Ace ignores both of them as he glances at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What do you think, Trouble? Should we give them a little chase?”
The words drag me back to that night. That same spark in his eyes, that same reckless grin.Should we give them a little chase?It feels like a ghost whispering in my ear. Back then, I nodded without hesitation, high on the rush and adrenaline.That night, we crashed.
That night, we died—Ace, Rosalee, and me.
Not all in the same way, but none of us survived it.
And yet, even now, with the weight of that memory crushing me, something about this feels right. Like maybe crashing and burning is all we’ve ever been good at.
The wildness in his gaze mirrors the chaos in my heart. I grab his shirt, pulling him to me. His hand curls around the back of my neck, and our lips crash together. His kiss steals my breath and sends my pulse skyrocketing.
I pull back and whisper against his lips. “I dare you to outdrive them.”
His laugh bubbles out, wild and almost maniacal, as he turns back to the wheel. “Then put on your seat belt and hold on tight.”
My heart thunders in my chest, and my hand shoots to the seat belt, fumbling to pull it across my body as Ace does the same.
“Do you want to fucking die?” Koen snaps again.
“No. All of you have made me love life.”
The line goes silent for a beat.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Koen roars, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
The car surges forward, and the Lamborghini rolls out of the glass enclosure, then it skids onto the rooftop, the sheer momentum jerking me hard against the seat belt. The tires screech, and the car fishtails slightly before Ace steadies it. The entire rooftop feels like it’s shaking beneath us.
“Jesus Christ!” I shout, my heart hammering as the car straightens out.
Ace floors the gas pedal, the engine roaring like a beast unleashed. My eyes flicker to the dashboard.
The needle climbs rapidly—50… 55… 60…
My hand flies to my bracelet, gripping it tightly.
“Come on,” I whisper, my gaze darting between the ramp and the dashboard.
62… 63…
The distance between rooftops feels like it’s shrinking and stretching all at once.
64…
“Ace.” My eyes lock on the ramp.
We’re too slow. We’re not going to make it.
“Hold on tight, Trouble!”
The speedometer ticks to sixty-five.
We hit the ramp.
For one agonizing moment, time seems to freeze. My breath catches, the world narrowing to the roar of the engine and the sickening lurch of the car as it launches into the air. I check the dash one last time—the needle trembles a hair below sixty-seven.
Closing my eyes, my fingers grip my bracelet even harder as gravity drops away.
And we fly.
