I didn't want her. I didn't even particularly like the way she smelled, too much perfume. But I wanted noise. I wanted to be seen. I wanted to remind the world exactly who owned the ground they were all standing on.
My thumb tapped the call icon. It rang twice.
"Dom?" Sienna’s voice was a breathless, desperate hope.
"Put on something expensive," I said, walking toward the exit like the victory was already mine. "I feel like being seen tonight."
Chapter four
Carter
The ocean smelled like salt and gasoline, a combination that had a habit of staining things forever. SHIFT wasn’t much to look at from the street—just a sideways neon sign flickering like a dying hope and a row of sun-bleached picnic tables pushed into the sand. The real attraction was the parking lot. Chrome and custom paint jobs caught the last smear of sunset like predators stretching before dusk. Engines purred low and expensive, the kind of money that didn’t need to advertise itself because the bodywork already screamed it.
Luka said he liked this place because the burgers were good. I liked it because I bet no one cared that my sedan had a rattle in the dashboard that sang every time I hit a pothole. SHIFT was democratic; respect was earned by popping your hood, not flashing a wallet.
The hood of Luka’s car was propped open, tools scattered across the asphalt like a metal breadcrumb trail. I had a socket wrench in one hand and the scent of raw fuel clinging to my skin as I tightened the new regulator onto the fuel rail. I had grease smudged across my cheekbone and music blaring from two different cars competing for bragging rights when the atmosphere shifted.
The engine note was my second warning. Low. Controlled. Confident in the way that only comes from handcrafted precision and an entitlement to match.
Dominic Valerio arrived like the world had been built solely for him to grace with his presence.
His car slid into a spot at an angle that implied ownership. People shifted. The music softened without being asked. Sienna climbed out first—glossy hair and a smile practiced in mirrors designed for that exact purpose. Dominic emerged after, moving with the relaxed arrogance of a someone who believed gravity worked for him, not the other way around.
He saw me. His eyes paused. Not with surprise, but with something sharper—like he remembered the exact shape of my middle finger from earlier and was already calculating how to break it.
He muttered something to Sienna that made her laugh and loop her arm through his. A performance. For him. For me. For the cameras on people’s phones.
“Oh,” Luka said, returning with trays. “That’s… not great.”
“Define great,” I murmured, wiping a stray drop of gasoline off the manifold with a rag, keeping my eyes on the engine. It made a better audience.
“Anything that doesn’t end in someone throwing a punch,” he said.
“He’d chip a knuckle,” I snorted.
Dominic and Sienna approached with the slow confidence of royalty inspecting the peasants. His gaze lingered on my car first, taking in every dent with leisurely disdain.
“This the charity case you ferried my brother around in?” Dominic asked, his voice smooth but soaked in contempt.
I wiped my hands on a rag. “Careful. Wouldn’t want you to get humility on your shoes.”
His stare locked on me. “You think you’re clever. Diagnosing engines like you have a right to breathe the same air as people who actually win races.”
“I do love a man who introduces himself with insecurity,” I said.
His smile was slow and poisonous. “You’re not in my league.”
“No,” I said, letting my eyes travel pointedly over Sienna clinging to him like a designer accessory. “I have standards.”
A circle of onlookers inhaled like I’d taken a shot at a king. Dominic stepped closer, close enough that the air felt thin.
“You think this rebellion act makes you interesting,” he murmured, his voice dropping low. “But you’re just noise. Static.”
“And you’re just horsepower,” I countered. “But engines stall, Dominic. All it takes is the right pressure in the wrong turn.”
Something behind his eyes flickered—a hairline fracture in his composure. Before he could fire back, a marshal jogged up. “Dom. Your slot’s in fifteen.”
Dominic didn’t look away immediately. That would have been too human. He just blinked, slow and dismissive. “Try to keep up,” he told Luka, though the smirk was aimed at me.
