Chapter 3 - Throttle
1454 Words
THE FIRST thing Sophie noticed was the noise. Not music. Not voices. But dozens of engines.
The sound vibrated through the abandoned industrial district like something alive—low, violent, impossible to ignore. Neon lights bled across wet asphalt while crowds moved between customized motorcycles worth more than most people’s yearly income.
She should not have been there.
That thought had followed her the entire drive. She should have gone home. She should have stayed angry at a safe distance. She should have let Matthew Moore destroy himself without pulling her into it.
Instead, she stood in the middle of an illegal underground racing event at nearly midnight, wearing black slacks and a fitted coat that suddenly felt completely wrong for the world she had entered.
The air smelled like gasoline, smoke, rain, and money.
Digital betting boards flickered above the crowd. Crypto odds shifted in real time as spectators moved like they were watching a high-stakes sport disguised as chaos.
Every instinct Sophie had rejected this place. And every instinct she had also understood it. That realization unsettled her more than the race itself.
She moved carefully through the crowd, ignoring the stares. Men in leather jackets looked her over like she did not belong. Women leaned against superbikes like they had stepped out of curated advertisements for danger.
Then she saw Camille De Leon.
Camille stood near the VIP platform in a white racing jacket with De Leon Motors stitched across the back in gold. She looked like she had been designed specifically for this environment.
Her gaze landed on Sophie almost instantly. A slow smile followed.
“Well,” Camille said smoothly as she descended the steps, “this is surprising.”
“I could say the same,” Sophie replied.
Camille glanced around lazily. “Not really. I belong here.”
The implication was intentional.
Sophie crossed her arms. “Do you rehearse sounding insufferable, or is it natural talent?”
Camille laughed softly. “Matthew likes sharp women. That explains a lot.”
“I’m not here for Matt.”
“Liar.”
The word came out almost gently, which made it worse.
Camille tilted her head. “You look uncomfortable.”
“I am uncomfortable.”
“Good.” Camille smiled wider. “That means your instincts still work.”
Before Sophie could respond, the crowd suddenly shifted. Engines rose in volume and cheers erupted.
The racers were arriving.
Sophie turned instinctively toward the entrance ramp.
Motorcycles rolled in one by one under flashing neon. Black helmets. Modified frames. Engines tuned loud enough to shake the concrete.
Then Matthew Moore appeared.
And for a moment, Sophie forgot how to breathe.
He rode slower than the others, not because he lacked urgency, but because he did not need it. Matte black motorcycle. Dark racing jacket. Gloves. Helmet visor down.
Controlled and dangerous.
Completely different from the man who sometimes fell asleep on her couch after exhausting shifts at the garage.
The crowd reacted instantly. Shouting his name. Betting screens updating.
MOORE — ODDS RISING.
Sophie’s stomach tightened.
Camille noticed her reaction immediately.
“That’s the problem with Matthew,” Camille said softly. “Once you see him here, you stop believing he belongs anywhere safe.”
Sophie hated how true that sounded.
Matthew removed his helmet.
Neon light cut across his face. Sweat at his throat. Focus sharpened into something almost unreadable.
Then his gaze locked onto Sophie. He stopped moving immediately. Shock flickered across his expression. Then anger.
He started walking toward her instantly.
“Uh-oh,” Camille murmured. “You’re in trouble now.”
“Am I supposed to care?”
“Not yet,” Camille replied. “But you will.”
Matthew reached them quickly. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
“No hello?” Sophie asked flatly.
“Sophie.”
“You don’t get to ask me questions after hiding this from me.”
“I hid it because I knew you’d do exactly this.”
“And what exactly is this?”
“Standing in the middle of a dangerous illegal race looking like you’re about to report everyone.”
Camille laughed openly.
“Don’t encourage her,” Matthew snapped.
“I’m enjoying this,” Camille said.
Sophie ignored both of them.
“You entered yourself into a race with live betting and criminal money involved,” she said sharply. “What reaction did you expect?”
Matthew stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I expected you to stay away.”
The crowd noise rose as racers prepared.
“You don’t understand this world,” Matthew added quietly.
“And you think that makes it acceptable?”
“No.” His voice sharpened. “It makes it dangerous.”
That landed differently than intended. Before Sophie could respond, a race coordinator shouted for lineup. Then, the crowd surged.
Matthew looked at Sophie. “You should leave.”
“No,” Sophie said.
His eyes darkened. Then he turned and walked toward the start line.
And Sophie hated how strongly her body reacted watching him go.
THE RACE was controlled chaos. Drone cameras hovering above live-streaming everything onto massive screens.
Sophie stood near the barrier, telling herself she was there to observe. That was not true. She was there because Matthew looked alive in a way that scared her.
Every movement he made on-screen was instinctive, precise and dangerous. He belonged to the noise in a way she could not rationalize.
Beside her, Camille watched quietly. “You care about him.”
“That’s invasive,” Sophie replied.
“It’s accurate.”
Sophie sighed. “I can’t believe people invest in this.”
Camille laughed. “This is fast money,” she said. “Even Keller Capital’s interested in this.”
Keller? That’s the company written on the business card Rebecca gave me.
She didn’t have time to think about because the race has began and engines exploded forward. Matthew surged ahead immediately. Too fast. Too aggressive. He cut corners dangerously close. Leaned into turns like physics was optional.
Sophie whispered without realizing, “Jesus Christ.”
Camille glanced at her. “You hate this. But you can’t look away.”
She hated that she was right.
“Look at him,” she added. “He’s angry tonight.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he rides like he has something to prove.”
She raised an eyebrow. “To who?”
Camille’s gaze shifted subtly toward Sophie and she looked away.
Matthew overtook another rider so aggressively the crowd screamed. Sophie realized something she did not want to admit. Matthew did not just tolerate danger. He trusted it.
And in it, he looked freer than she had ever seen him.
MATTHEW FINISHED second. The crowd still chanted his name as racers returned.
Sophie exhaled shakily and turned away, overwhelmed. Before she could leave, a hand caught her wrist.
Matthew pulled her into a narrow space between shipping containers. Away from noise. Away from everything.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said immediately.
Sophie met his gaze. “You already said that.”
“And you ignored me.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Rain dripped somewhere nearby. Engines faded into distance. Matthew stepped closer.
“You don’t understand what this place is,” he said.
“I understand enough.”
“No.” His voice lowered. “You see systems. You think danger can be predicted.”
“And you think recklessness makes you untouchable.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then explain it.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. Then quietly, “This is the only place where nobody asks me to become someone else.”
The words shifted something in her chest. Because suddenly she understood what tonight really was for him. Not escape, but freedom.
And God help her, she stepped closer too.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. Everything around them seemed to disappear for one suspended second.
Then shouting erupted nearby. Both of them turned as a motorcycle lost control across the far side of the track.
Too fast. Wrong angle.
The bike slammed violently into the barrier, sparks exploding into the air as the crowd screamed.
Sophie moved instinctively toward the crash before security blocked the area. Medics rushed the unconscious rider, but her attention locked onto the dashboard system instead.
The display flickered erratically. Error codes flashed too quickly for most people to notice.
But she noticed.
Not mechanical failure. Not rider error. It was system override and remote interference.
Her cybersecurity instincts slammed awake all at once as cold realization settled through her.
Someone hacked the bike.
- Writer
