IGNITE

five.

‹ 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ›

Icy gusts of wind beat against me, slipping beneath the sleeves of my t-shirt and chilling me to the bone as I shot through the streets of New York City, the rumble of my bike cutting through the quiet night air as the buildings whipped past, a blur of red, and yellow and grey. My mind was quiet, a welcomed change from the usual cacophony of noise that flooded my mind at night, and I breathed in deeply, allowing the cold, crisp air to fill my lungs.

The faint glow of headlights shone behind me, revving engines filling the distant city as I took a corner, leaning far enough to my side that my boot scraped along the concrete, eliciting a sadistic smile from my lips as I continued, the race nearly over and my competition far behind me.

Cheers sounded from all around me as I crossed the finish line, my name being turned to a chant as my Crew surrounded me, twenty pairs of hands clapping my back and shoving beer cans in my direction.

I laughed—a choked, forced laugh—running a hand through my sweat-soaked hair as I surveyed the scene around me. Men, some with wives and children at home, and others without, crowded the streets, their bodies covered in ink and their eyes clouded with the high of adrenaline.

My fingers twitched by my sides, desperate for a smoke as I shouldered my way through the crowd, searching for the small back exit I usually slipped through after a win. My hand gripped the door knob, yanking the metal door open as I stepped into the cool, alleyway air.

I pulled a cigarette from the box in my pocket, my hand shaking from the cold and the adrenaline of the race, and I placed it between my lips, pulling a lighter out from my back pocket and lighting the tip, my eyes involuntarily falling shut as I inhaled deeply, the familiar burn and haze of the smoke filling my lungs, and soothing the anxious feeling that coursed through me.

It was rare—for my mind to be so quiet, for the guilt and anger to die down, if only for a moment. I was used to the constant onslaught of noise, the never-ending loop of regret, of anger, of fear that was always playing through my head, but for a brief moment, I was at peace.

I knew I would eventually pay for the feeling, the inevitable crash and burn that would come after the rush had worn off, but for now, I would savour the silence.

Allowing the nicotine to wash over me, I exhaled slowly, smoke clouding the air in front of me, before a low whistle sounded behind me, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. "That was a sick race, Lowell," the voice called out, the familiar cocky drawl sending a jolt of irritation through my body.

I remained still, the cigarette burning between my fingers as I stared blankly at the brick wall, waiting for the figure to come closer, to make himself known. I knew his footsteps, the sound of his breathing, the way he smelt, the way he stood, and the way his fists moved. "The fuck do you want, Reece?" I asked flatly, flicking ash to the ground as I turned to face the man who had spoken.

He grinned, a toothy, crooked grin as he came closer, his dark brown eyes glimmering with excitement. "What?" he began, the smile still etched on his face and stretching the scar that ran down both of his lips—courtesy of me, "I can't come to congratulate you on your win?"

I snorted. "You're a shitty liar, you know that?"

Reece let out a short laugh, nodding his head as he reached up and rubbed his jaw. "Yeah, you're right," he chuckled, running a hand through his near-black hair. "Honestly, Grey, I'm surprised by your performance tonight. I thought you'd be too...distracted to really give it your all."

I frowned, the confusion only lasting a second, before understanding washed over me, a scowl etching itself into my face. "I fucking knew it," I muttered, taking another drag from my smoke before flicking it to the ground, grinding it under the toe of my boot. "Tell me, Reece, how is it you send four of your crew members to...what is it exactly you wanted to accomplish? To intimidate me? Break a couple bones?"