In a city where adrenaline fuels the night, Nova Laurent gets tangled in the deadly world of illegal street racing. Behind the roaring engines and screeching tires lies a darker game-one where victory can mean life, and defeat, death.
And death is...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
We walked into Roman's office and she closed the door behind us. "Is everything...okay?" I asked her.
She let out a sigh. "What I'm about to ask isn't something I'm asking easily okay?" She said and I nodded my head. "I need you to move back with me to LA." She said.
My eyebrows shot up. I don't fully know what I was expecting to come out of her mouth but it wasn't that at all.
Move to LA? As in Los Angeles California? From Seattle to Los Angeles. Why was I making this move and what was I going to need it for?
"I'm sorry, you're gonna have to help me out here," I said and stood tall again. "you want me, to move to Los Angeles with you?" I asked her.
She nodded meekly. "Jasmine, I've known you for what? Less than 48 hours and now you want me to move with you? Was the fuck that good now you want me to move states with you?" I asked her half-jokingly.
"Look, I know it's a lot but I don't know anyone else who drives like you and a friend's business needs a driver." She said.
"Jasmine, I don't know what I'm even agreeing to." I chuckled.
"I know but hear me out. I know someone who runs races just like Redline, maybe even better than Redline—the street races are amazing and the money goes for much more." She said.
"I have my entire family here, my life is here in Seattle. Moving wouldn't be so easy for me." I said.
"We'll move your family to, all of them, belongings in your house, consider them already set up in a new place." She said.
Her tone had risen and she was getting a little more frantic with her words, like she was desperate for me to take her up on her offer.
"What's in this for me?" I asked her as I stood tall once again n and folded my arms over her chest.
"A standard office job—more than standard, you'd make five hundred thousand a year and housing is already set up, and as a reliever, Street races every week new locations bigger stakes." She pitched the plan to me.
However, something wasn't making sense. It sounded too good to be true and her body language was giving it away that something else was at play.
"And?"
"And what?" She asked confusedly.
"There's more to play here, some kind of underlying condition," I said.
She sighed and hung her head low. "Each week you have to deliver a package." She said.
I shrugged. "Like what? A courier driver of some sort?" I asked nonchalantly.
She shook her head and I thought again. A thought hit me and on some level, I could tell I was on the right track when it came to what she meant.
