Page 89 of Scarred Angel

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

She takes the exit ramp at a speed that makes the tires scream. A few more turns and we’re in a run-down industrial zone with cracked pavement, rusted fences, and the scent ofsmoke and gasoline clinging to the air. Valentina slows just enough to creep through a shadowed alley before cutting the engine behind an old warehouse.

“Welcome toFuria.”

The deep thumping of the bass hits first. Then the lights, neon undercarriages flash like strobes in the dark, where a dozen cars are already lined up. People everywhere, all around Valentina’s age, laughing, yelling, some looking like they’re placing bets. I don’t dwell much on the fact that she’s still in her early twenties, but it’s never been more evident than in this moment.

As Valentina grips the handle, I take her chin and lean over the center console.

“I need to know that you’re sure you can do this. And not to prove a point to some asshole, who I can take care of for you if you just say the word. But because you’re confident, you’re healed enough that it won’t be a problem.”

That pretty smile of hers lights up her face, and she grabs my cheeks, holding my gaze. “I thought I told you not to commit felonies for me.”

“That shit runs in my blood, Kolibri. And you’re one of the few I’d do it for and enjoy every second.”

The tip of her nose brushes mine. “I’d do that for you, too,” she whispers.

“That’s not something I’d ask of you. Not for me or for anyone.”

“Well, that’s too bad, Ruso. Because that shit’s in my blood too.”

Valentina pushes the door open before I can stop her and slips out. I quickly follow, rounding the hood and falling into step beside her.

“So when do I get to meet your little friend?”

She laughs as we make our way through the crowd. I could solve all her problems with this Balterra son of a bitch, but I’ll feel him out, let her do what she feels she needs to do.

Until I decide otherwise.

“He’s around here somewhere. But can you maybe not shoot him in the face or anything? Not yet anyway.”

“Can’t promise that,” I say, looping an arm over her shoulders as a grin spreads across my face.

We both laugh, but we both know she’s only half-joking. In a lot of real ways, she isn’t. And her acceptance of the darkest parts I thought only my parents would ever love, it does something to me.

As we split the crowd, people turn when they see her, and their phones come out. I hear the whispers, but Valentina isn’t fazed.

Some of the men watch her. A few with respect, others with interest, and I clock each one because I don’t fucking like what I see in their eyes.

“Val!” a sharp voice calls from our left.

She grins and throws a nod to a tall guy leaning against a stripped-down RX-7.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Casper. One of the first people I met here. He’s cool.”

Casper? The name alone makes me want to break his jaw on principle.

Valentina steps closer to the car and fist bumps him, but he yanks her into a hug, his hands way too low for my taste.

“Remi said you’d be here. Didn’t believe it,” he says, eyes searching for the cast she ditched on her living room floor. “Heard you busted your leg.”

“I did. But I’m good now. Ready to get back in the game.”

He nods, greasy blond hair flopping as he grabs her again, this time lifting her off her feet and spinning her like she’s his.Every turn begs me to cut his arms off and make his stupid nickname stick.

I’ve never been the jealous type, but his feelings aren’t as platonic as he’s pretending. Not when he can’t keep his fucking hands off her.