ASHER.
The instant the flag dropped, I launched forward. My heart pounded, an erratic drum beat against my rib cage. The thrill surged through me, electric and undeniable. I hit the gas, mymotorcycle screaming, as the asphalt stretched out before me. Soon, I was in first place.
With every wheel rotation, I felt a fractional kind of relief. If I kept riding, further and faster, would the burdens weighing me down fully lift?
The other riders fell behind as I opened the throttle wide. I owned the road, and nothing could slow me down. I glanced in my rearview, seeing the silhouettes of my competitors. They were still too close. I wanted them so far behind that they had zero fucking hope of catching me.
I pushed the bike to its limits.
My triumph was fleeting, though. A group of racers began to close in on me, two of them my pack brothers. I clenched my fists around the handles, willing the bike to push further. Still, they came closer… closer… and then they were hot on my heels.
I pressed the play button on my bike handle’s media remote, and rock music blared through my helmet—a cacophony that made my pulse pound.
The engine’s growl.
The banger song.
My heartbeat synching to the chaos of it all.
Just as I soared through a tight corner—a rider behind me nearly kissing his front wheel to my back wheel—I activated the flame system. The ignition timing faulted, fire erupted from the tailpipe, and intense glee shot through my veins. My competitors reacted instinctively, veering away and giving me precious seconds to increase my lead again.
With every inch I gained, I felt lighter. This would help. It wasn’t torching a building, but I felt saner than I had in months. It gave me hope that my pack would make it through, that we’d hold out until we found a solution.
But then, something shifted in the distance. A shape formed, standing in the middle of the street, waiting to be hit. A woman'ssilhouette, shimmering as if I viewed her through a wall of intense heat. The sight captured my attention. It would take a large fire to produce that effect.
An involuntary thought popped up—was she a burn victim? Hospitals all her life. A sickness. A cure. An image flashed in my mind, a scene far too dark to dwell on. Of a fragile woman, stood at the center of an inferno, every inch of her body charring. I tried to recall the flimsy details from Eros. Not fire. Not burns.
But… I could change that.
“Focus!” I mentally snapped at myself.
I’d fallen behind. Dammit!
I surged forward, weaving through the racers who’d taken advantage of my distraction. Irritation bloomed when I noted Nitro was one of them.
NITRO.
I zipped past Asher, who seemed engrossed in his own mind. A devilish grin stretched across my face, as I carved my own path down the asphalt. I had no patience. Zero care if I hurt myself or others. Only a sharp desire to push every fucking boundary remained.
My wheels ripped a path as I overtook another racer. The engine’s growl became white noise as blood rushed into my ears. I twisted the throttle harder, harder, until the engine screamed for mercy.
We were supposed to follow a certain route, but I didn’t want to risk losing. I made a split-second decision, taking a hard leftonto a cross street. Fuckers would probably disqualify me at the end, but I’d cross the finish line first. Rules were chains I'd been breaking my whole life. Authority was bullshit. The real high wasn't winning; it was destroying the game itself.
My sharp left gave way to another. Then a right, shooting me straight to a road that was part of the race route.
Nothing else mattered.
Not Cirque du Sang.
Not knives.
Not the pack.
Certainly not the fucking Omega we were going to terrorize into leaving.
I felt light as air.
Not a care in the damn world.
