Page 92 of Celestial Combat

My finger traced lower, down between his pecs, grazing over the hard planes of his stomach, before stopping just above his ribs. So close, so warm, so still.

I tilted my head slightly, voice lilting with challenge. “So, if I decide to go to a club at midnight, you have to follow?”

“I go where you go.” Zane’s voice was firm. “But it’s not happening.”

I smirked, trailing my finger back up slowly. “No?”

His gaze stayed locked on mine, unwavering. “Nightlife is not safe for you right now with everything going on.”

I inhaled slowly, letting the words settle between us. The way he said it, the certainty in his voice, the way he held his ground – it was almost infuriating.

So I smiled.

A slow, sharp curve of my lips, despite the burn of irritation beneath my skin. “This is going to be fun.”

And maybe it would be fun.

To make this difficult for him.

Chapter 25

Present

Jamaica Queens, New York City

I SHOULD’VE KNOWN THIS WOULD happen.

The second I woke up, I knew something was off. The air felt too still. Too quiet. The kind of silence that set my instincts on edge, that sent my mind spiraling into action before I’d even moved.

I threw the covers off and swung my legs over the edge of the couch, heading upstairs.

And then I saw it – the bed was empty.

Goddamn it, Kali.

Scrubbing a rough hand down my face. My jaw clenched, muscles locking tight as I forced myself to think.

The last thing I remembered – dinner. I had ordered takeout while she made tea.

I exhaled sharply, my frustration twisting into something edged with bitter amusement.

I should’ve known the moment she pulled that specific blend from her bag.Genmaicha with Yagen– roasted brown rice green tea mixed with skullcap root, known for itsnatural sedative properties. A traditional Japanese herbal remedy for sleep. And I drank it without thinking.

I had let my guard down. Let myself get comfortable. Big mistake.

I stalked downstairs, my body already vibrating with frustration. My mind ran through the possibilities – where she could have gone, how she had managed to slip out without waking me.

Because if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was this – Kali planned this.

The low growl of the SUV’s engine faded as I pulled into the lot, its heavy presence enough to send a ripple through the chaos.

This wasn’t just a car meet – it was a kingdom of speed and rebellion, buried deep in the industrial sprawl near JFK Airport. Tucked between rusting warehouses and forgotten runways, the air was thick with gasoline and burnt rubber, the sharp tang of tires biting into pavement. Engines howled, revving hard before their inevitable release.

Floodlights perched on the roofs of modified imports cast deep shadows across the crowd, warping the silhouettes of men and machines alike. Neon under-glows bled into the night – savage blues, reds, and toxic greens reflecting off polished hoods, shimmering against the wet asphalt. The heat was suffocating, laced with the acrid stench of exhaust fumes and sweat.

Cars lined up along South Conduit Ave, rumbling like caged beasts, waiting for the next race to begin. Drivers sat behind the wheels, their hands flexing over gearshifts, faces sharp with adrenaline. The street itself had become a makeshift battleground – double solid yellow lines nothing more than a suggestion now, tire marks cutting black scars into the pavement.

People moved in packs, voices loud, tension crackling in the humid air. The elite stood apart – men with money, power, and no patience for losing. Women draped themselves over hoods, their presence just as much a spectacle as the machines themselves. The scent of perfume mixed with the unmistakable burn of high-octane fuel. Somewhere, someone popped a bottle, liquid splashing over the ground as laughter rang out.