Dominic skidded to a halt, ripping off his helmet before the dust had even settled. His chest heaved, sweat darkening the hair at his temples—a rare crack in the perfection he curated. He didn't look at the cheering crowd or the marshals. He turned straight toward me, searching for the person who had dragged him that close to a loss.
I tugged my own helmet off, letting the salt wind catch my hair. Moonlight slid over my skin, catching the smear of grease still claiming my cheekbone.
He went rigid for half a second. The silence between us was louder than the engines.
“Well,” he said, his voice smooth and poisonous. “Almost impressive. But finishing the job matters. You should ask your father how well he handled that part.”
The words slammed into me with ugly precision. The kind of wound that wouldn’t bleed right away, just left you numb until the air hit it.
“Am I just a joke to all the Valerio men?” I hissed as Luka ran up, his face glowing with a pride I currently wanted to strangle him for. I shoved the helmet into his chest hard enough to make him stumble. “Is this what you wanted? A front-row seat to the Hayes family fire?”
“Carter, wait—” Luka grabbed my arm, his expression earnest, the mischief finally drained from his face. “I didn't do it to embarrass you. I did it because I knew you could beat him. And you almost did. You rattled him so hard he almost flipped his rig trying to outrun you. No one touches him out here, Carter. Ever.”
“Almost doesn't keep the lights on, Luka,” I snapped, my voice shaking with a combination of spent adrenaline and the sting of Dominic’s insult. “You didn't give me a chance to win. You just gave him a target.”
I wandered toward the shoreline, the cool tide washing over my ankles and grounding the static in my head. Down the beach, the crowd was chanting Dominic’s name—a rhythmic, mindless worship that I’m positive would feed his confidence for the next week.
But he wasn’t looking at them.
He stood by his rig, eyes locked on the way Luka was standing too close to me, his hand a steady weight on my arm. His teeth pressed together hard enough to sharpen the tension radiating off him. It wasn’t the look of a person who wanted me; it was the look of a someone who had just been humiliated and was searching for a target to pin the blame on. He gripped his phone so hard his knuckles looked like they were made of granite, his stare sharp and judgmental.
He looked disgusted—by me, by Luka, or maybe by the fact that he’d had to cheat the physics of the sand just to keep a Hayes in his rearview.
His stare felt like a physical pressure against my skin, heavy and entirely unwelcome.
I yanked my arm back from Luka, the sudden movement breaking the circuit. “I need space.”
As I walked away, my phone buzzed. No contact name. Just a number I didn't recognize.
Unknown Number:It’s cute how you think you can outrun your bloodline.
The message sat there, a threat wrapped in fake endearment. I looked back. Dominic was standing there, phone in hand, watching me. His brow was tightened with an irritation that felt like a cover for something else.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a flinch. I just looked at him—really looked at him—until the smirk on his face started to look a little less like a victory and a little more like a shield.
He thought he was the first person to try and weaponize my name against me. He thought my name was a pressure point he could drive his thumb into. But I’d grown up in the beneath headlines that screamed much worse things than a text message ever could. I was used to the impact. I’d spent my whole life bracing for the crash, and all Dominic Valerio had managed to do tonight was clip my bumper.
Whatever game he thought he was playing, he was overestimating his own gravity. He could keep his throne and his headlines. I knew how to handle a wreck.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and walked away without looking back. He could keep the spotlight. I knew how to navigate the dark, and I was already eyeing the exit.
Let him be the one spinning his wheels in the sand. I was just passing through.
Chapter five
Carter
Three days passed before I saw a Valerio again. Not that I’d been counting.
The event space sat in the belly of a building that had been dipped in liquid wealth—glossy floors and dramatic lighting that made everything look like a stage set.
Across the room, Sienna "helped" with centerpieces. Her contribution mostly involved pointing at things and demanding they be shinier. Her laugh carried across the room—bright, insincere, and sharp enough to make me want to plug the cord into my ears instead of the outlet.
I crouched near the riser with a coil of extension cord that had the audacity to tangle itself every time I blinked. I’d been at the venue for two hours, and Luka had spent at least one of themhovering just at the edge of my peripheral vision, looking like he wanted to stage an intervention.
A cardboard box dropped onto the floor next to me with enough enthusiasm to make every screw in my kit rattle. Luka crouched beside it, elbows on his knees.
“Before you say it,” he started.
