Engines didn’t just roar—they screamed, tearing through the night like wild animals let loose. The air was thick with smoke, grit, and the stench of burning rubber that clung to your lungs. Headlights carved violent circles over the cracked asphalt, blinding in flashes as the crowd surged and shouted, hungry for the chaos.

Cars spun in tight, merciless arcs, tires howling as they skimmed the edge of disaster. The noise was deafening—every gear shift a gunshot, every skid a knife to the senses. The crowd flinched with every pass, hands shooting up instinctively.

All except one man.

He stood in the dead center. Still. Unmoving.

Rafe Calderon didn’t blink as a black coupe tore past his side so close it rattled the fabric of his coat. His hands were buried in his pockets, his expression calm, almost bored. In the haze of headlights and smoke, he looked untouchable—like the chaos bent itself to avoid him.

Somewhere behind him, Eli Vega leaned against a car hood, watching with a half-smile. “You’re insane, you know that?” he called out. His words were almost swallowed by the engines, but Rafe heard.

“That’s why they listen,” Rafe said without looking back. His voice was low, even—danger wrapped in silk.

You didn’t hear any of that. You didn’t even know where you were.

One moment, you were pushing through a crush of strangers, looking for space, for air, and the next—you stumbled forward into an opening. The shift was immediate. Shouts turned from cheers to warnings.

A flash of steel and light screamed past your side, the rush of air snapping your hair against your cheek. Before you could breathe, another car came from the other direction—closer, faster. The force of it knocked the air from your chest.

Your legs gave out. Asphalt tore into your knees and palms. Smoke stung your eyes. The crowd blurred into faceless shadows.

Engines thundered around you. The smell of hot rubber burned your throat. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Every instinct screamed to run, but your body refused. You were in the center now—the place no one entered unless they wanted to tempt death.

A voice cut through the storm. Deep. Sharp. Absolute.

“Stop.”

The tires shrieked as both cars snapped out of their drifts, the ring of light breaking. Silence didn’t come gently—it slammed down, heavy and unnatural.

When you looked up, he was there.

Rafe towered over you, shadow slicing through the glare. His smirk was gone. In its place was something harder—something that made the air feel thinner.

“You trying to die out here?” he asked, his tone flat, dangerous.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Eli pushed through the wall of people, his usual grin gone. “She’s frozen, man,” he said, crouching slightly but keeping his eyes on the cars still circling at the edges like wolves denied their kill.

Rafe didn’t break his stare from you. “Don’t move unless I tell you,” he said quietly, every word deliberate. Then, without looking away, he lifted a hand just enough for the drivers to see. The cars melted back into the shadows of the ring, the crowd murmuring in restless disappointment.

Finally, he extended his hand to you. “On your feet.”

You took it because there was nothing else you could do. His grip was warm, steady, and terrifying in its control.

And just like that, you were no longer in the center—but you weren’t sure if you were safer now… or in even more danger.