“Up to you.”
Her confusion deepened. “What do you mean, up to me?”
I looked down at her, holding her gaze so she wouldn’t miss a word. “We’ve got enough on Sutton to turn her over to the cops if that’s what you want. Fraud, identity theft, whatever else Jax has gathered. We can let the Hounds move her if she needs protection and you want her safe but gone. Or when this is over, if you tell me you want me to let her walk away, I’ll let her walk.”
Saylor stared at me like I’d just handed her something too fragile and too heavy at the same time. “You’d really let her go? After everything she did?”
“She hasn’t earned mercy from me, but you’ve earned everything from me. Whatever you decide, I’ll back your play.”
Her eyes filled fast, and she blinked hard, trying to hold back the tears. My thumb moved along her throat, grounding her while my own chest tightened in ways I didn’t have time to examine. She understood, though. This wasn’t about Sutton deserving anything. It was about Saylor’s heart, the soft piece of her that still loved a sister who kept handing her reasons not to.
“You’re protecting me,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “But you’re also protecting the part of me that still cares about her.”
“Yeah.”
Her face crumpled for one breath before she launched herself at me. Her arms locked around my neck, her body slamming into mine hard enough that I caught her without thinking. I wrapped both arms around her, hauling her close while the noise of Torque Ridge blurred at the edges.
I kissed her hard, taking her mouth because I needed the taste of her before I rode away. She clung to me, and Ipoured everything I couldn’t say yet into that kiss until she was breathless. “Stay here. Don’t move without me or one of my brothers going with you.”
“I know,” she replied.
But I wanted to be sure. I needed my mind on the track not worrying if she was safe. “I mean it.”
“I know, Levi,” she reassured me softly as she touched my jaw, her fingers warm. “Go win.”
I kissed her once more, quick but hard enough to leave my claim on her mouth, then made myself turn toward staging.
Kane stood near my bike when I reached it, his eyes cutting past me to Saylor, then back to my face. “You good?”
“No.” I swung my leg over the bike. “But I’m focused.”
“That’ll do.”
Gauge appeared on my other side, handing me my helmet. “Try not to race with your dick. It’s probably making emotional decisions.”
I took the helmet and shot him a look. “Always so helpful.”
He shrugged. “Only when I care.”
“Touching.”
“Don’t make it weird.” His hand landed briefly on my shoulder. “Smoke him.”
I pulled the helmet on, strapped it, and let the world narrow. The noise dulled and sharpened at the same time, filtered through the helmet and the hot pulse in my blood. I rolled toward staging, the bike humming beneath me, tuned to respond without thought.
She was one of mine, built and adjusted by my hands, and she felt eager under me, hungry for road and speed. Across from me, the Serpents’ rider sat on a black-and-silver machine that looked fast enough to make stupid men confident. His helmet turned toward me, and even through the visor, I could feel him watching, waiting for me to look nervous.
They still thought their little trap waited for me in that turn, that the race had been won before it started. Motherfucker wouldn’t know what happened until he crossed the finish line a loser.
The starter moved us into position. I glanced once toward the pit and found Saylor standing between Nitro and Blitz, with Kane just a few steps away. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in her face. I took one breath, deep and slow, and let it all settle.
The flag dropped.
I launched hard, my front end light for half a breath before the tire bit and the bike tore forward under me. The first stretch of track was a blur of floodlights and shadows. I shifted by feel, tucked low, and let the machine breathe beneath me, every movement precise, no wasted corrections. Speed wasn’t something I feared. It listened when you knew how to talk to it.
The first turn came sharp. I took the inside line tight, and the Serpent driver tried to stay with me, edging closer than he should, probably hoping to crowd my line early. I let him think he could. Men like him needed encouragement before they embarrassed themselves properly. He pushed wide through the second stretch, sloppy in the places he thought aggression would make up for discipline.
I could feel the road under me, the rough patches, the seams, the spots where rubber had built up and the pavement dipped just enough to punish you if you leaned wrong. The sabotaged section waited ahead, safe enough now, but still sitting in my head like a marked target. I knew what line they expected me to take, what they’d planned, and that their rider was probably waiting for the moment my bike hit slick and grit and went sideways. So I gave him a show.
