VELOCITY

She steps past me, hips swaying deliberately, pulling me in like a predator. Her helmet is fixed forward but her voice stalks me like a shadow no amount of light can take away. Slowly, deliberately, she slides her slender gloved hand down the cool metal tab of her fireproof suit. Her fingers curl around the zipper by her throat. With a tug, it dips lower over her chest. The neckline plunges into shadow, nothing hiding her recklessness.

I lean in and press my fingers to the collar of her suit, and slowly drag them to the dip underneath her belly button where the zipper ends.

She tenses suddenly, her breath catching.

"You wanna flirt, fine," I say. "Beauty might buy you an audience, but it won't buy you speed."

I slowly drag the zipper back up.

"Maybe I want someone to call it," She says silkily.

I bridge the ever-closing gap between us, my voice barely a thread.

"Then stop hiding behind helmets, Angel."

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Even through the thick smoke, the helmet, and the roar of the engines, he can't take his eyes off her.

Not 𝙀𝙡𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙚, the composed girl with the gentle eyes and kind smile.

𝙑𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮.
The ghost who races like a warning, the myth with steel in her veins. The one who's been haunting the streets and humiliating his crew, one win at a time.

And he's obsessed.