Page 21 of Edge (Redline Kings MC #4)
EDGE
T he warehouse lights bled into the night sky like a false dawn, flooding the stretch of cracked asphalt that doubled as a track for anyone willing to risk their life in pursuit of speed.
The air smelled like scorched rubber and high-octane fuel, alive with the roar of engines and the murmur of a crowd who knew they stood on the edge of something wild and illegal.
A month had passed since Callie had been taken, a month since I’d painted a message in blood and buried every doubt I’d ever had about her being mine.
Now she stood in the pit, leather vest snug on her shoulders, hair tied back in a way that showed the stubborn tilt of her chin.
The bandages were gone, the bruises faded, but her eyes still lit up like they were the only thing I’d ever race toward.
Her hands toyed with the hem of my cut as she watched the track, the way someone might fiddle with worry beads. She wasn’t scared, though. She was buzzing with anticipation. Her body practically vibrated with it.
This was her first time watching me race. Not just a warm-up or a test run. Not the shit I did on private tracks when Kane wanted to keep me from getting bored. This was underground. This was me with my foot to the floor, pushing until the world blurred.
“You nervous?” I leaned close, letting my breath brush her ear.
She shot me a look, cheeks flushed. “For you, yes. For me? No. I’m just excited.” Her lips curved, soft and teasing. “Besides, I think I can handle watching you drive. How bad can it be?”
Kane’s groan rumbled behind us, deep and gravelly. “Don’t feed him that shit, Callie. He’s reckless enough without you encouraging him.”
I grinned over my shoulder. My brother stood with his arms crossed, green eyes sharp under the dim light.
His beard looked darker tonight, the shadows clinging to him the way authority always did.
Savannah had perched herself on a folding chair near the back, her presence softening his lethal edge just enough to keep him from scaring off the kids who’d crept too close to the pit.
“Reckless?” I flicked my knife open with a snap and leaned against the driver’s side door of the car parked in the shadows. “No, brother. Reckless is what you call it when somebody doesn’t know what the fuck they’re doing. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Callie laughed softly, the sound wrapping around me like sunlight on stone. Kane grunted but didn’t argue, which told me he was more worried than he wanted to admit.
Then the crowd shifted, heads turning as one of the crew rolled Reaper’s Edge out of its spot.
Even under the floodlights, she looked dangerous. Matte-black panels kissed by silver streaks, frame low and lean, every angle a promise of speed. I’d stitched her together myself, a Frankenstein of parts nobody else would’ve had the balls to bolt in the same chassis.
McLaren carbon fiber skeleton. Twin-charged Hellcat V8 I’d stripped down to the bones and rebuilt with my own hands. My gear-shift override—a thing of beauty that spat in the face of regulation. No limiter, no traction control, and no safety net. Nobody raced it but me.
Kane had even banned it from the official circuit. It was too fast, too unpredictable, and only someone who lived on the “edge” would drive it.
She was a predator wrapped in steel, and tonight, she was hungry.
Kane pinched the bridge of his nose. “You brought Reaper’s Edge?”
“Yeah, I did,” I said, grinning wide enough to show teeth.
“You’re a fucking lunatic.”
“Guilty.” I slid into the driver’s seat, the car growling to life like she’d been waiting for me all night. The vibration climbed up my legs, into my chest, a second heartbeat syncing with my own.
Jax strolled past, tablet in hand, glasses catching the light. He gave me a lazy two-finger salute, then flipped his ball cap around backward. “Try not to kill anyone out there, Edge. I don’t feel like spending my night wiping you off the asphalt.”
Kane intercepted him with a sheet of paper, thrusting it at his chest. “Background check. New hire.”
Jax caught it with a grunt and glanced at the name before starting to tap on his tablet. He walked a few paces, then froze mid-step. After a second, his head jerked back up, and he turned narrowed eyes on Kane as he held up the screen.
“This is your new hire?” His voice was flat, like he already knew the answer but needed to hear it.
“Yes,” Kane replied without hesitation.
“Fuck,” Jax muttered, his face twisting. He snapped the tablet shut and stalked away without another word.
Callie tilted her head, brow furrowed. “What was that about?”
I chuckled low, the sound rough and knowing. “I know that look. Seen it on every brother when they met their woman.”
Her lips twitched into a shy smile. “It was on your face when we met too.”
“Damn right, baby.” I reached through the open window, caught her hand, and pressed her knuckles to my mouth. “The difference is, I didn’t run from it. I fucking embraced it.”
“Maybe he will, too,” she quipped with a laugh.
The starter’s signal cut through the noise, sharp and high. Engines roared awake around me, snarling like wolves straining against the leash. The air thickened with exhaust and anticipation.
Callie stepped back, her hand slipping free, her eyes locked on me like she was memorizing this moment. The vest hugged her frame, the stitching bold on her back boldly announcing she was mine. My pulse kicked hard at the sight.
My girl.
My wife.
Mother of my kid.
I dropped the clutch, and Reaper’s Edge lunged forward, tires screaming as I hit the line. The track stretched out, a jagged oval under stuttering lights, and the crowd pressed close, their voices blending into one long roar.
The car was alive beneath me, every vibration an extension of my own muscles.
The twin-charged V8 screamed, begging for more, and I gave it, slamming gears until the world blurred.
Corners came sharp, violent, but I didn’t fight them—I flowed, feathering the throttle, sliding just enough to taste the edge of chaos before snapping back in line.
Other cars tried to pin me, box me in, and cut my angles, but they didn’t know the machine I’d built. Didn’t know the way she and I spoke in a language no one else could hear. My fuel mix burned hotter, harder, and when I dropped her into the override, she leaped like she had wings.
The rush tore through me, wild and clean.
But even as I pushed her, even as the psycho smile cut across my mouth, I felt it—the faint tug of restraint.
Callie’s face, waiting in the pit, softened the madness just enough.
I didn’t pull back much. Just a hair. Just enough to make Kane unclench his fists in the stands.
Wild, not reckless.
The checkered flag waved, and I blew past the line three car lengths ahead of the pack. Reaper’s Edge roared her victory, her exhaust clouding into the night.
I eased her back toward the pit, tires hissing as they cooled, the smell of burnt rubber wrapping around me like incense. The crowd screamed, their voices high and hungry, but I only had eyes for her.
Callie was already moving, weaving past my brothers, her smile blinding. When I killed the engine and shoved the door open, she launched herself into my arms, legs wrapping around my waist.
“You won!” she gasped against my ear, laughing breathlessly.
“Damn straight,” I growled, crushing her to me, my hands sliding under the vest and T-shirt to grip bare skin.
She kissed me hard, with heat and joy all tangled together. When she finally pulled back, her lips brushed mine as she whispered, low enough only I could hear, “Watching you out there was hot as hell.”
A groan ripped out of me, my cock already stirring just from her voice. My grin went sharp and filthy. “Careful, baby. You keep talking like that, and I’ll be finding us a dark corner before Kane finishes bitching.”
She laughed, her head tilting back, her eyes shining brighter than the floodlights. And at that moment, with her wrapped around me, the smell of oil and rubber in the air and the world chanting my win behind us, I knew—this was it. The edge I’d always lived for. The only race that mattered.