Broken Hands

119. No way out

Grayson stared at Eddie for a moment, then shrugged his hand off his shoulder. "I'll get my friends."

Eddie's grin widened, teeth flashing like a shark who had just smelled blood. "Go ahead. The more, the better."

Grayson gave a small nod and stepped away. His fingers toyed with the zipper of his suffocation jacket, absentmindedly tugging it down with one hand while the other clutched his trophy. It should've felt like a victory—he had risked his damn life for it—but all he felt was... nothing.

A hollow ache sat in his chest, familiar and unwelcome. The rush, the adrenaline, the fight to win—it had burned fast, leaving behind only dissatisfaction. Even now, standing in the aftermath of what should have been a triumphant moment, he felt like a ghost.

Russell and the others were waiting for him by the car.

"Grayson." Russell's voice was tight. "Dad called. I didn't pick up. He must know by now. He is probably super pissed."

Grayson nodded. "I know. Let's go." His tone was flat, drained of anything resembling emotion.

Even Savanna shot him a second look. "You good?"

"Yeah." The lie slipped out easy.

Grace frowned. "Aren't there supposed to be some kind of celebration?"

Grayson didn't answer. He just unlocked the car, threw his jacket in, and pulled on a sweater instead. "I'm not interested. Besides, everything's moving too fast."

No one argued.

They piled into the car, and Russell hit the road. Good thing the got out fast and through the back there would have been too much crowd around him that could lead to another troubled scenario.

The air was thick, the city lights streaking past them like blurred memories as the evening settled. Russell kept glancing at Grayson from the driver's seat.

"You look tense."

Grayson barely reacted. He rested his chin on his fist, eyes locked on the road ahead, his mind somewhere else. The yellow rider had almost rammed into him. Eddie had pulled some illegal shit just to get him into the competition. It didn't sit right.

Men like Eddie weren't in it for the thrill. They were in it for the money. And Grayson knew men like that.

Charlie had been one.

His phone buzzed. He barely spared it a glance before picking it up. Hera.

"Hera." His voice was dull, uninterested.

The response was anything but.

"What the fuck are you doing, Grayboy?" Her tone was sharp, urgent like she was racing.

Grayson frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're not at the castle, are you?"

"No. Why do you care?" He was already irritated, the exhaustion pressing down on him.

"Grayboy, you're about to get roasted."

Grayson stiffened. "What?"

"I'm not sure I can get to you in time, but listen—if you're riding, don't stop. Don't slow down. Just keep going until you're somewhere safe."

The call went off brutally.

Grayson stared at his phone, heart pounding now. He turned to Russell.

"Step on it."

Russell hesitated. "What?"

Grayson's jaw tightened. "Now, Russell. Hit it."

Russell didn't need to be told twice. His foot slammed down, and the car jerked forward, speeding slightly through the empty streets.