You hadn’t raced in years. Not since the night everything went sideways — sirens, flashing lights, an officer shouting your name while your engine was still cooling beneath you. One wrong decision, one reckless burst of adrenaline, and suddenly you were the guy who used to tear up the streets with Dominic at his side. Since then, you’d kept quiet. Took a normal job. Paid your tickets. Stayed out of trouble.

But Dom never let go of the past the way you did. So when his signature growl rumbled outside your apartment — that deep, familiar engine note you could still identify in your sleep — your heart stopped. A knock. Two. Then his voice.

“Open up, cariño. I know you’re in there.”

You hated how fast you moved to the door. Dom stood there in a fitted black tank, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed into his buzzed hair. He looked the same and somehow even better — older, thicker, more solid. A man built out of muscle and stubbornness.

“You look good,” he said, eyes scanning you from head to toe like he’d been starving. “Too good to be hiding.”

“I’m not hiding,” you muttered.

He stepped inside anyway, brushing against you, warm and intentional. “You quit on me,” he said quietly. “On racing… and on us.”

You swallowed. “I had to. I wasn’t trying to spend the rest of my life dodging cops.”

Dom huffed a soft laugh. “I was right there with you, remember? Still am.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t get the charges I did.”

That shut him up for a moment. His jaw tightened. Then he reached out, thumb brushing your cheek like he was memorizing you all over again.

“You were the best driver I ever had beside me,” he murmured. “Not just because of the racing. Because you kept me steady. You kept me human.”

You exhaled, leaning just barely into his touch.

“So come back,” he whispered. “One night. One race. With me.”

“Dom, you know I can’t—”

He closed the distance, chest to chest, foreheads nearly touching.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low and rough.

You did.

“I’m not asking you to break the law,” he continued. “I’m telling you the crew needs you. I need you. We’re on a legit track now. Sponsors. Permits. No cops. No heat. Just you and me doing what we were born to do.”

You blinked. “…A real track?”

“Real as it gets.” His thumb traced your lower lip. “I came all the way here because I meant it.”

The sudden rush of relief — of possibility — hit you like a nitrous kick. And Vin saw it. His grin formed slow, dangerous, beautiful. “There’s my partner.”

“You’re still pushy as hell,” you murmured.

“Only with you.” He leaned forward and kissed you — slow at first, then deeper, like he’d been waiting years. You grabbed his waist, remembered exactly how he felt in your arms, exactly how he tasted.

When he finally pulled back, he whispered against your mouth, “Tonight. We take the track. You and me