump again, caving in the hood beneath my feet before swinging the steel bar one more time.
A growl slips from my throat, low and satisfied.
I hop down and smash the driver's side mirror.
It bursts apart, scattering glass across the pavement.
The garage door suddenly slides open, a few heads poke outside.
I rest the steel bar across my shoulder, breathing hard.
Outrage, anger, and shock are paint on most of their faces.
I look up at them, my muscles burning, sweat dripping from my brow.
“What?” I ask, resting one hand on my hip while keeping the steel bar over my shoulder. “Never seen a woman pissed off?”
I smile and wink before swinging again at the driver's window.
“He owes me!”
The glass shatters.
A chorus of oh shit rises from the men.
“Someone should go get the boss. Now.” I hear a man's voice suggest it, clearly unsure how to react.
They probably think I'm some cunt he fucked and discarded.
I'm not.
He will never touch me.
I'm just making him pay.
He took my thoughts, my peace of mind, my sense of safety and my fucking sleep.
So, I'm taking his car.
“Hey!” another man shouts at me. “You need to stop that right now, fucking bitch.”
The man steps forward, he has black hair with neon-green streaks. He looks angry.
As if I give a shit.
I should stop, these men aren't playing around. They could kill me or worse.
But this feels too good. It feels too fucking good to get revenge.
I raise the steel bar and point it at him.
“Take one more step,” I say, my voice deadly flat. “And the next thing I’m shattering will be your skull.”
I'm insane for threatening him. I regret it the moment the words leave my mouth, but I won't let it show.
The man takes another step forward.
I swing and the bar misses his nose by inches and crashes into the window behind the driver's seat.
“I said stay back.” I repeat.
“You fucking crazy!” he barks. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Someone your boss should've fucking stayed the hell away from.”
Just as I finish speaking, the man who suggested going to get the boss comes back.
Behind him, Evren emerges.
His eyes glow like fire.
I watch him take in the scene--His men, the neon-green-haired man I'm threatening, the damage to his car.
Then his gaze slowly drifts to me, there's no warmth in them. No cocky bastard grin.
“Oh.” I grin. “Did I wake you up from your little nap?”
I wink.
He looks at me without saying anything, then at the steel bar still pointed at the man in front of me, then at his car.
Finally, back at me.
“I apologize,” I say, echoing what he told me when he broke into my home. “I didn't want to wake you up, freak.”
I pause.
“Did you miss me?”
Evren takes one step forward, the others part for him, then another.
Slowly closing the distance between us.
I know I'm fucked but I don't care.
And judging by his reaction, I just hit the jackpot.
He's right in front of the steel bar, I swing at him but he catches it.
His knuckles are white around it.
I try to hold on, my fingers slipping against the metal, but I refuse to let go.
I grit my teeth.
He yanks the bar toward the side of his head, dragging me with it and pulling a small yelp of surprise from my lips.
The steel bar passes mere inches from his temple, then he leans closer.
His face is only inches from mine, the steel bar still trapped in his hand, his knuckles white around it.
My breath hitches.
I can feel my heart pounding so hard it hurts, the heat of his body seeping into mine, his scent.
That fucking spice that always seems to cling to him.
His eyes blaze.
Even if I can actually see the fire in his, I know mine are burning brighter.
“Oh, troublemaker.” He slowly shakes his head.
The gesture is full of disbelief and exasperation. But at the same time, I can sense something else beneath it.
A dark anticipation.
“You shouldn't have done that.”