Page 16 of Nitro (Redline Kings MC #3)

NITRO

T he night was slick with heat, the kind that clung like oil no matter how many times you wiped your palms. The abandoned airstrip Kane had chosen stretched long and straight into the darkness, floodlights rigged on poles at each end, throwing harsh white light across the cracked asphalt.

Beyond us, the swamp crouched silent, cicadas buzzing like faulty wiring, while generators thrummed low and steady in the background.

This wasn’t just another midnight run. It had weight.

The kind you felt in the chest before you even fired an engine.

Kane had picked tonight to launch Redline Precision—his new pro racing team that would run clean in the daylight, even while the Redline Kings owned the underground at night.

Using an illegal street race to roll out something meant for sponsorships and televised circuits.

Typical Kane. A middle finger to anyone who thought they understood him.

Crews lined the edges of the strip, shadows under the glare of the lights.

Engines revved, rubber squealed, curses traded back and forth.

The whole scene had that raw, cutthroat edge that made underground racing different from anything with rules.

A thousand bad decisions wrapped in chrome and fire.

And in the middle of it—her.

Jana was tightening her gloves by her car, the low-slung beast she’d tuned to a razor edge.

She’d braided her red hair back tonight, fire locked down tight, but strands still caught the light like sparks every time she moved.

Her tank top was dark with sweat down the spine, jeans hugging her long legs, and freckles sharp on her flushed cheeks.

She looked as though she was born for the spotlight, whether she wanted it or not.

She didn’t know the last test was coming. Kane hadn’t told her. Neither had I.

My boots hit asphalt heavy as I crossed to the starting line, helmet dangling from one hand.

Her head snapped up when she caught sight of me striding toward her slot.

Confusion flickered across her face, followed by shock, then a flare of temper so hot I could almost feel it singe my skin from ten feet out.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered, her voice carrying across the night under the floodlights.

I stopped beside my car, dropped the helmet onto the hood with a hollow thud, and leaned on my knuckles. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Didn’t expect me at the line?”

Her jaw worked, teeth sinking into her lower lip before she snapped, “They told me the field was set. I prepped for every other driver. Not you.”

“That’s the point,” I smirked, the crooked one that pissed her off as much as it made her thighs clench. “You want the big leagues? You face the best. That’s me.”

“You’re a cocky bastard,” she fired back, tugging her gloves tighter.

“And you love it.”

Her glare could’ve peeled paint. But I saw the way her pulse jumped in her throat, quick and sharp.

She wanted the win bad enough to chew steel for it.

Which was why this hurt already—I knew how it would end.

As amazing as Jana was, I was the better driver.

Kane and I knew she couldn’t win against me.

I’d tried to talk him into bringing down our friend, Racer—a champion who hadn’t lost a race in over a decade—from the Iron Rogue’s MC in Tennessee.

Let him beat Jana instead of me. But Kane refused. Losing wasn’t the full test.

Engines snarled down the line, other racers climbing into their machines. The crowd pressed closer to the barriers, chants rising, the metallic stink of adrenaline thick in the air. The starter strode out, flashlight in hand.

I pulled my helmet on, slid into my seat, and rolled my neck until it cracked.

The cockpit was hot, cramped, and reeked of fuel and sweat and old leather.

My fingers curled around the wheel like they’d been born there.

Beside me, Jana’s car idled, engine purring angrily, her silhouette lit harshly by the floodlights.

I let my visor drop, hiding the grin. This was going to tear her up inside. But she’d learn what Kane already knew—losing wasn’t the end. It was part of the game.

The starter raised the light. My heartbeat synced with the rising whine of engines. Jana’s gaze cut to me for a fraction of a second—green fire through her visor. I gave her a little nod. She responded by revving loud enough to shake the ground.

The light dropped.

I launched.

The strip blurred into a tunnel of sound and speed, tires screaming against asphalt. Jana shot forward beside me, her shifts flawless, and her lines tight as hell. She was fast—no, she was vicious. Her car ate pavement like it was starving.

For a stretch, we were nose to nose, headlights fighting for ground. Sweat slid down my spine, wheel trembling in my grip, the roar of my machine in my bones. Jana was good. Too good to be this new. Every move she made was instinct sharpened into steel.

But I was Nitro. And speed had been my religion before I even knew what faith was.

I edged ahead. Not much. Inches. But it built, slow and brutal, until her headlights slid back, until the finish line loomed and my tires screamed over it first.

The crowd erupted. Noise like a detonation rolled over the strip.

I eased off and braked hard, my car fishtailing slightly before it steadied. Jana’s car rolled to a stop beside mine, engine ticking under the hood.

When I climbed out, helmet under my arm, she was already out of hers. Her cheeks were flushed, jaw tight, hands shaking faintly from the comedown. But her shoulders were square, chin high.

I walked over, boots heavy on asphalt. She caught me at the edge of her car, her eyes blazing.

“Don’t,” she bit out. “Don’t you dare pity me.”

I arched a brow. “Who said anything about pity?”

Her breath hitched, chest rising and falling fast. For a second, the mask cracked, and I saw it—the fear. Not of me, but of what losing to me meant. Her shot at Kane’s team.

I reached out, caught her elbow, steadying her as she climbed from the cockpit. She tensed like she wanted to shake me off, then let me help. Her pride battled her exhaustion, and I could feel it in the tremor of her muscles.

“You held your own,” I told her, low and rough. “Better than most I’ve raced against.”

Her laugh was brittle. “And still lost.”

“Yeah,” I admitted, crooked smile tugging. “But losing to me isn’t exactly shameful.”

Her glare returned, but softer this time, tempered with something that looked too close to hope.

The announcer’s voice cut through the roar, declaring me the winner. My name rolled out over the floodlights and smoke. I lifted a hand in acknowledgment, then let it drop. The crowd didn’t matter. She did.

She drew herself up, shoulders straight, and clapped, loud enough for those nearest to hear. Grace. Professionalism. Even when I knew she was gutted inside.

I felt something like pride twist sharply in my chest.

When the engines cooled and the crowd thinned, Kane and Savannah waited by the edge of the strip. Kane stood easy, arms folded, green eyes sharp as always. Savannah leaned against him, braid sliding over her shoulder, smiling like she already knew what was about to happen.

Jana froze when she saw them. “Shit.”

I pressed a hand to her lower back, urging her forward. “Come on, firecracker.”

Kane’s mouth tugged in that wolfish grin of his as we reached him.

“Hell of a race.” His gaze cut to Jana. “And hell of a performance from you.”

She blinked, confused. “I lost.”

Savannah’s smile widened. “Doesn’t mean you failed.”

Kane nodded once. “You won’t win every race. Nobody does. That’s not what earns you a spot.”

Her lips parted. “Wait—what?”

“This was your last test,” Kane explained. “Putting Nitro in the race wasn’t about you beating him. It was about seeing how you handled the loss. Whether you sulked, snapped, or carried yourself like a racer who knows the game.”

Realization flickered across her face—shock, disbelief, then something fragile and bright breaking through.

Kane’s grin sharpened. “Welcome to Redline Precision.”

For a second, she just stared, mouth working like she couldn’t force the words out. “But—I?—”

“You’re everything I look for in a team member. Fast. Smart. Fierce. And when you got knocked down, you stood back up without whining. You fucking earned it.”

Her hands flew to her mouth, green eyes wide and glassy under the floodlights. She looked at me like she couldn’t believe it was real.

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tugged her into my side, and kissed the top of her damp hair. “Told you losing to me wasn’t shameful.”

She made a choked sound, half laugh, half sob, then buried her face in my chest. My hand splayed across her back, holding her there, pride burning hotter than the engines still cooling on the strip.

The Redline Kings didn’t hand out family easily. But tonight, Jana Jennings had been claimed twice—by me, and by them. And fuck if it didn’t feel right.