Page 16 of Fatality

They kept ramming the rear of my car until it ended up on their hood, then they'd slam on the brakes and send my car bouncing off again. They did it at least four times, and I couldn't get them the fuck off me without risking my life.

“Fuck!” I bark, yanking a wire harder than I should.

My breathing harsh and ragged, my eyes drop to my hands—The transmission harness.

Great, I just fucked up my own car.

I stare at it like it owes me money, my jaw locked so tight it hurts.

As if I needed more shit to fix.

My hazel eyes start to glow.

That's what happens with my ocular augmentation, a mod that lets me track fast movement, adapt to low-light environments, and process spatial shifts, especially during races or fights. But they glow whenever I use it.

Especially when my emotions get the better of me.

And right now? I'm fucking furious.

Not because I just damaged my own car—a Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat.

No.

The weekly race I competed in tonight, I lost, and I rarely finish fourth.

Against Ghost Void—that gang of silent freaks always pulls the same shit.

You don’t see them.

You don’t hear them.

Then, suddenly, they’re there, slipping past like ghosts just before the finish line, stealing the fucking win while you’re still trying to process how the hell they got there.

Motherfuckers.

I hurl the damaged wire across the garage, it slams uselessly against the concrete wall before dropping to the floor.

I rake a grease-covered hand through my hair and pace once around the front of the Charger, restless energy buzzing beneath my skin.

The garage feels too fucking quiet. Too still and I hate that.

I glance around and see no one.

Good.

I don’t have the patience—or the desire—to deal with any of those idiots right now. I need to move, or I’m going to destroy my own gang’s garage.

I don’t bother washing the grease off my hands.

I stalk to the garage entrance, yank the door open, then slam it hard enough to make the whole frame rattle.

Like I give a shit if the damn thing breaks. If I order those idiots to fix it, they will.

The cold night air hits my face, but it does nothing to calm my nerves.

I stalk away from the garage and jam my hands deep into my oversized jeans.

I need to clear my head.