Page 1 of My Girl to Ruin

Prologue

Lachlan

The engine purrs low beneath my hands, smooth and responsive.

I sit behind the wheel, fingers loose on the leather, eyes scanning the long stretch of empty road ahead. Asphalt cuts through the dry California landscape like a blade, heat rising off it in faint waves. No traffic. No obstacles. Just open space.

Perfect.

“Man, listen to that,” Tyler says beside me, practically vibrating in his seat. “Tell me you don’t feel that. That’s not just a car; that’s a damn beast.”

I don’t look at him. Don’t need to. I can hear the grin in his voice.

“I feel it,” I say evenly, pressing the accelerator just enough to let the engine respond. “Doesn’t mean you need to act like a kid in a candy shop.”

He lets out a laugh, loud and easy. “That’s because you don’t know how to enjoy things,” he shoots back. “You treat every car like it’s a math problem.”

“It is a math problem,” I reply. “Speed. Control. Response time. Margin of error.”

“God,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re exhausting.”

I glance at him then, just for a second.

Blond hair catching the sunlight through the windshield, a little too long like he never remembers to cut it on time. Brown eyes bright, alive, always moving. There’s a looseness to him, something unguarded. The kind of energy that makes people like him without trying.

He looks exactly the same as he did at seventeen. Just…bigger. Still all in on everything, in a way that somehow never tips into stupidity. The kind of guy who says yes first and works out the details later.

“You done?” I ask.

“Never,” he says, grinning. “You love it.”

I don’t respond to that. Instead, I shift gears and press the accelerator a little more. The car responds instantly. Smooth and clean.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Tyler says, bracing a hand against the dash as the speed climbs. “Come on, don’t hold back now. Open her up.”

I don’t. Not yet. I listen to the engine. The vibration through the steering column. Every sound matters. Every detail. That’s why I drive now. Tyler used to, but he’s more interested in how it feels than in what it’s telling him.

“Relax,” I tell him. “We just installed new parts. I want to feel how they sit before I push it.”

He exhales dramatically. “You’re killing me, man.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely.”

My mouth twitches at that. I ease the car forward, letting the speed build gradually. The road stretches endlessly ahead of us, nothing but heat, distance, and possibility. For a moment, everything feels right.

“You know,” Tyler says after a beat, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “We should take a few days off after this job. Head up the coast or something. Clear our heads. Bring Tatum. She’s been on me about it since spring break.”

I don’t answer immediately. Days off aren’t something I think about. There’s always something to fix. Something to improve. Something that needs my attention. But Tyler thinks about things like that.

“Maybe,” I say finally.

He turns his head toward me, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Maybe,” I repeat.

He leans back in his seat, satisfied, like he’s already planning it in his head. I let the silence settle again, the hum of the engine filling the space between us.