Chapter 3

"You're crazy." I shoved hard against his chest.

Taking advantage of his split-second of shock, I ducked out from between his body and the door, bolting out of the equipment room without looking back.

It didn't matter how he had found out the real reason I transferred to this school.

More importantly, I had a much deadlier problem to deal with tonight. Sylvia's ICU bill was due tomorrow.

Midnight. Under the abandoned overpass in Winterton.

The pungent stench of burnt rubber, the deafening roar of engines, and the frantic screaming of gamblers waving stacks of cash filled the air.

This was the underground racing circuit. The exact place where the impeccably dressed, filthy-rich brats of Spencer Academy loved to burn off their excess adrenaline and dirty money.

I changed into my skin-tight, all-black racing suit and slipped on a completely black, unmarked helmet.

Here, I was no longer Harper, the submissive scholarship student from Spencer Academy.

I was "Ghost."

The undefeated myth of the underground circuit.

My only goal was tonight's ten-thousand-dollar winner's prize.

The second the starting lights flashed from red to green, I twisted the throttle without a shred of hesitation.

Dead ahead was the "Death Curve," the most lethal hairpin turn on the entire track.

I had no intention of slowing down.

I shifted my center of gravity to the extreme. My knee sliders practically scraped blinding sparks against the coarse asphalt.

An extreme, low-angle lean!

The wind howled shrilly in my ears. This ultimate thrill of brushing shoulders with the Grim Reaper was the only way I could vent my emotions.

There was no suspense. I won.

The back alley behind the track.

Dim streetlights flickered frantically. I parked my motorcycle in a dark blind spot and reached up to pull off my heavy helmet.

I shook out my sweat-dampened hair and took a deep breath of the freezing air.

Just then, a flurry of messy footsteps completely blocked the entrance to the alley.

"Damn, I actually caught you, Ghost."

I turned around.

It was Luke.

He had obviously placed a heavy bet on tonight's black market books and lost everything. Flanked by three beefy thugs, he cornered me dead against the wall.

"You made me lose fifty grand." Luke's face twisted with rage. "Today, you either cough up the cash, or you leave your life here."

He pulled a switchblade from his pocket, squinting as he looked me up and down. Suddenly, he froze, then erupted into a grating, maniacal laugh.

"Hah! The scholarship kid? The good little girl playing the dead rabbit in the parking lot today?" He pointed the tip of the blade at me. "Fucking unbelievable. Tell me, if I carve up that pretty face of yours and cripple your hands, how are you gonna ride?"

I didn't scream, and I didn't back down.

In my bones, I was never some helpless little flower waiting to be slaughtered.

My hand slowly slid to the small of my back, where I kept a heavy, solid wrench hidden.

I calmly calculated the distance. If he took even half a step closer, I would shatter his kneecaps directly.

But just as my muscles coiled tight, ready to explode into action, a sickening thud suddenly ripped through the cramped, dark alley.

I didn't even see how he appeared.

Rowan cut into the battlefield instantly, like a lone wolf stalking out from the abyss of hell.

He didn't waste a single word.

He delivered a devastatingly vicious hook, landing a solid blow square on Luke's face.

Luke's nose caved in instantly, blood spurting wildly. Before he could even let out a scream, he crumpled to the puddle-filled ground like a sack of wet mud.

The remaining three thugs were terrified out of their wits by the sudden, sheer brutality. They scrambled over each other, dragging Luke away as they fled the alley.

The narrow alley fell back into a dead silence.

Rowan slowly turned around. The blood on his knuckles dripped onto the ground, drop by drop.

I stood rooted to the spot, staring hard at the blood on his hands.

I hated his aloof, billionaire heir status. I hated that he might have hurt Sylvia. But I was hopelessly captivated by the suffocating aura of dominance he exuded as he walked toward me now.

Rowan closed the distance with long strides.

His eyes were so savage it looked like he was ready to murder someone.

The next second, he grabbed the collar of my racing suit, lifting me effortlessly off the ground as his hard body crashed against mine!

"Do you really think you're immortal?"

Rowan's voice was laced with a terrifying, suppressed fury, every word grinding through his gritted teeth.

Forced to look up at him, my chest heaved erratically from the lingering adrenaline of the danger.

I didn't flinch away from his gaze, which felt hot enough to incinerate me.

Instead, driven by pure instinct, my hands recklessly gripped the edges of his leather jacket.

Rowan immediately noticed my actions.

He raised that rough, bloodstained hand and gripped my chin.

He forced my lips slightly apart.

Then, his warm, calloused thumb rubbed heavily and ruthlessly across the corner of my mouth.

"Harper," his voice was incredibly hoarse.

"You aren't afraid of me at all."

He lowered his head, his nose pressing against mine, his scorching breath brushing completely over my lips.

"You're just too afraid to admit... that you want me."

My brain short-circuited with a loud buzz.

Trembling all over, I subconsciously opened my mouth. "You're full of it..."

Just as I was about to fiercely deny it, Rowan tilted his head slightly.

His lips brushed against the shell of my ear with agonizing intimacy, triggering another uncontrollable shudder through my body.

"If you want to know who pushed your sister down the stairs, move into my apartment tomorrow."

I froze solid.

Rowan pulled back just a fraction, his deep eyes locking onto me like an endless abyss.

"Because the last person to see her that night..."

He paused, every single word acting like a sharp knife stabbing cleanly into my heart.

"...was me."