Chapter 3

The air in the main hall of the rally center still hummed with the residual vibration of the night before. It was a physical weight, thick with the scent of stale beer, high-octane gasoline, and the musky, heavy perfume of hundreds of bodies packed into a sweltering space. Sunlight, harsh and unforgiving, sliced through the high, grime-streaked skylights, illuminating dust motes that danced like suspended gold in the air. I stood near the entrance, my boots heavy on the concrete, feeling the low thrum of the idling engines outside like a second heartbeat in my chest. It had been hours since the main event had wound down, but the energy here hadn’t dissipated; it had merely shifted, coiling tighter, waiting for a spark. He was there, of course. Leaning against a pillar wrapped in peeling black vinyl, he looked exactly as he had last night: a study in controlled violence and rugged appeal. His leather jacket was zipped to his collar, the material worn soft at the elbows, creaking slightly as he shifted his weight. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked, just watched me with those dark, predatory eyes that seemed to strip away the layers of my composure one by