Engines roared in the dark, headlights slicing through air that clung to the abandoned strip. The crowd pressed against the barricades, kids in hoodies, girls in glitter, every phone pointed toward the line. Money changed hands, shouts cracked the air, the scent of gasoline and anticipation thick in the cool night.

And right in the center of it all sat Kade Kincaid.

The black Lamborghini Huracán, proudly named Black Stallion, crouched low and sleek, polished to a mirror so perfect it reflected the neon graffiti around them. He revved once, hard, just to hear the crowd roar. Daddy's money well spent. The car was excess on wheels, a predator among junkyard-built machines. And Kade? Spoiled, grinning, cocky. Every girl wanted him, every guy wanted to punch him. He loved it that way.

But she still wasn't looking at him. The most beautiful woman Kade knew.

Arms crossed, leaning against a streetlight, she was the only girl not smiling back at him, not giving him the satisfaction. Every other woman melted under his charm, except her. And that made him want her more, a burning desire that twisted in his chest like a live wire.

The starter dropped her arm. The Black Stallion lunged forward, tires screaming. Kade's body slammed into the seat, the world streaking by in a blur of neon and smoke. He grinned, already tasting victory. This was his kingdom, his moment.

Then Espen Jordal appeared in his mirrors. Espen, the bastard. No money, no privilege. Just grease-stained hands and raw talent. The streets loved him for it.

His main rival. Scrappy, broke, all grit and raw talent. His stripped-down Nissan looked like it had crawled out of a scrapyard, but it flew. Inch by inch, Espen's nose lined up with Kade's. Their engines screamed side by side, fire spitting, death waiting just a flick of the wheel away.

Espen leaned, shouting out the window, grin wide. "Too bad daddy's money can't buy you skill, Kincaid!"

Kade shot him a glare, knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Brave words for a guy sitting in a dump on wheels!"

They traded the lead in split seconds, Black Stallion surging ahead with brute horsepower, Espen's Nissan biting back with every risky shift. Sparks lit where their side mirrors almost kissed. The crowd blurred into nothing; it was just the two of them, locked in a death sprint.

"Face it," Espen's voice taunted through the static, "you're nothing without dear daddy's money stuffed up your ass."

Kade bared his teeth, rage boiling. "And you're nothing without me to beat, gutter trash!"

Kade pushed harder, veins lit with fury. But the Black Stallion, perfect and pampered, betrayed him. Espen slid ahead. One second. That was all it took.

The finish line flashed. Espen's headlights crossed first. The street erupted. Kade's name drowned in cheers for someone who didn't even own a clean shirt.

Helmet off, chest heaving, rage boiling, Kade shoved his door open. His perfect night shattered. And then he saw it: Espen climbing out of his car, sweat dripping, grinning like the asshole he was. Heading straight for her. And worse, she was smiling back.

Something inside Kade snapped. Losing the race was bad enough. But losing her? To Espen? That wasn't an option. Not tonight. Not ever.

"Hands off, Jordal," Kade said, voice too loud, cutting through the celebration. "This one is mine."