Jax's Little Obsession

Chapter 16

Jax’s Pov

I stood in the center of the private garage, the air thick with the smell of high-octane fuel and burning rubber. In front of me sat a motorcycle that didn't belong in my collection.

I’d spent three sleepless nights personally refining the fuel intake and reinforcing the chassis, stripping away anything unnecessary to make it lean, mean, and perfectly suited for Maya’s aggressive, unconventional riding style. It was a masterpiece, but looking at it now, I felt a strange flicker of nerves. I heard her footsteps echoing on the concrete before she even entered the room.

Maya walked in, her eyes sweeping over the bike. She froze, her gaze locking onto the modifications I’d made. She recognized the custom work instantly. I watched her face, expecting appreciation, but her expression hardened into a shield of pure resistance. She walked up to the machine, her hand hovering over the handlebars but not touching them.

"What is this, Jax?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm. "Why are you building this for me?"

"You're a talented rider," I said, leaning back against the workbench and crossing my arms. I had to keep my tone casual, even though my heart was hammering. "If you’re going to be on a track, you should be on something that actually deserves your skill. I’m tired of watching you force yourself to work with garbage equipment."

She turned to face me, her eyes flashing. "I’m not taking it. I don’t want your gifts, and I certainly don’t want to owe you anything else. I’ve already got enough debts in this life."

I should have been angry. I should have been annoyed by her pride. Instead, I felt a surge of admiration so sharp it almost knocked the wind out of me. She refused to be bought, even when the prize was exactly what she loved most.

"Fine," I said, a slow, predatory grin spreading across my face. I stepped toward her, the challenge already burning in my mind. "We’ll do it your way. We race. Right now. On the private track. If you win, the bike is yours, no strings attached, no debt, no contract clauses. It’s just yours."

"And if I lose?" she asked, her chin lifting in that defiant way that drove me half-mad.

"If you lose, you admit that I’m the better rider," I countered. "You lose the attitude, and you accept that when it comes to speed, you’re playing in my league."

She didn't hesitate. "You’re on."

The track was empty under the bright floodlights. I swung my leg over my own bike, the engine roaring to life with a sound like a caged beast. Maya took the motorcycle I’d built for her, and even from ten feet away, I could see her shift. She wasn't just a mechanic anymore; she was a rider who knew exactly how to break the machine.

The flag dropped.

We shot forward. I took the lead instantly, banking hard into the first curve, my knee brushing the asphalt. I knew this track better than my own name. I pushed the throttle, expecting her to struggle behind me. Instead, I heard the high-pitched whine of her engine right on my tail. She was fast. She was brilliant. She was reading my line and anticipating every single move I made.

Then, she did the one thing I didn't expect.

As we approached the hairpin turn, I prepared to drift wide for the optimal angle. Maya saw it, and instead of following, she cut an impossibly tight, dangerous shortcut through the soft gravel edge. It was a move that shouldn't have worked—it was reckless, dirty, and absolutely perfect. She bounced over the ruts, her bike fishtailing before she slammed back onto the track right in front of me, taking the lead by a fraction of a second.

I barely had time to recover before she crossed the finish line.

I hit the brakes, my tires screaming as I came to a stop. For three seconds, I sat there, my lungs burning, feeling an irrational, explosive fury that I’d actually been beaten on my own turf. Then, the anger vanished, replaced by a laugh that started deep in my chest and spilled out into the quiet night. I pulled my helmet off, my hair a mess, and looked over at her. She was standing next to the bike, her face flushed with triumph, looking more alive than I had ever seen her.

She had won. She had beaten the best, and she had done it by breaking every rule in the book.

I walked over to her, my boots crunching on the gravel. I couldn't stop staring. The excitement made her skin glow, and her eyes were bright, wide, and filled with a raw intensity that made the entire world around us disappear. She looked proud, and for the first time, I wasn't just attracted to her talent—I was obsessed with the fire inside her. I looked at her for a long second, my gaze trailing down her face, then back up to her eyes, lingering far longer than a mentor should, far longer than a jailer ever would.

She caught me. She didn't look away, but she shifted, her expression tightening into a mix of confusion and something softer.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the ticking of the cooling engines.

I took a step closer, my shadow falling over her. I knew I should pull back, but I didn't want to. I wanted to stay in this moment forever.

"Because," I said, my voice dropping, low and honest, "I’m starting to think I made a mistake."

She tilted her head, her eyes searching mine. "What mistake?"

I didn't answer right away. I let the silence hang, letting the weight of the night settle between us. I thought about the boredom I’d lived with my entire life, the predictability of my family, the sterile world of high-stakes business—and then I looked at her, the girl who broke my rules and rode my track like she owned it.

"Thinking I’d get bored of you," I confessed.