RACERS

CHAPTER THREE: The Boy Behind The Wheel

ISABELLE'S POV

By 7:30 p.m., I was officially a terrible daughter.

Not because I'd done anything particularly bad yet, but because I was standing in front of my mirror, trying to decide what to wear to a car meet my parents would absolutely forbid me from attending.

After several minutes of changing my mind, I settled on black jeans, a fitted top and a pair of sneakers.

Nothing too dramatic.

I wasn't going there to impress anybody.

At least, that was what I told myself.

I brushed through my curly hair, allowing it to fall naturally around my shoulders, then added a little lip gloss before grabbing my bag.

My phone buzzed.

MIA: I'm outside. Hurry up!

I smiled.

That girl had absolutely no patience.

I quietly opened my bedroom door and crept downstairs, carefully avoiding the staircase that always made an annoying creaking sound.

I was almost at the front door when—

“Isabelle?”

I froze.

My mother's voice came from the sitting room.

Oh, no.

“Yes, Mum?”

“Where are you going?”

My brain went completely blank.

For someone who had spent the last twenty minutes preparing an escape plan, I suddenly had absolutely nothing.

“I'm… going to see Mia.”

There was a pause.

I waited for the inevitable interrogation.

Instead, she simply said, “Don't stay out late.”

I nearly fainted.

“Okay, Mum!”

I slipped outside before she could change her mind.

Mia was waiting near the gate, grinning like she'd just helped me commit the biggest crime of the century.

She looked effortlessly pretty in her outfit, her hair neatly styled and her bright eyes practically sparkling with excitement.

“You look cute,” she said.

I glanced down at myself.

“Thank you. Now let's go before I change my mind.”

She laughed.

“Come on, future racing queen.”

We hurried down the street to meet her cousin, who had agreed to drive us.

The journey to the old industrial district took about twenty minutes.

As we approached, I heard the engines before I saw the cars.

My heart began to race.

Then we turned into the gathering area.

And I swear, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

Cars were everywhere.

Modified sports cars, shining rims, polished bodywork and colourful lights illuminated the open space. Groups of people stood around their favourite vehicles, taking pictures, exchanging opinions and admiring modifications. Music played in the background while engines occasionally roared to life, drawing cheers from the crowd.

I stepped out of the car and stared.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

Mia laughed beside me.

“I knew you'd love it.”

Love it?

I was already considering moving in.

For once, I was surrounded by people who understood why a beautiful car could make someone forget how to breathe.

I wandered between the parked vehicles, admiring the modifications and listening to conversations about engines. Every few steps, something else caught my attention.

A modified Toyota Supra.

A sleek Chevrolet Camaro.

A beautifully maintained Nissan GT-R.

I was practically in heaven.

Then I saw it.

A midnight-blue sports car stood a little away from the main crowd.

Its paint reflected the surrounding lights, giving it an almost liquid appearance. The modified bodywork gave it an aggressive, intimidating look, while its polished wheels completed the entire design.

I stopped walking.

“That,” I murmured, “is beautiful.”

Mia followed my gaze.

“Careful. You look like you're about to propose to a car.”

“Don't disturb me. I'm appreciating engineering.”

She burst out laughing.

I walked closer, studying the car's exterior.

Whoever owned it clearly knew what they were doing.

The modifications were carefully done, and nothing about the car looked accidental. It had personality.

“Whoever owns this knows what they're doing,” I said.

“Actually,” a deep voice answered behind me, “I know exactly what I'm doing.”

I turned.

And there he was.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Dark hair falling carelessly across his forehead, framing a face that looked almost unfairly handsome. His black shirt fitted his athletic build, and his dark eyes settled on me with an expression that suggested he wasn't accustomed to being questioned.

His gaze briefly moved towards the car before returning to my face.

“You like it?”

I looked back at the vehicle.

“It's a nice car.”

One of his eyebrows lifted.

“Nice?”

I folded my arms.

“Would you prefer me to write it a love letter?”

Mia made a strangled sound beside me.

The stranger stared at me for a second before a slow, amused smile appeared on his face.

“You've got a mouth on you, sweetheart.”

“And you've got ears. Congratulations.”

Mia grabbed my arm.

“Isabelle,” she whispered urgently.

I ignored her.

The guy took one step closer.

“Do you even know who you're talking to, sweetheart?”

I looked directly into his eyes.

“Should I?”

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he laughed.

It was a low, surprised sound that made several people nearby turn to look.

Interesting.

Apparently, he wasn't used to girls talking back to him.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Why? Are you planning to complain about me?”

His smile widened.

“Axel.”

I waited.

When he didn't offer a surname, I shrugged.

“Okay, Axel. Nice meeting you.”

Then I turned away.

Behind me, I heard him laugh again.

“Interesting girl,” he murmured.

I didn't hear him clearly, and even if I had, I wouldn't have cared.

I was there for the cars, not arrogant strangers with pretty faces.

Unfortunately, as I would soon discover, the arrogant stranger I'd just dismissed was Axel Moretti—the most notorious street racer in the city.

And I'd just given him a reason to remember me.

I was about to return to Mia when a sudden roar from the crowd caught my attention.

Someone had started an engine.

I turned just in time to see a silver sports car pull into the open space near the centre of the gathering. People immediately began cheering, and several phones rose into the air to record it.

“What's happening?” I asked Mia.

She looked excited.

“Looks like someone's challenging Axel.”

I glanced towards the midnight-blue car.

Axel was leaning against its driver's door, looking completely unbothered. A guy wearing a red jacket stood a few feet away from him, wearing the kind of smile that usually meant trouble.

“Come on, Moretti!” the guy shouted. “Or have you finally lost your nerve?”

The crowd erupted.

Axel pushed himself away from his car.

“I'm not interested in entertaining you tonight, Daniel.”

“Scared you'll lose?”

Axel smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it.

“You should be more worried about embarrassing yourself.”

A few people laughed.

I found myself watching him more closely.

He carried himself differently from everyone else. He didn't need to shout to get attention, and he certainly didn't seem desperate to prove anything.

That annoyed me a little.

People who acted as though the world belonged to them were usually the most irritating.

“So,” I murmured to Mia, “he's the famous racer?”

She nodded.

“Apparently, he's won almost every major race he's entered.”

“Almost?”

“One guy beat him a couple of years ago.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Interesting.”

“Don't even think about asking him about it,” she warned.

“Why would I?”

“Because I know you.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could say anything, Axel's gaze suddenly shifted in our direction.

More specifically, it landed on me.

He said something to the guy beside him before walking towards us.

My stomach tightened.

I refused to acknowledge why.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked when he reached us.

“I was. Then you interrupted it.”

Mia closed her eyes as if silently begging the ground to swallow her.

Axel laughed under his breath.

“You always this difficult?”

“Only when people ask stupid questions.”

He tilted his head, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite understand.

“What's your name, sweetheart?”

“Isabelle.”

“Isabelle,” he repeated slowly, as though committing it to memory.

Then he smiled.

“Try not to get into trouble tonight, Isabelle.”

I scoffed.

“Take your own advice.”

For the first time, his smile faltered slightly.

Then he turned and walked away.

I watched him return to his car, irritated by the strange feeling in my chest.

I didn't like Axel Moretti.

I didn't like his arrogance, his teasing smile or the way he looked at me as if he could see through every sarcastic word I said.

And I certainly didn't like the fact that I was already wondering when I'd see him again.