Chapter 2 - Debt
1590 Words
“WHAT THE hell was that?”
The moment Matthew shut the passenger door, Sophie locked the car automatically.
Rain hammered against the windshield, turning the parking lot into streaks of blurred neon and broken light. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel while Matthew leaned back in the seat as if he had not just beaten a man bloody five minutes earlier.
Water dripped from his hair onto the leather headrest. His knuckles were split open. And somehow, he still looked calm.
That irritated her more than the fight itself.
“Well?” she demanded.
Matthew stared through the windshield. “Drive.”
“No.”
His jaw flexed once. “Sophie.”
“No,” she repeated. “You don’t get into violent parking lot fights outside my business school event and then tell me to drive like this is normal.”
“It is normal.”
“That’s not comforting.”
A humorless laugh escaped him under his breath. Thunder rolled low across the city.
Sophie watched him carefully now that they were trapped together. The adrenaline still clung to him—heavy, controlled, contained. It filled the space between them like engine heat and rain-soaked metal.
Matthew finally looked at her. “Can we not do this tonight?”
“No.”
He closed his eyes briefly, like he already regretted getting into her car.
“You’re bleeding on my seats,” she muttered.
“You care about the seats now?”
“I care that you look like you walked out of a criminal documentary.”
“That’s dramatic.”
Her eyes furrowed. “You were literally punching someone in the face.”
“He hit first.”
“Oh, fantastic. That definitely improves things.”
Despite himself, his mouth twitched slightly. Sophie hated that she noticed. Hated that something in her chest loosened every time she almost got him to smile.
“Who was he?” she asked quietly.
Matthew’s expression flattened instantly. “Nobody.”
“Matthew.”
“Just a guy.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I know,” he said, quieter. “You’re just stubborn..”
Silence stretched between them while rain continued to hammer the windshield.
Matthew leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You should go home.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That thing you do.” Her voice sharpened. “You disappear the second something becomes real.”
He laughed once without humor. “You think this is me disappearing?”
“I think you’re shutting me out.”
Matthew turned toward her fully.
His eyes looked darker tonight. Tired. Guarded. It was a version of him she recognized too well—the one who carried everything alone until it eventually broke him.
“We’re not doing this,” he said quietly.
“Doing what?”
“This.” He gestured between them. “Acting like I owe you explanations.”
The words landed harder than they should have. Technically, he was right. They were undefined.
Whatever relationship they have wasn’t official.
Months of late nights. Shared meals. Arguments that felt too intimate to be casual. Him falling asleep on her couch after brutal shifts. Her answering his calls at unreasonable hours like it was instinct.
No labels. No promises.
Still, anger rose anyway.
“Someone just said you owe people money,” she snapped. “So forgive me for wanting clarification before you end up dead somewhere.”
Matthew’s expression hardened instantly. “That’s not your problem.”
“That’s a stupid thing to say.”
“It’s true.”
Sophie let out a sharp laugh. “You know what your issue is?”
“Oh, this should be good.”
“You think carrying everything alone makes you noble.”
His gaze flickered.
“It doesn’t,” she continued. “It makes you reckless.”
“And you think controlling everything makes you safe.”
That shut her up for half a second. Matthew leaned back again, exhaustion finally slipping through.
“The garage is behind,” he admitted flatly.
Sophie blinked. That was the first honest thing he had said since getting into the car.
“How behind?”
“Enough.”
“That’s not a number.”
“I’m handling it.”
“With fists apparently?”
His jaw tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she pressed.
Matthew turned toward her slowly, irritation breaking through. “Because I knew exactly how this conversation would go.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’d try to fix it.”
“Well, someone should.”
“There it is.”
“What is wrong with wanting solutions?”
“Nothing,” he said sharply. “Except you think every problem can be solved with money and systems. Some of us don’t work like that.”
The words hit harder than expected.
Sophie stiffened.
“You solve things with money and systems,” he continued. “Some of us solve them differently.”
THE NEXT morning, Sophie arrived at Moore Customs already irritated.
Not because of Matthew. That was a lie she didn’t fully believe.
The garage smelled of gasoline, hot metal, and old coffee burned hours ago. Mechanics moved through the space while music echoed faintly across the industrial floor.
Matthew was underneath a stripped motorcycle near the back. Only his boots were visible.
Sophie crossed her arms. “Are you alive?”
His voice came from beneath the bike. “Unfortunately.” Something warm shifted in her chest at the sound of him sounding normal again. “You could’ve texted,” he said.
“You could’ve slept,” she replied.
“I did sleep.”
“You look homicidal.”
“That’s just my face.”
He slid out from under the bike, grease streaked across his forearms. Black shirt again. Tattoos peeking from rolled sleeves.
Entirely too composed for someone actively ruining her peace of mind. “You came all the way here to insult me?” he asked.
“I came because your communication skills are prehistoric.”
He smirked faintly. “There she is.”
Before she could respond, an engine roared into the garage. Too loud. Too expensive.
A red Ducati rolled inside like it owned the space. The rider removed her helmet slowly. Long dark hair. Designer riding gear. Expensive sunglasses.
Her gaze locked onto Matthew immediately. Then she smiled.
“Well,” she purred, stepping off the bike, “look who’s still alive.”
Matthew’s entire posture changed to annoyance.
“Camille,” he said flatly.
So that was Camille De Leon. Sophie already disliked her.
Camille walked straight to Matthew and kissed his cheek casually. Something sharp twisted in Sophie’s chest.
Matthew stepped back immediately. “Don’t do that.”
Camille finally looked at Sophie. A slow, assessing scan. “You must be Sophie,” she said smoothly.
Sophie didn’t smile. “You say that like you’ve heard warnings.”
A small pause.
Then Camille laughed softly. “Oh, I like her.”
Matthew muttered something under his breath.
Camille turned back to him. “My father wants another meeting.”
“I already said no.”
“That was before your financial situation became public.”
The garage went quiet. Sophie felt it immediately—the shift.
Matthew’s jaw tightened.
“My family could help,” Camille continued. “You know that.”
“I’m not interested.”
“You should be.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Sophie. “Especially now.”
Something in that tone made Sophie uneasy.
Matthew stepped closer to Camille. “Leave.”
Instead of offended, Camille looked amused. “You get mean when you’re desperate.”
A tense silence. Then she sighed, mounted her Ducati again.
“Think about it,” she said lightly. “You’re running out of time.”
Before leaving, she looked at Sophie. “Careful,” Camille added pleasantly. “Men like Matthew are exciting until the debt collectors arrive.”
Then she left. Silence collapsed into the garage.
Sophie turned to Matthew. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” he said, grabbing a rag.
“Oh no,” she followed him. “You don’t get to ‘nothing’ me after that.”
“I told you,” he said flatly. “She’s connected to sponsorship networks. That’s it.”
“No,” Sophie said immediately. “Not it. Start.”
His expression darkened. “You don’t want involvement in this.”
“What debt?” she pressed.
Silence. That was answer enough.
Cold realization spread through her. “You entered an underground race,” she said slowly. “Matthew?”
“That’s not your business—”
“Are you insane?”
“One illegal race!” Sophie’s voice raised a little.
“It’s fast money, Soph,” he said, exhaling.
“It’s dangerous money.”
Matthew laughed bitterly. “There’s no safe version of desperation.”
She hated that line immediately.
“When?” she demanded. “And, how much is the price money?”
He hesitated. “This weekend,” he said, then paused. “A hundred thousand.”
The number hit like impact.
Before she could respond, a mechanic approached with a tablet. “Boss,” he said carefully, “they posted the lineup.”
Matthew cursed under his breath. Sophie grabbed the tablet before he could stop her.
Neon graphics. Betting odds. Live updates.
And then, MOORE.
His name sat on the board and already active, priced, and being hunted.
- Writer
