[This story is complete and being edited.]
Armed racing is Atropellado's deadliest and most profitable sport. And wherever there is profit in Atro, there is crime.
Gervassio Blaze has left his most prized possession - ownership of the armed racing f...
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By the time Lancet stomped his way to the kitchen, his shirt clung to him, drenched in sweat. With a curse, he tore off the offending garment before he yanked out drawers.
Two plastic containers that fit in the palm of his hand.
He twisted them open, one pill from each, and just as he was about to pop them into his mouth, he hesitated. Exhaustion giving way to frustration, he tossed the pills into the sink with a curse.
The word "retirement" blinked in his mind's eye like a large neon sign and the racer tried to force it away with the whirlwind of thoughts, rehashing all that had happened to him since his boss' death.
"Damn it, G.B. — if this was your idea of a sadistic joke-"
From the funeral service and his encounter with the Gloxinia Heiress, to the intel he received at the loading docks. His meeting with the four district leaders of the city, all high hands in the underground stirrings that kept the city moving, and having to get rid of Jackson.
Never mind all the other affairs Lancet was forced to accompany the Gervassio's attorney on —closing out accounts, moving assets, changing addresses as Gervassio's executor. All the politics, paperwork, and management involved in running a family from the top, was something he was doing well, but not without sacrifice.
Lancet Steel only had a scattered few hours of sleep in the days since he'd inherited a business and legacy worth more millions.
The most pressing matters were preventing the four districts from starting an insurgence and maintaining control to keep the Gloxinia family at bay. As for the third party rumored to having entered Atropellado by sea, Donovan, also known as Cutter, confirmed their identity after their run in at the docks.
The Baxters — a family whose territory existed closer to the Gloxinias' turf.
It was the last thing they needed — a foreign threat. Question was, what were they here for?
Are they chasing the Gloxinia Heiress for something or are they in cahoots? Another interested party throwing their hat into the ring for Atro's most profitable business?
Or are they here for something simpler? Revenge...
"Tch. Simple. I miss when things were simple."
The man sighed as he sunk into his uncomfortable, but expensive, leather couch. Lancet never felt at home in his loft. Home was a feeling he hadn't felt in years, not since he left his country.
No — it was more like living in a well-maintained museum exhibit. Nonetheless, it was a place to sleep, and more than anything, he was hoping to make up for the hours he hadn't now that most of his urgent tasks were taken care of for the time being.
The man closed his eyes, and it wasn't long before the racer gave into his weariness.
A distant knocking stirred him from his sleep. At first, he thought the sound was in his head, but when the knocking came again, louder and out of rhythm with the ping pong ball of pain rattling between his temples, Lancet was awake and alert.
He was quick to retrieve his blades from his coat, and a pistol beneath the coffee table.
"I swear, if this is one of Skiver's late night house calls, I'll skewer him regardless of how much alcohol or women he's brought."
Considering the day's events consisted of the race alone, the likelihood of it being any of his men were low. They were almost as exhausted as he was, loyally at his side for every twist and turn since the funeral service.
Unless something went awry with the cover up for Jackson's "accident", or Luxor decided to try something ballsy since his meeting with The Four, Lancet couldn't come up with any valid reason for his men to show up unannounced.
When the knocking turned to impatient banging, the racer unlocked the safety to his pistol. He was about to shoot the door full of holes when a familiar voice called to him.
"Lancet, I know you're in there. Open the door, why don't you, and save us all the anticipation?"
The Gloxinia Heiress?
Lancet put the safety back and tucked the gun into his waistband. He approached the door, a smirk brewing on his handsome face.
