Page 199 of Fatality

Everything—almost everything—is older than the people living here. Nothing is spotless or perfectly polished like the Upper Layers.

I glance around from behind the wheel of my Charger. Neo's up front in his car, Varek's behind me, and Ren's somewhere on his bike.

The race is fucking boring this week. No one's good enough to make me want to talk to them, let alone race them.

Last week was the same shit. Ghost Void won the race, and I couldn't even be bothered to care.

The last two weeks have been nothing but violence, boredom, and whatever the fuck this is.

After losing the Enforcers and their drones in the Lower Layers that night, I had to repair the Charger's body because those bastards decided to unload their lethal weapons into it.

I even ended up with a scar on my lip because I was dumb enough to stick my head out the window just to taunt them.

I needed that chase because the alternative was thinking about troublemaker—Riven—and how everything went that night.

That would've made me even more reckless.

And I fucking love being reckless.

Just not when it leaves me with a scar on my fucking face.

I tried to forget her, to move on.

I went to clubs, women threw themselves at me, climbed onto my lap, kissed me.

I pushed every single one of them away.

They don’t fight, they don’t tell me they will gut me out for even touching their shoulders.

Lira texted me. Called over and over.

She even showed up at the garage unannounced while I was talking to Ren about tracking down some fuckers who'd tried to desert the gang.

People can get the fuck out of my gang if they want to leave. Just had to speak with me and not leave with ten thousand credits they stole from me.

She threw herself at me, trying to kiss me. I pried her arms off, her touch disgusted me.

She pouted like a fucking child, a spoiled brat who's always gotten everything she wanted.

I would've loved to fuck her until she couldn't walk.

Hell, I would've loved to fuck every woman who threw herself at me.

But every time I close my eyes, I see her.

I had Varek escort Lira out before I’d lost my temper and drove her face-first into the fucking wall.

Three days after Riven told me to get the fuck out, I broke into her loft and hid a camera inside one of her framed paintings.

Now I can watch her every day, living her life without giving a single fuck about me.

She hates me.

I hate her for that.

That much was already established.

What my fucked-up brain still couldn't figure out was how the hell that brat got under my skin.