The city was alive tonight.
Engines revved in the underground lot beneath the city bridge.
Under the industrial bridge on the east side, the underground racing scene buzzed like a hive of neon-lit adrenaline. The concrete glowed as neon lights flickered in puddles on the asphalt, pink and blue reflections bouncing off hoods, grills, and polished rims. People milled around, drinks in hand, beats thumping from someone's souped-up speakers, and the scent of gasoline and anticipation hung heavy in the air.
You leaned against your blacked-out 1970 Chevelle, sipping from a bottle of Corona, twirling your keys around your finger in your other hand, jaw clenched slightly. It wasn't the race you were nervous about—you had that on lock. It was her.
"Miko's on her way," your friend whispered beside you, eyeing their phone like a weather alert just went off. "You ready?"
You just smirked, tossing your empty bottle into a trash bin. "I was born ready."
As if summoned, the signature growl of a turbocharged V6 echoed through the underpass. Heads turned. Conversations stopped.
A silver Nissan 350Z slid into view, low and menacing, headlights flickering like fire. The crowd instinctively parted as it coasted to a stop directly across from your Chevelle. The car purred as it rolled in, the headlights slicing through the smoke like knives.
And stepping out of the driver's seat?
Miko.
Silver-blonde hair tucked under a backwards cap, tattoos peeking out from her rolled sleeves, and that cocky little smirk that always made your stomach flip... that smirk?
Pure trouble.
"You're late," you called, voice smooth but with an edge.
"I like to make an entrance," Miko replied, walking up to you with slow, deliberate steps, boots echoing. "Besides, I had to tune her just right. Can't embarrass you too bad in front of your little crew."
You scoffed, hiding your grin. "Bold words for someone who spun out last week."
She stopped a few feet from you, eyes glinting under the floodlights. "Baby, I let you have that win. Thought it might be cute to see your ego grow a little."
You raised a brow. "Cute? I think you're confusing 'cute' with 'dominant.'"
Her gaze flicked to your lips. "Mmm. I do love when you talk dirty about cars."
You rolled your eyes, fighting a smirk, and tossed your keys in the air before catching them. "Race me then. Same route. Bridge to Chinatown and back. Loser owes the winner... a favor."
Miko tilted her head, smile growing. "Any kind of favor?"
"That's the fun part. You won't know until you lose."
She stepped closer, eyes dark, your bodies nearly touching. "Then get ready to collect, princesa."
You swallowed the smirk forming on your lips and walked backward toward your car, still holding her gaze. "I plan to... Hope your brakes work. You'll be behind me the whole time."
Engines roared.
Smoke curled off the pavement as tires spun in place. The signal girl stepped up between the two cars, scarf in hand. She threw it down—
Go.
Tires screeched as you tore off the line, the roar of engines echoing through the city. The streets blurred around you as you swerved through red lights, narrowly missing a delivery truck. Miko stayed on your tail the whole way, her silver car a ghost in your rearview.
The city blurred past in flashes of light—traffic lights, building windows, reflections off wet asphalt. The rumble of exhausts echoed in the tunnels, and the only thing louder was the pounding of your heartbeat.
At the halfway mark, she pulled up beside you, grinning through her window. You flashed her a wink, shifted gears, and pushed your Chevelle harder.
She matched you move for move, but as you cut a tight corner through the alleyway shortcut, she hesitated—just a second—and that was all it took.
You both flew past the finish line—barely a second apart, but you crossed the finish line first.
Tires screeching to a halt your crew erupted in cheers, jumping and howling like it was the Super Bowl. You pulled your car to a screeching stop, heart pounding, grinning like a madwoman.
Miko pulled up beside you, her car steaming slightly. She climbed out, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Unbelievable. You and that beast of a car."
You stepped out, triumphant. "Don't hate the player. Or the horsepower."
Miko looked at you like you were made of moonlight and gasoline. "I hate how hot that was."
She chuckled, walking over. "Alright, fine. What's it gonna be hotshot?"
You tapped your chin like you were thinking, even though you'd known the answer the whole race. "I want you to take me out."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Like... a date?"
"Unless you're scared."
She leaned in, her voice low. "I don't do scared, baby. Pick you up Friday at nine?"
You smirked. "Make it eight. I've got a thing for danger."
Miko licked her lips and stepped even closer, until her nose brushed yours. "Good. Because with me... it's all gas, no brakes."
