CHAPTER 19
Evren
Gasoline - Maneskin
My office is dim under the neon lights.
I fucking hate the fact that we still haven't found the man who stole from me after a week.
He must be smart enough not to make waves or worse, he could be actively searching alongside us.
The bastard.
I punch my desk, the wood cracks under the impact but doesn't break completely.
I hate sitting behind it like I'm still in school.
It's too quiet, the silence.
I run both hands through my hair and lean back in my chair, stretching my legs beneath the desk as I stare up at the ceiling with a grin.
I wonder if she's sleeping, if she's thinking about me.
Of course she is.
Why wouldn't she? She knows she isn't safe. She's probably having a mental breakdown—or better yet, trying to secure her loft.
I'm in her head now, and it's only the beginning.
Until there's nothing left in her mind except me, I will never leave.
Just thinking about her is making me hard, and I fucking hate it.
It's been a week, and every time I think about how I'm going to haunt her, torture her, fucking kill her but all I can think about is her eyes.
And the fact that she wasn't afraid of me.
I hate that brat, I wish her dead.
And my fucking cock decides to get involved in all this shit against my will for no reasons.
The door to my office explodes inward with a heavy thud.
I snap my head forward and see one of my members—Juan—breathing heavily.
There's pure panic in his eyes.
I raise an eyebrow and stand.
“Speak or get the fuck out, Juan.”
I walk around my desk and lean against it, not even trying to hide the bulge inside my jeans.
“Boss,” Juan pants. “Someone, a woman—”
“A woman what?” I cut in, already annoyed by how long it's taking him to get to the point.
He actually flinches.
“A woman is destroying your car with a steel bar.” He swallows. “She's pissed.”
In an instant, I straighten, my eyes blazing.
Who the fuck dares to destroy my Charger?
My fists clench until my nails digs into my palms and draw blood.
I don't wait for more information.
Someone is actually humiliating me, thinking they can destroy my car.
My car.
A car I spent years building and improving and now some bitch is wrecking it like I'm some weak motherfucker who won't take revenge.
It's probably Lira.
I haven't answered any of her calls or texts since that night.
I don't have time for bratty demands and emotional drama.
I have a business to run, a thief to find, and a troublemaker to deal with.
I'm going to torture and kill whoever is doing this to my car.
And even if I had the time, she's become too demanding, too clingy, and way too emotionally attached.
I storm out of Crimson Velocity's garage.
Then I freeze.
I see Neo being threatened, my windshield shattered, my windows smashed, and my side mirrors destroyed.
The hood is dented to hell.
Then my eyes slowly drift to the culprit.
And I feel my rage boil.
Riven.
I have to admit, I never expected that.
That fucking bitch just destroyed what was mine.
My hands twitch, urging me to snap her neck.
She destroyed my car in front of my gang, and I can't let that go.
My car.
My gang.
It's humiliating and I hate being humiliated.
And she has the sheer audacity to throw my own words back at me.
I walk toward her slowly.
When she swings at my head, my reflex enhancers kick in.
I catch the steel bar and yank her forward until she's only inches away from me.
God, that lack of fear. It's written all over her face.
Her face is red and flushed, probably from the effort of destroying my car.
I have to admit, for someone her size, managing to do that much damage is fucking impressive.
I’m impressed but I’m fucking pissed off, and not amused at all.
“Oh, troublemaker.” I slowly shake my head. “You shouldn't have done that.
My voice is low, a growl rumbling through my chest.
I don't wait for her to answer.
I bend down, hook an arm around her legs, and throw her over my shoulder like a spare tire.
The steel bar clatters onto the asphalt.
She yelps. It's my favorite sound from her, for now.
I can't wait to hear her scream and beg for her life.
Ignoring the looks my gang is giving me, I walk over to Neo and extend my free hand, palm up, while the other keeps her securely pinned across my shoulder.
The heat of her body against me, her perfume. It's just more fucking fuel.
I don't say a word.
Neo understands immediately and drops his car keys into my hand.
“Put me down, you fucking psycho!” Riven screams, pounding on my back and twisting wildly, trying to break free like she did last time.
I only tighten my grip, hauling her higher onto my shoulder.
“No.” One final word, leaving no room for argument.
She wanted to play.
Well, now we're going to fucking play.
She keeps thrashing, cursing, trying to throw me off balance, but I ignore her and head toward Neo's car—a black-and-green Chevrolet Camaro SS, customized to match his hair and modified for brutal acceleration.
I unlock the passenger door and dump her into the seat without an ounce of care.
Before she can bolt, I grab a fistful of her hair, holding her in place while I lean inside and buckle her in.
Once I'm sure she's trapped against the seat, I straighten and slam the door shut before she can mouth off again.
“Stay.”
I walk around the hood, I can still hear her shouting insults through the glass.
When I glance over, she's flipping me off.
I scoff.
The doors lock from the outside, I make sure they are. She's not escaping me or the consequences. Not this time.
Fuck no.
I slide into the driver's seat and buckle myself in.
I barely have time to close the door before she drives her fist straight into the implant on my cheekbone.
My head snaps sideways, a bolt of pain tears through my skull.
The dampeners soften the impact, but the hit still ripples through every modification in my body.
The world tilts, for a second, I'm dizzy.
The implant acts as the anchor point for every permanent surgical mod I have.
It's how the docs monitor everything from one place and keep the whole system synchronized.
Getting hit there by Riven isn't particularly dangerous.
Painful as fuck? Yes. Dangerous? No.
If a man with enough strength had landed that punch, that would've been a different story.
My systems could've started shutting down one by one. I'd feel every hit instead of having it filtered through the dampeners.
My reflex enhancers would drop back to normal. The adrenaline regulator would stop compensating for injuries—I'd be vulnerable.
My enemy would have the upper hand and I fucking hate losing.
“That's for breaking into my loft!” she screams. “My home! My sleep! So, I destroyed your precious little car, you son of a bitch!”
I hear her voice but it feels distant like I'm standing in some nightclub in District 4.
The sound reaches me but it just doesn't feel real.
The dizziness lasts about ten seconds.
When it finally fades, I grab her wrist before she can pull it away.
My hazel eyes burn like a fucking furnace. My hair hangs messily over my forehead from the impact.
“You have a fucking death wish.” I snarl. “You're done.” I tighten my grip. “Hit me there one more fucking time...”
I lean closer.
“And I'll snap your neck right there, Riven.”
I shove her wrist away, forcing her back into the seat.
Then I slam the door shut.
I start the engine, throw the car into gear, and launch forward.
The tires scream across the pavement as I throw the Camaro into a drift before firing down the street.
I don't look at her.
My eyes stay locked on the road ahead.
She's dead.
People scream and dive out of the way as I tear through the streets.
From the corner of my eye, and from the sound of her breathing, I can tell she's being unusually quiet.
No screaming. No insults.
“Well,” I say without glancing at her. I can hear her sharp breaths. “If I'd known giving you a ride would make you this obedient and silent...”
I pause.
“I would've done it sooner.”
No answer.
Is she ignoring me now?
A new wave of irritation hits me. I slam my foot down on the accelerator.
The speedometer climbs higher and higher.
We're already doing 120 mph through the wide streets of the Lower Layers, weaving between cars.
I grip the wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth grind together.
After all the stunts she pulled, the last thing I expected was silence.
Tsk.
They all love to play until they find out what real adrenaline feels like.
I'm going to make sure she'll fucking scream.
I turn the steering wheel sixty degrees to the left, then forty to the right. I yank the handbrake and slam on the brakes, sending the car into a violent U-turn.
The tires shriek against the pavement.
The moment the car straightens, I slam my foot back onto the accelerator and drop the handbrake.
I grin.
I fucking live for that shit.
Then I take a sharp turn into a side street, heading toward the dock district I control.
I'm at 130 mph now, in a fucking side street.
But I still get nothing from her.
My eyebrow shoots up, it pisses me off even more now.
She is doing this on purpose, she is ignoring me.
I slow down and park. Then I turn to face her and tilt my head.
“So,” I start, “you wanted to play with the big boys.” A self-satisfied smile spreads across my face. “Welcome to the consequences.”
For a few seconds, nothing.
Again.
Alright, that's enough.
She wants to play dead? Fine.
My hand shoots out, grabbing her jaw and forcing her to turn her face toward me.
“Fucking answer me,” I growl. “You want to hit me, humiliate me, destroy my car?”
I lean over the center console.
“I'll fucking show you what happens.” My voice drops to a murmur. “I'm done being nice.”