“Stay out of my business, Rhodes.” His voice is suddenly cold. The dry banter is gone, replaced by the lethal edge of the man who saved my company last year.
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. I need Maddox focused on James, not on my lack of tact. “I’m heading to the Midnight Circus with Logan and Ethan,” I say, offering a rare olive branch. “I need to blow off some steam. Join us?”
The sound he makes can barely pass for a laugh. “Thanks for the invite, but I have better plans. Vivien is home tonight.”
“Right. Have fun.”
“I always do. Try not to crash.” He hangs up before I can respond.
I pull up the group chat with Logan and Ethan.
Kai:Midnight Circuit. Who's in?
The responses come fast.
Logan:You racing or watching?
Ethan:Both probably. I'm in. Need to test the new exhaust anyway.
Logan:Give me 20 to grab my bike. Meet at the usual spot?
Kai:Yeah. Bring cash if you want to make it interesting.
Ethan:Oh, it's that kind of night. See you there.
I start the engine again. The docks fade into the rearview as I head toward the industrial district. My mind keeps circling back to Emma. The way she didn't look surprised by her own panic, as if she had been living in a state of high alert for a year. And James. Two hours to Ashford. I could be back before my first meeting. The thought sits too comfortably in my head.
Everything about her feels honest. She doesn't perform. She doesn't angle. Which is exactly what a well-crafted plant would look like.
He's done it before. Planted people in my life, pretty distractions designed to report back or create leverage. It's been years since he tried, but Victor Hammond doesn't forget. He doesn't forgive. And he definitely doesn't give up.
I want her to be real. A woman who holds onto herself that fiercely, who fights for her own ground. I want to understand why she has to. But wanting something doesn't make it true.
The entrance to the Circuit appears on my right, a gap between two derelict warehouses. I slow down and turn into the darkness. The tunnel opens up after about fifty feet, and suddenly the world is electric.
Neon everywhere. Hot pink and electric blue bleeding across wet asphalt. The sound hits next. Engines. Bass from somewhere I can't see. The noise of people who came here to watch someone push too far.
I spot Logan's Ducati near the staging area, Ethan's Kawasaki beside it. They look up when they hear my engine.
“Took you long enough,” Logan grins as I kill the engine and step out. “We were starting to think you had gone soft.”
“Never.” I kill the engine and get out.
Ethan claps me on the shoulder. “Come on. Let's see if racing clears your head better than overthinking does.”
The air smells like gasoline and burning rubber, familiar and grounding. This I understand. Speed. Risk. The simple equation of skill versus machine. There are no hidden motives, no questions about whether someone's real or playing a role. There is only the race.
A crowd has gathered near a custom Harley. It is a sleek black and silver machine; the kind that is built rather than bought. The men surrounding it wear leather cuts with the Iron Wolves patch prominent on their backs. The snarling wolf head catches the neon light, looking dangerous and unmistakable.
Rex stands at the center. He is the Road Captain of the Wolves, rugged and covered in ink, his broad shoulders filling out his leather. Our eyes meet across the crowd. He nods once. I nod back.
Logan follows my gaze. “That's Rex, right?”
“Yeah.” We've crossed paths at these races before. Raced against each other a few times. There's a grudging respect between us. He knows I can handle a bike, and I know better than to mess with his crew.
“Heard they've cleaned up their act,” Ethan murmurs. “Less outlaw, more... selective.”
“Still not people you want as enemies,” Logan adds.
