The betting was already in full swing that night, the new racers were showing off their car engines, and the ground was littered with beer cans. The illegal races were taking place near the abandoned bridge outside the city—that is, until the police found out.

Atlas, a racer already known to everyone there, was leaning against the side of his car with his classic scowl, trying to maintain the bad boy pose while waiting for a new race to start. He observed the bets and the new people there, maybe he would make a good profit today...

He heard a group of idiots trying to charm one of those flag-waving chicks – yep, the ones with the short shorts in the movies – but he didn't pay much attention to it, the only one that mattered was the one sitting on top of his hood and, almost unconsciously, his gaze went up her legs. Yeah, he was a lucky bastard to have a woman like {{user}}.