Page 12

Chapter Eleven

Kai

T he hum of engines vibrates through the cool night air, a symphony of power and promise. Neon lights streak across the asphalt as Tokyo pulls up beside the other racers, her hands gripping the shifter with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. She’s glowing—lit by the moon, the stars, and the reckless thrill of the moment. I catch the grin tugging at her lips, her loose strands of hair whipping around her face in the night wind, and my chest tightens. Pride, maybe. Or something I’m not ready to name.

“You sure you haven’t forgotten how to drive?” I tease, leaning against the console, my voice laced with a challenge.

She glances at me, her manicured hand resting lightly on the wheel, the other on the shifter. With a sly smirk, she gives me a light smack on the chest. “I got this. I didn’t forget.”

“Good,” I say, letting my grin widen. “Because I bet everything on you tonight. All of it. Make your big brother proud.”

For a second, her smile falters, just barely—a flicker of something raw, something that cuts deeper than I meant it to. But just as quickly, it’s gone, and she’s back to her usual self, all fire and adrenaline.

“Buckle up, buttercup,” she says, revving the engine. The roar fills the car, vibrating through my seat as the beat of “Nights Like This” pounds from the speakers.

Across the lot, Stacy raises the white flag, her grin wild under the flickering streetlights. Miko stands beside her, rattling off the rules like anyone here needs reminding. But my focus is locked on Tokyo. Her fingers tighten around the wheel, her eyes narrowing, the faintest sheen of sweat catching the moonlight on her temple. She’s in the zone, and I can’t look away.

The flags drop, and Tokyo slams the gas.

The car launches forward, the tires screeching as the engine roars to life. My body jerks back against the seat, but she’s steady—her movements precise, her hands dancing over the shifter and wheel like she’s conducting an orchestra. The city blurs around us, a kaleidoscope of neon and shadow. I grip the door handle as she cuts through the first turn, her laugh ringing out over the chaos.

“You’re fucking insane,” I shout over the music, grinning despite myself.

“And you love it,” she throws back, shifting gears with a flick of her wrist.

We blaze past the first two Supras, their headlights fading into the night. The street curves sharply, and Tokyo takes it without flinching, the tires hugging the asphalt like they were made for this. My pulse pounds in time with the music, and I steal a glance at her—her face lit by the stars, her lips curled in a determined grin. She looks unstoppable.

Then Chino pulls up.

His white Subaru slides into view, and he’s grinning, cocky as ever. He leans out his window as we race side by side, blowing her a mocking kiss before gunning it and pulling ahead.

“Fuck,” she hisses, slamming the wheel with her palm.

“Chill, you’ve got this,” I say, reaching over to the glove box. I pull out my cart, taking a quick hit as she grips the shifter, her jaw tightening.

Her voice is steady, but I catch the edge beneath it. “Don’t distract me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I blow out the smoke, watching as she locks onto Chino’s bumper like a predator stalking its prey.

The street twists again, a long, sweeping curve. Tokyo doesn’t ease off the gas, her hands steady as she threads through the turn like she’s on rails. Chino’s taillights loom closer, and I feel the car shudder as she pushes it harder.

“You still got it, Trouble,” I say, watching her confidence return. She glances at me, her grin sharp and wild.

“Trouble, huh? You still calling me that?” she asks, her voice laced with amusement.

“Always.”

She laughs, low and breathless, as she shifts gears again. The car jolts forward, the engine snarling. Chino glances back in his mirror, and I see the moment he realizes he’s fucked. Tokyo feints left, then cuts right, the movement so smooth it’s like the car’s reading her mind. With one final burst of speed, she surges past him, her laugh ringing out as we take the lead.

The finish line is a blur of cheering bodies and flickering lights. My heart hammers in my chest as we cross it first, the sound of the crowd swallowing us whole. Tokyo slams on the brakes, the car skidding to a stop in a cloud of smoke.

She looks at me, her chest rising and falling, her grin brighter than any neon light. “Told you I didn’t forget.”

“Damn right, you didn’t,” I say with a wink as I step out of the car.

“Ah, what the fuck,” Chino says, stepping out of his car and pulling a crumpled stack of cash from his pocket, his jaw tight with irritation.

“Pay up, pretty boy,” I say as I walk toward him. The other drivers start pulling in behind us. It was close, but it was a short race—that’s the only reason I let her run it. The next one coming up is mine. There’s no way I’m letting her go up against Beto and his crew—the fucking Cobras.

I spit on the ground, the taste of disgust sharp as I think about them. The Cobras have ruined what street racing is supposed to be; pure adrenaline and a little fun. They play dirty—ramming cars, boxing people out, running them off the road—and no one stops them. The Cobras have serious ties, so people let them do whatever the hell they want.

I’m only here for the cash and to have some lighthearted time with Tokyo. But sure enough, the sound of Kawasaki bikes and the rumble of supercharged Supras cut through the air. My stomach tightens when Beto’s red Challenger rolls into view, slow and smug. Fucking lame-ass car for a guy who calls himself a street racer.

“How much I owe you, bro?” Chino snaps me out of my thoughts.

“You bet a thousand. Pay up,” I say, holding my hand out.

Behind me, I can hear the guys congratulating Tokyo. They’re loud and animated, but I don’t look back. My head’s already on the next race, the one I know I can’t let her join.

“You racing next?” Her voice is soft but confident, coming from right behind me. I turn, and there she is, moving closer to my side. My gaze finds hers, and for a moment, everything else fades.

“Not this one,” I say, keeping my voice firm as she steps up to face me.

Tokyo tilts her head, one perfectly manicured hand on her hip. “Let me race again?” she asks, but before I can answer, her arms wrap around my neck. The sudden proximity sends heat rushing through me, and my pulse kicks up. Her face is so close now, her brown eyes locking onto mine with a mix of challenge and mischief. The urge to kiss her hits me hard, but I shove it down.

“Not this one,” I repeat, gritting my teeth against the temptation. “They race dirty.”

She pouts, sticking her bottom lip out like she knows exactly what it does to me. “Fine. I’m going with you, then.”

Without waiting for permission, she saunters over to my car and slides into the passenger seat like she owns it. I smirk, my hand still extended as Chino reluctantly counts out the money and slaps it into my palm.

“Fucking ridiculous,” Chino mutters, tossing his white jacket over his shoulder as we both turn to watch Beto roll up.

The Challenger crawls to a stop, and Beto steps out, his smirk as slimy as ever. “Got a new bitch?” he says, his gaze locked on Tokyo.

I glance toward her just in time to see her leaning out the window, middle finger raised high. A slow grin spreads across my face. Atta girl.

“Call my sister a bitch again, and I’ll make sure you get acquainted with a fucking straw,” I hiss, my voice low and venomous as I storm past him toward my car.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I slam the door. Tokyo looks at me with a raised brow.

“Who’s that?” she asks, nodding toward Beto.

“Beto,” I say, firing up the engine. The rumble feels like a pulse in my chest. “Our friendly neighborhood gang member and dealer.”

She makes a face, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “Scum of Cin City,” she mutters.

I nod, turning on the engine and pulling out my phone to play my racing beats. Tokyo studies him as he pulls away. The buzz and the light of her phone illuminate the dark space of the car. We both look at it at the same time, but all I make out is an unknown name before she snatches her phone, tucking it between her legs.

“Everything good?” I ask, hoping to get an answer from her, but she lies, and it pisses me off how easy it is for her to do so.

“Perfect,” she says with a smile, but her legs bounce, and her long pink tips twirl the ring on her thumb. She’s nervous and trying to play it off, but the race is beginning and I need to focus on that.

I downshift, pressing on the gas and moving into my spot between Lalo’s Mitsubishi and Beto’s Challenger. Looking over at my best friend, I smirk. “Don’t fall too far behind.”

Lalo flips me off, but something feels off. Something nags at the bottom of my stomach when I watch Chavo pull up next to him—Beto’s right-hand man.

I don’t like this shit. The race has more curves, and we’ll be going up mountains, out of city limits. The rules are announced again, more smoke rises from the burning tires, then the white flags drop. My foot smashes the gas pedal, pushing our bodies back into the leather seats.

Tokyo lets out a scream, her legs rubbing together. I bet her pussy is wet, eager and excited. We used to fuck after every race—it was the best reward. The win and then the high of being inside her.

My hand moves, shifting gears as I catch a glimpse of her, half her body hanging out of the car, her arm and head loose as I take the curve, leaving Lalo behind me. I’m right between Chavo and Beto when suddenly I take the lead from Chavo, but then I feel the proximity...

I see him getting closer in the rearview mirror, and I try to move as I take the second curve that leads us up the mountain. It’s a perfect night—no fog. Then I feel him trying to push us off the road.

“What the fuck?” Tokyo screams as I straighten out the wheel. I see Lalo’s LED lights closing in when I feel Beto moving in on Tokyo’s side, forcing me to swerve toward Lalo. Thankfully, he manages to maneuver out of my way.

“Fucking pig is playing dirty,” I mutter, gritting my teeth.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Tokyo slumps into the seat, adjusting her seatbelt, her eyes darting between the two cars trying to take us out of the race.

“This is how they race,” I say through gritted teeth as my grip tightens around the wheel.

Lalo is next to me now. I look over, and just as we hit the final curve, both Chavo and Beto cage us in. Panic surges through me because this is bad. I hit the back of Lalo’s car, causing him to swerve.

“Oh my god, what the fuck is he doing?” Tokyo yells as I floor it, trying to break free.

Lalo’s car is right beside me now. Chavo and Beto are closing in, their headlights shining bright in my mirrors. My heart’s racing, my palms are sweaty. I’m thinking, “This is it, we’re gonna crash.”

Lalo hits the brakes hard, and I react fast, swerving to avoid him. Tokyo’s eyes go wide, her hand shooting out to grab the door as I swerve off the road. They pass us both.

“You okay?” I ask, looking over at Tokyo, who’s staring down at her phone, her face solemn like she’s in a trance.

“You okay?” I repeat, turning off the Travis Scott rap blasting from the speakers. My hand moves to touch her, but she recoils, shifting closer to the door.

“I’m fine,” she lies, her voice clipped.

“Okay,” I say, turning my focus to Lalo, who sticks his thumb out the window to let me know he’s okay. We continue to move.

Once we get to the finish line, I don’t speak. I just act because I’m angry, and no one will risk her life. Tearing off my seatbelt, I don’t bother turning off the car as I put it in park. I open the door and walk straight to Beto, who’s already striding toward me, arms wide, that smug look plastered across his face.

My fist connects with his jaw, causing him to stumble back, shock flashing across his face at my violence.

“What the fuck, homie? Learn to take a loss,” he spits, rubbing his jaw.

I spit on the ground beside him. “Play with her life again, and it’ll be you on a fucking gurney next time,” I hiss, my voice low and full of venom.

I turn and storm off without waiting for his response. Tokyo is walking toward me.

“Get in the car,” I say, my voice sharp and final, leaving no room for argument.