Ride With Me

Chapter Three

Piper crossed first.

Again.

The crowd went insane, a deafening roar of pure elation. The man crossed seconds later, his face contorted in a mask of disbelief and fury. Piper eased off the throttle and brought her bike around, riding back toward the gathering as cheers followed her, a triumphant wave of sound.

By the time she returned, people were already shouting, their voices hoarse with excitement.

"Rabbit!"

"Pay the woman!"

"Sixteen grand!"

"She smoked you!"

The burly man, his face a thundercloud, ripped off his helmet. "You cheated," he boomed, his voice raw with rage.

Piper stared at him through her visor, her voice calm and steady. "No."

"You got a better launch!"

"That's racing."

"You knew something I didn't."

Piper tilted her helmet slightly, a subtle gesture of dismissal. "I knew how to race."

The crowd laughed, their amusement echoing his humiliation.

His face darkened, his jaw tightening. "I want another race!" he boomed over the noise surrounding them, his voice raw with desperation.

Piper shook her head, a slow, deliberate movement. "No."

His jaw tightened further. "What?"

"You lost."

"I want another race."

"And?"

The crowd immediately turned against him, their voices a chorus of condemnation.

"Take the loss!"

"Pay up!"

"That race was clean!"

"Quit crying!"

"You're embarrassing yourself!"

The man stepped toward Piper, his massive frame intimidating, but she didn't move. He stepped closer, too close, invading her personal space. Piper remained exactly where she was, unyielding. She wasn't afraid. She had learned a long time ago that intimidation only worked if you allowed it to, if you let their fear become your own.

The man leaned down toward her, his voice a guttural growl. "You don't get to walk away from me."

Piper's jaw tightened. "I just did." She turned, her bike responding to her subtle shift in weight.

He moved with her, his shadow falling over her. "You're not walking away until you give me another race."

"I said no."

"You cheated."

Piper turned her head toward him, her gaze steady. "Your bike is rigged."

That accusation brought a different kind of silence, a heavy, charged stillness. The accusation hung in the air, a tangible thing. Piper slowly turned back toward him, her voice laced with disbelief. "What?"

"Nobody beats me like that."

Several people in the crowd immediately began cussing him, their voices sharp and angry.

"You're full of s**t!"

"She smoked you!"

"Pay up!"

"Don't be an asshole!"

The man ignored them, his focus solely on Piper. "Check the bike," he demanded, his voice cracking with frustration. "Then we'll race again."

Piper's hand tightened around the handlebar, her knuckles turning white. Before she could answer, before she could formulate a response, a voice came from behind him, cutting through the tension like a shard of ice.

"Move."

The single word, spoken with a quiet authority that brooked no argument, carried through the crowd.

The man's shoulders stiffened.

Piper looked past him, her gaze drawn to the figure standing several feet away.

Knox Connor.

He looked every bit as dangerous up close as he had from a distance. His dark hair fell messily across his forehead, nearly obscuring those narrow, feline eyes. Black ink disappeared beneath the sleeves of his shirt and climbed the side of his neck, a dark, intriguing tapestry, while silver rings caught the harsh overhead lights when he moved, glinting like tiny shards of captured lightning.

He wasn't smiling. He didn't need to. His presence alone was enough to command attention, to instill a sense of awe and a healthy dose of fear.

"Knox—" The man began, his voice a shaky whisper.

"I said move," he repeated, his voice dangerously soft.

The burly man stepped aside, his swagger replaced by a visible unease.

Knox walked toward Piper, his gaze fixed on her. It was the first time he had ever paid her any real attention. Not the passing glance he had given her earlier, the acknowledgement that Jessica Rabbit had arrived on the scene. This was different. His gaze settled fully on her, and Piper suddenly became far too aware of how close he was, of the sheer magnetic pull he exerted. The devilishly beautiful face she had only seen from a distance was even more unfair up close. Strong cheekbones, a straight nose, a firm jaw shadowed with stubble, and those lips—full, naturally defined, the lower one slightly fuller than the upper, promising both tenderness and a dangerous passion.

Then his eyes met hers.

Dark.

Feline.

Unnervingly intense.

Piper's heart kicked hard against her ribs, a frantic, wild rhythm. Well, s**t. She had expected intimidating. She hadn't expected beautiful.

Knox's attention shifted from her face to her motorcycle, his gaze sweeping over the hot-pink machine.

He crouched beside it, his movements fluid and precise. The crowd quieted, an almost reverent hush falling over them as Knox began inspecting the machine with a thoroughness that left no detail unexamined. He checked the throttle first, twisting it several times, watching the response with a discerning eye. He examined the grips and controls, then ran his fingers along the brake lever before checking the brake lines and connections, ensuring their integrity.

He moved to the wheels. The tires were inspected for anything unusual, his gaze moving carefully over the tread and sidewalls, searching for any sign of wear or tampering. He checked the rims, then crouched lower to inspect the chain and sprocket, running his eyes over the alignment and tension, ensuring perfect synchronicity.

Next came the engine. He checked the connections, the wiring, and any visible modifications, looking for anything that could give the motorcycle an illegal advantage, a hidden edge. He inspected the exhaust and the intake, then looked over the suspension and frame, his expertise evident in every movement.

Piper stood quietly beside him, her gaze fixed on his focused expression. She knew there was nothing to find. Her bike was clean. Every race she entered followed the same strict rules. No hidden modifications. No tricks. No cheating. Just Piper, her machine, and the rigorous training her grandfather had drilled into her for years, honing her skills, testing her limits, teaching her to trust her instincts above all else.

Knox stood again, his inspection complete. He looked over the bike one final time before turning toward the burly man, his expression hardening into a grim mask. "There's nothing wrong with it."

The man frowned, his disbelief evident. "Check the engine."

"I did," Knox said, his voice dangerously calm.

"Something's been done to it."

Knox's expression hardened further, the edges of his jaw tightening. "I said it's clean." The man opened his mouth to argue, to protest, but Knox stepped closer, his voice low and implacable. "Pay her."

The man's jaw worked, a silent struggle playing out on his face. "Knox—"

"Pay her," Knox repeated, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

Silence descended once more, a heavy, expectant hush. The man finally reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash, his movements jerky and resentful. He slapped it into the bookie's waiting hand. Piper exhaled quietly, a slow release of tension. She hadn't realized she had been holding her breath.

Knox looked back at her, his gaze steady.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Thank you."

His gaze remained on her for another moment, a prolonged, intense scrutiny. Piper suddenly felt the weight of the attention around them, the thousands of eyes that were now fixed on them, on this moment. She had already drawn enough attention to herself tonight. Probably far too much. Knox's eyes dropped briefly to her still-lowered visor, a hint of impatience in their depths.

"How much was the bet?"

Piper blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his Knox's brows furrowed, a subtle crease appearing between them. "Thousand?"

She looked at him through the visor, the dark tint obscuring her expression. Then, realizing the helmet was apparently frustrating him more than she intended, that it was a barrier to the directness he seemed to crave, she reached up and pulled it free. The night air immediately cooled her face, a welcome sensation after the confines of the helmet. Her raven hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, slightly mussed from beneath its confinement. The dark makeup around her eyes, applied with a heavy hand for her racing persona, made the pale blue of them almost startling beneath the harsh lights, a stark contrast to the shadows.

Knox went still. For just a second, a fleeting, almost imperceptible pause. Piper caught it. It was tiny. Barely there. But she caught it—a flicker of something in his eyes, a widening, a momentary loss of his practiced composure.

"Yes," she answered, her voice softer now, more vulnerable.

His eyes remained on her, his gaze unwavering. For a long moment, his face was unreadable, a mask of stone. Then his jaw tightened, the muscles there clenching visibly. "Are you f*****g crazy?"

Piper's brows lifted in surprise, a touch of defiance returning to her voice. "You could get hurt out here."

She opened her mouth to retort, to offer a sharp, cutting remark, then stopped herself. She wasn't going to give him attitude. Not when he had just stood between her and a pissed-off, accusing racer, meticulously checked her bike, and made sure she got paid. So she chose her words carefully, her tone measured and calm. "I can handle myself."

Knox crossed his arms over his chest, his posture radiating a blend of skepticism and grudging respect.

Piper continued, her voice quieter this time, more intimate. "Besides, he was the one who doubled my bet."

Knox stared at her a little longer, his gaze sweeping over her face, her hair, the slight flush on her cheeks. There was something about the way he looked at her that made Piper's pulse pick up again, a quickening that had nothing to do with adrenaline. It wasn't anger. Not exactly. It was assessment. Like he was trying to figure out what the hell she was made of, what drove her to take such risks. Then his expression changed, subtly, almost imperceptibly. Just slightly. A challenge entered his eyes, a glint of something wild and untamed. "Race me next."

Piper gasped, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath.

The crowd around them did the same, a collective exhalation of shock. For half a second, there was stunned silence, a vacuum of sound. Then the gathering erupted, a tidal wave of noise and disbelief.

"NO f*****g WAY!"

"Rabbit and Connor!"

"The race of the year!"

"Jessica Rabbit against Knox?!"

"LET'S f*****g GO!"

"My bet is on Knox!"

"No, Jessica Rabbit will definitely smoke him!"

People surged closer to the racing lines, a chaotic wave of humanity, shouting over one another, their voices at a fever pitch of excitement. The bookie looked like Christmas had come early, his eyes wide with the promise of unprecedented profit. Someone was already yelling about opening the bets, a frenzied call to action. Another racer, a grizzled veteran with a face etched by countless races, slapped his friend on the shoulder, his grin wide. "There's no way I'm missing this."

Piper stared at Knox, her mind reeling. He stood there, his arms crossed, completely calm amid the chaos he had just created, a still point in the eye of the storm. The man who apparently didn't need to call himself boss. The man whose word was law in this lawless landscape. The man she had noticed earlier, a striking figure in the crowd, without giving him a second thought, drawn to his quiet intensity. And now he was challenging her.

The crowd continued roaring around them, a wild, jubilant sound. Jessica Rabbit against Knox Connor. Their two best racers. Two riders who hardly ever lost, their reputations forged in the crucible of the drag strip. Two motorcycles, each a marvel of engineering and raw power, about to meet on the unforgiving asphalt. And suddenly, Piper's heart wasn't racing because of the bike anymore. It was racing because of the man standing before her, because of the dangerous, exhilarating possibility he represented, and because, for the first time, she felt an entirely new thrill, a terrifying and captivating mix of fear and fierce, undeniable desire.