Chapter 4 FRIENDLY STRANGER

The warehouse district was still roaring twenty minutes after the race ended.

Music blasted from mounted speakers bolted onto rusted scaffolding. Floodlights cut through the darkness in harsh white beams while cigarette smoke curled through the cold night air. 

Laura Montez stood beside her bike near the payout tables, helmet hanging from one hand while sweat cooled against the back of her neck.

Her pulse was finally slowing. Barely.

King sat inside the makeshift betting booth counting stacks of cash with the reverence of a priest handling scripture.

“Told you people would lose their minds.” 

Laura crossed her arms. “Just give me my money, King.”

“You wound me. We should celebrate first.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I celebrate by paying debts.”

He met her gaze, a smirk curving his lips, and finally, he handed over a thick envelope. 

Laura took it quickly, flipping through enough bills to confirm it was complete.

Just then, a sudden shout rose behind her. “That bike’s illegal!”

Laura turned sharply.

One of the losing racers shoved through the crowd toward her, helmet tucked under one arm. Sweat darkened his shirt, and rage twisted his face ugly.

“You boosted nitrous,” he snapped. “No way that piece-of-shit engine outran me clean.”

Laura stared at him flatly. “Your ego sounds injured.”

“You cheated.”

She yawned, as if bored. “No, you lost. Must be devastating, but suck it up.”

The crowd oohed.

King groaned loudly. “Please don’t start bleeding near my betting tables.”

But the racer wasn’t backing down. “You think because you got lucky—”

“She didn’t.”

The voice came low and calm from behind the crowd and everything shifted, even though subtly.

People moved aside as the rich customer—Jax—or whatever his real name was, approached in slow steps, black helmet dangling from one gloved hand.

Under the floodlights, he looked annoyingly beautiful and annoyingly rich-looking.

Laura folded her arms tighter, eyes glaring at him. Who asked him to butt in anyway?

The angry racer scoffed. “What, her boyfriend speaking now?”

Jax didn’t react to the insult. He only looked at the man with a certain calmness that seemed to make the air around them become even more chilly than it already was.

“You see, her bike runs modified compression ratios and reduced frame weight.” Even his voice was calm. Too calm. 

“Your acceleration lagged in second gear because your rear suspension dipped too hard entering corners.”

The racer blinked. Nathan went on. “She beat you because she’s better.”

The racer was stunned silent.

Laura stared at Jax. From the way he had just spoken, he sure knew more than a thing or two about engineering. Impressive. 

The racer muttered a curse and backed off under the laughter of nearby bettors.

King clapped once. “And peace is restored.”

Nathan’s gaze shifted to Laura, a flicker of amusement playing in his stormy eyes.

Laura rolled her eyes and stepped around him toward her bike. “You done analyzing my existence?”

“No.” The simple answer stopped her for half a second.

Nathan crouched beside her motorcycle.

Laura immediately bristled. “The hell are you doing?”

“Looking.”

She scoffed but her pulse quickened, her eyes trailing down at his long fingers brushing near the rear wheel assembly, careful and precise. 

“You’re burning through your rear suspension,” his annoyingly rich voice made her eyes snap up to his face. “And your chain tension is uneven.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “You got a point, rich boy?”

Jax straightened. Again, up close, the height difference annoyed her. 

Laura was petite, yeah, and this man, he towered enough to make her have to look up at him, making her neck hurt.

And those eyes. Those cold gray eyes. They shouldn’t be looking this intense, should they?

“You need new parts,” he spoke again.

“I need people to stop telling me what they think I need.”

For a minute, he just watched her with an intensity that made her almost swallow. 

“You race with skill. But your bike’s being held together by stubbornness and duct tape.”

She smirked. “Funny. That’s also my personality.”

Again, that almost-smile flashed across his face. She pinched the inside of her palm. She couldn't give anything away. She shouldn't. 

He nodded slowly, as if noting something, and then reached into his jacket, handing her a card.

No company logo. Just a number.

“I know a supplier.”

Laura eyed the card suspiciously. “And why would you help me?”

Nathan’s answer came too quickly. “Because I am curious about what happens when you stop surviving and start winning.”

The words landed strangely inside her chest. Dangerously sincere.

Laura covered the feeling with sarcasm immediately. “You practice lines like that in the mirror, rich boy?”

“I don’t usually need lines.”

His confidence should’ve been infuriating. And well, it did make Laura want to throw a wrench at him. But… Possibly while kissing him.

‘Damn it! Where the hell did that thought even come from?’ Laura shook her head hard as if to shake the thought off.

“Montez! Your fan club’s arriving!” King's voice sliced through Laura's thoughts. 

She turned. Three men were approaching from the outer edge of the district.

Her heartbeat dipped cold. Rafe’s men. Shit!

She looked away quickly, hoping they hadn’t spotted her yet.

Jax seemed to notice it instantly. The shift in her breathing. The tension in her shoulders.

“Problem?” 

She shook her head. “No.”

Still, his gaze drifted toward the approaching men and his expression changed almost imperceptibly. Turned sharper. Colder.

Laura grabbed her helmet. “I gotta go.”

“Those men looking for you?”

She glared at him. “I don't see how that's any of your business.”

She swung onto the bike fast. Too fast. The engine sputtered once. Then died.

Laura cursed under her breath and tried again.

Nothing.

Behind her, the loan sharks were getting closer.

Jax stepped beside the bike. “Move. You are flooding the ignition.”

She didn't budge. 

He leaned down, adjusted something beneath the fuel line with practiced hands, then tapped the throttle once.

“Try now.”

She did. The bike roared alive instantly.

Laura blinked back her surprise. “You carry tools in your sleeves too?”

He gave a casual shrug. “Well, I simply pay attention.”

The men were close enough now that Laura recognized one of them. Definitely Rafe’s crew. Her stomach tightened.

She jammed on her helmet. “Goodnight, Jax.” And then, she tore out of the warehouse district.

The city blurred around her in streaks of neon and broken streetlights.

Laura pushed hard through narrow roads, weaving between traffic with instinctive precision.

But after three turns, she noticed it. Headlights behind her. One bike. Keeping pace.

Her jaw tightened. “You have got to be kidding me.”

She took a sudden alley turn. The bike followed. Another sharp turn. Still there.

Laura accelerated hard through an industrial backstreet slick with old rainwater. The rider stayed glued behind her effortlessly.

She muttered a curse under her breath and braked violently at the next intersection, spinning the bike sideways across the road.

The pursuing motorcycle stopped smoothly several feet away.

Jax removed his helmet slowly. Laura ripped hers off too.

“Are you insane?” she snapped, furious. 

His expression remained infuriatingly calm. “Probably.”

“Why are you following me?”