[COMPLETED]
❝Of all the races I've started, loving him is the one I never want to finish.❞
In this re-imagination of my most popular story, Arielle Hawthorne is an illegal street racer, just like Zayn Malik. Zayn's egotistical, flirty, and a major p...
Alternate Title: The One Where He Needs Her In His Life
"There is a flower that grows in the darkness—Lirio de los Valles. So many reasons it shouldn't exist. It must be celebrated. You are one of those flowers. So you may as well bloom, because it's going to be dark for a while." — Queen of the South S1, Ep4
A/N:
make a guess as to what you think the chapter will be about based on the name!
hope y'all have been streaming nil 🥰
so much zontent this week, idrk how to function anymore 😭
an important heads up!! this chapter is written as a flashback 🥰
enjoy, loves!
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Z A Y N
For the first time in months, I'm not taking part in this race. Usually, I'd be lined up, foot on the brake as I wait for the signal. However, this particular race is different because I'm only here to simply cheer on Nate.
Nate's new at this shit and as much as I'd like to give this competition a go—give any race a go, really—this one's below my reputation. I have a certain notoriety to upkeep. If I were to challenge a bunch of newbies, my win wouldn't mean anything. I'd look like a fucking clown.
I glance around the crowd, making eye contact with a rather fit woman. She's got long, black hair, dark brown eyes and tattoos wrapped around her left arm. She eyes me up—gaze dragging down my body and back up—and I take a moment to do the same.
It comes with the territory of these things. More often than not you end up going home unlike you came—with company. I don't always go for the noncommittal fuck, but if it's presented to me and I'm in the mood then I'm not about to turn it down.
Eventually, I can hear the sound of the cars circling back towards the finish line where most of us stand. I expect to see Nate's white Lancer first, but I don't. In first place is a blue 1967 Pontiac Firebird.
I cock my head to the side, not recognizing who the driver is.
I've been around the illegal street racing circuit for years, which means I know most, if not all, drivers. I've driven alongside them. I've fucking beaten them.
