Roxy’s POV
"You really don’t have to do this, Roxy," Mira says, her voice all soft and concerned. It’s sweet, really. Annoying, but sweet. She is all worried, wringing her hands like I’m heading to my own execution instead of just putting so arrogant prick in his place.
I yank the strap of my helt tight, the buckle clicking into place with a satisfying snap. "Yeah, I do," I grunt, pulling on my fire-resistant gloves. "I’m not the kind of person to back down from a direct challenge. Besides," I add, shooting her a look, "I didn’t ask for this. Brock-the-fucking-rock over there did."
"You had the chance to refuse," she points out.
I finish with my gear and turn to face her, planting my hands on my hips. "And why the hell would I do that? It’d ruin my image. More importantly, it’s insulting. You think I’m gonna let so athead with a modified Aventador and a fragile ego think he can talk down to ?"
As if on cue, Brock’s voice booms across the tarmac. "You stalling, Hellcat? Finally realizing you’re in over your head?"
I crack my knuckles. "Just be a good boy and wait your turn!" I shout back without even looking at him.
I turn back to Mira and Eleanor, who’s been quiet this whole ti, probably overthinking everything. "Relax, both of you. Everything’s fine. Nothing’s gonna go wrong." I give them a sharp grin. "What you need to do is watch how I drive. Pay attention and learn from it." My eyes land on Eleanor. "Especially you."
She gives a quick, nervous nod. "Okay."
As I stride towards the sleek, vehicle they’ve assigned , a voice, dry as dust, echoes in my head.
Your pride is going to get you into real trouble one day, you know.
It’s Lena, my wolf. Always the pessimist.
Maybe, I think back, sliding into the driver’s seat. But today, it’s just going to get a win.
I watch Brock climb into his vehicle while So idiot with a white flag stands between us. As he signals, i start the engine. Then the flag drops.
My foot slams down. The car launches forward, the force pressing back into my seat. This. This is what I live for.
The roar of the engine, the blur of the world outside, the feeling of being utterly, completely free and in control. It’s a wild ride, and it’s the only thing that ever makes sense.
You used to love this feeling, Lena
I still do,
I began swerving around a tight bend. The tires screech in protest but hold.
I don’t know why you changed.
I didn’t change, Roxy. You keep throwing yourself into the fire, and I’m the one who gets burned with you. I’m just worried.
Her concern is a dull ache in my chest, one I quickly ignore. I drift around another corner, the car sliding perfectly. In my side-view mirror, I see Brock’s vehicle struggling to keep my line.
Up ahead, the asphalt seems to bubble. Dark, twisted forms pull themselves from the road. Rogues.
A savage grin spreads across my face. "Now the real fun begins." My thumb finds a button on the steering wheel. With a sharp whirr, compact firearms deploy from the housing where the side-view mirrors used to be. I open fire.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
The disgusting creatures with their long, lashing tongues and distorted faces start going down.
WHAM!
My whole car jerks violently to the side. The bastard. Brock slamd into . The firearm on the side he hit is a mangled piece of junk now. I grip the wheel, muscles straining as I fight to keep the car from spinning out.
"You son of a bitch!" I snarl, wrestling for control.
He pulls ahead, his vehicle now blocking my path. His own weapons pop up and he starts firing. Every ti I try to swing around him, he swerves to block the way.
We crossed the start/finish line, completing the first lap. The track itself seed to be fighting back now. The asphalt shuddered, and the surface beca rough and pitted, with solid, jagged stones pushing up through it. I had to ease off the accelerator, my hands constantly making micro-adjustnts to keep the car stable.
Brock, was having a worse ti. He was fishtailing, struggling just to drive in a straight line. I saw my opening and shot past him, my vehicle handling the broken terrain with far more grace.
Are you sure this is the life you wanted? Lena’s voice was quiet in my mind, a stark contrast to the roaring engine and shrieking tires.
What other life is there? I thought back, swerving around a cluster of rocks. This is who I am.
Do you really think they will let it last? Your family...
My hands tightened on the wheel, my knuckles turning white. A cold, familiar anger washed over .
My family lost the right to dictate my life , I shot back, I didn’t just run away from ho, Lena. I escaped. And I am never, ever going back.
The road smoothed out abruptly. I slamd my foot down, the vehicle surging forward with a hungry roar.
I wasn’t always like this. The thought flickered, unbidden. I ca from the kind of family where your only value was the shine you could add to the family crest.
Ambition was fine, as long as it served the legacy. My dreams? They were seen as an embarrassnt. A flaw to be corrected.
So I corrected it. I ran the day I turned eighteen. Nine years gone in the blink of an eye. I buried my old na, learned to mask my wolf’s scent so completely even an Alpha would have to get intimately close to catch a whiff.
I bet my own parents wouldn’t recognize my face now. Not that they’d see it—I’m always in a helt, a mask, sothing to keep my identity my own.
At least you have company now,Lena murmured, her tone softening. Eleanor and Mira.
The mory of our first eting surfaced. That won-only club, Sin and Cinnamon. I was working there temporarily, a final hustle for so cash. My last night. They walked in, and they were... not my usual crowd.
Mira has a quiet intensity, and can see right through my tough-guy act. But I see her, too—the pain she keeps locked behind that neutral mask. And Eleanor... gods, Eleanor. She reminded of myself at my weakest. All flinching looks and a spine made of jelly. It annoyed the hell out of .
But that annoyance sparked a resolve. I won’t let her stay that way. I’ll drag that spine out of her, kicking and screaming if I have to. I won’t let her end up like the person I was forced to leave behind.
My thoughts shattered as a jarring impact hit my rear bumper. Brako. Again. This ti, I purposely blocked him from pulling ahead, and now the bastard was trying to pit , to send into a careless swerve.
This wasn’t new. I rembered my first days, apprenticing for a chanic who fixed cars for the illegal circuits. I’d watch the races, studying every move. I’d see a technique and not just copy it—I’d make it better. The old man i worked for warned to stay away, but he gave up when he saw I had the knack. I can look at sothing, really see it, and if I want to learn it, I will. I’ll master it.
But n and their fragile egos. They’ve always put in dangerous positions. If I hadn’t trained my body, hardened my will, I’d be dead. These people don’t care about lives. So i had learned to understand that if they give you violence, you give it back a hundredfold.
I saw my chance. Up ahead, my enhanced sight caught a subtle shift in the track’s energy. I swerved, deliberately opening a gap. Brako took the bait, surging past with a roar of triumph.
Just as I predicted, sections of the asphalt ahead began to rise, forming a thick, shifting wall. Brako was forced into a frantic, sloppy slalom, swerving left and right to avoid slamming head-on. I followed effortlessly in his wake, my line clean and precise, using his panic as my guide.
The mont we cleared the obstacle, I revved the engine. The vehicle responded like a living part of . I shot past him, leaving nothing but my dust for him to eat. I crossed the finish line.
I brought the car to a stop, the engine ticking as it cooled. Stepping out, I pulled off my helt and shook out my hair. The group of n who’d been so smug earlier now looked stunned. Mira rushed over, her face a mix of relief and adrenaline.
"That was a close call," she breathed.
Before I could answer, Brako’s car screeched to a halt nearby. He practically threw his door open, yanking his helt off. His face was purple with rage.
"You cheated!" he roared, storming toward .
I crossed my arms. A slow, cold smile spread across my lips. "Oh, is that your excuse for being incompetent? Everyone here," I said, gesturing to the onlookers, "saw you fumbling around out there like a newborn fawn on ice." I let my gaze drift over him dismissively. "Maybe if you trained harder, you could reach my level. But let’s be real... that would take years. You’ll probably be too old and slow by then."
The air shifted. It was a cold, sharp pressure—killing intent. And it was coming from Brock.
My smile vanished.
He moved.
One second he was yards away, the next he was right in my face. His fist, already clenched, was a hair’s breadth from my nose, the displaced air from the movent hitting a split second later.
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