THE ENGINE ROARED TO LIFE, a guttural growl that reverberated through the car and into your bones.

Matt's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, the veins in his forearms standing out like cords.

The tires screeched against the pavement, a high-pitched wail that made your teeth clench.

The smell of burnt rubber filled the air, sharp and acrid, mingling with the faint metallic tang of fear that seemed to seep from your pores.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears like a drum, erratic and frantic, as if it were trying to escape the confines of your ribcage.

The SUV was still visible in the rearview mirror, its headlights cutting through the darkness like predatory eyes, but the distance between you was widening, inch by agonizing inch.

"You're out of your mind," Matt muttered under his breath, his voice low and gravelly, but there was something in his tone—something that wasn't just disbelief or frustration.

It was almost like admiration, a reluctant respect that he couldn't quite hide. His eyes flicked to you for a split second, dark and intense, before returning to the road.

The city lights streaked past in a blur, neon signs and streetlights smearing into one another like paint on a wet canvas.

The world outside the car felt surreal, like you were hurtling through a dream—or a nightmare.

"You're welcome," you shot back, your voice breathless, the words tumbling out in a rush. Your hands were still trembling, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat so hard they ached.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins made everything feel sharper, more vivid—the hum of the engine, the heat of the air rushing through the cracked window, the faint scent of Matt's cologne mixed with sweat.

It was overwhelming, but you couldn't afford to let it distract you. Not now.
Matt's jaw tightened as he took another sharp turn, the tires squealing in protest.

The car fishtailed slightly, and your stomach lurched, but he corrected it with a practiced ease that only came from years of driving like a maniac.

His eyes darted to the rearview mirror again, his expression grim. "We're not out of this yet," he warned, his voice tight with tension. "They'll regroup. They always do."

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart skipping a beat when you saw the SUV slow down, its brake lights glowing like two angry red eyes in the darkness.

But it didn't stop.

It didn't give up.

The fact that they were still coming, still chasing, sent a cold shiver down your spine.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile illusion of safety.

Matt exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound that was equal parts frustration and exhaustion.

He shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. "Somewhere they won't follow."

"That's not an answer," you snapped, your patience fraying. Your nerves were stretched so thin you felt like you might snap at any moment.

"I don't have an answer!" he barked, his voice rising, but then he caught himself, his jaw tightening as he visibly reined in his temper.

He was thinking, his brow furrowed, his eyes darting back and forth as he calculated their next move. "Wait... yeah, I've got one."

He turned onto a smaller road, the kind of narrow, forgotten street that seemed to exist in the cracks of the city.

The buildings on either side were abandoned, their windows shattered and dark, their walls covered in graffiti that looked like scars.

The road was barely wide enough for two cars, and the pavement was cracked and uneven, littered with potholes and debris.

It was the kind of place that felt like it had been left behind by time, a relic of a city that had moved on without it.
Matt cut the headlights, plunging the car into darkness.

The sudden absence of light made your breath catch in your throat.

The world outside the windows was now a sea of shadows, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of the moon and the distant flicker of the city skyline.

The car coasted down the street, the engine purring softly, the sound almost soothing in contrast to the chaos of the chase.

"They won't chase us in here," Matt murmured, his voice low and steady, but there was an edge to it, a tension that betrayed his calm exterior.

You swallowed hard, the silence suddenly more unsettling than the roar of the engine and the screech of tires.

The darkness pressed in on you, heavy and suffocating, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched. "How do you know?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Matt gave you a wry look, his lips quirking into a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Because even they aren't stupid enough to mess with the people who run this part of town."

Your stomach twisted, a cold knot of dread forming in the pit of your belly. "Oh, great. So instead of Hector's guys, we're dealing with someone worse?"

Matt didn't answer. He just parked the car between two rusted-out shipping containers, the metal groaning softly as the car came to a stop.

He killed the engine, and the sudden silence was deafening.

For a few moments, the only sound was your uneven breathing and the faint hum of the city in the distance, a low, constant buzz that seemed to underscore the tension in the air.

Then Matt turned to you, his eyes dark and serious. "You shouldn't have come."

You rolled your eyes, a reflexive response to the frustration bubbling up inside you. "Yeah, you've made that clear."

"I mean it," he insisted, his voice quieter now, but there was a weight to his words that made your chest tighten. "This—this is my mess. I know how to handle it."

"Matt," you said, exasperated, "you were literally getting jumped when I stepped in. Doesn't seem like you had it handled."

His lips twitched, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "That was nothing."

"Nothing?" You shook your head, still gripping the door handle like you were bracing for another attack. Your knuckles were white, your fingers aching from the pressure. "They pulled a gun on you."

"Yeah, and they missed." He stretched his arm out, wincing slightly as he rolled his shoulder. "Which means we got lucky."

Your chest tightened, a sharp, painful sensation that made it hard to breathe. "That's not a plan. That's a death wish."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the gesture frustrated and weary. "Look... I just—" He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "I don't want you mixed up in this."

"Well, too late," you said stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. Your heart was still racing, your body still thrumming with adrenaline, but you forced yourself to stay calm.

You couldn't afford to fall apart now.

Matt looked at you for a long moment, his gaze intense, like he was weighing something in his mind.

Then he reached across the center console, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch was brief, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your breath hitch.

"You're insane," he murmured, his voice low and rough, but there was a warmth to it that made your chest ache.

"So are you," you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly.

For a second, the tension shifted—less about danger, more about something else entirely. Something deeper, more primal.

The air between you felt charged, like the moment before a storm breaks, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from his.

But before either of you could acknowledge it, a sound echoed from the alleyway.

A car door shutting.

Matt immediately pulled away, his body tense, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror. "We need to move."

You nodded, the moment shattered. The reality of the situation came crashing back down on you, and you felt a fresh wave of fear wash over you.

As you both stepped out of the car, you could hear voices approaching from the end of the alley. Matt grabbed your hand, his grip firm but not panicked.

"We're walking," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Casual. Like we belong here."

You forced yourself to breathe evenly, matching his pace as you walked side by side through the dimly lit alley.

The voices grew louder, and two figures emerged from the shadows—two men you didn't recognize, but Matt clearly did.

One of them, a tall man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, grinned. "Well, well. Look who decided to drop in."

Matt's hand tightened around yours for just a second before he let go.

"Relax," he said coolly, his voice calm and controlled. "We're just passing through."

Scarface chuckled, the sound low and menacing. "Funny. 'Cause last I heard, Hector was looking for you." His gaze flickered to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And now you've got company. Cute."

You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. Matt had warned you—casual. No sudden moves. You forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression neutral, even though every instinct in your body was screaming at you to run.

The other man, shorter but stockier, crossed his arms, his muscles bulging beneath his leather jacket. "You're on the wrong turf, kid."

Matt tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "I'm not looking for trouble."

Scarface smirked, his teeth glinting in the dim light. "That's a shame. 'Cause trouble's looking for you."

Before you could blink, he pulled out a knife, the blade catching the light as he lunged forward.

Matt moved fast.

He shoved you back, his hand firm against your chest, as Scarface lunged. Matt sidestepped just in time to avoid the blade, his movements fluid and precise.

You stumbled but caught yourself against the wall, your heart hammering in your chest.

The second guy reached for something under his jacket—a gun, maybe—but Matt didn't give him the chance. He grabbed a loose brick from the alley floor, the rough edges digging into his palm, and swung it hard, catching the man in the ribs.

The sound of the impact was sickening, a dull thud that made your stomach churn.

"Run!" Matt shouted, his voice sharp and urgent.

This time, you listened.

You bolted down the alley, your feet pounding against the pavement, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Behind you, you could hear the scuffle, Matt's grunts mixing with curses and the sound of fists connecting.

You reached the end of the alley and turned just in time to see Matt break free, sprinting toward you.

"Go, go, go!" he urged, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along.
The two men weren't far behind.

You both ran, your breath burning in your lungs as you zigzagged through the maze of darkened streets.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of footsteps chasing after you.

The world blurred around you, the buildings and streetlights merging into a chaotic swirl of light and shadow.

Then suddenly—silence.

You risked a glance over your shoulder.

They were gone.

Matt slowed, breathing hard as he braced himself against a wall. "Holy shit," he muttered, his voice hoarse.
"That was—"

"Insane?" you supplied, panting.
He let out a breathless chuckle, the sound strained but genuine. "Yeah."

The alley was silent except for the ragged sound of your breathing. Your pulse was still hammering in your ears, but Matt wasn't moving.

His grip on your wrist was tight, his chest rising and falling as he processed the escape.

Then—voices.

Matt tensed, his body going rigid. Before you could react, he spun, pushing you back against the cold brick wall.

His hand clamped over your mouth as he pressed in close, shielding you with his body.

His scent—leather, sweat, something sharp and familiar—flooded your senses, making your head spin.

"Don't move," he mouthed, his breath ghosting over your cheek.

You barely had time to register what was happening before you heard him.

Hector.

"He's out here somewhere," Hector's voice was low, controlled, but laced with irritation. "I don't care what it takes. Find him."

A second voice answered, rougher, more amused. Scarface.

"Funny. Last I checked, you wanted him gone. Now you're out here sniffing around like you lost your damn dog."

Matt's body went rigid against yours. You could feel the heat rolling off him, but you weren't sure if it was from exertion or something else.

His hand was still over your mouth, his body pressed so close you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

Hector scoffed. "This isn't about our little war, Scar. Matt screwed me over tonight, and that's bad for business."

Scarface let out a short, humorless laugh. "Now you know how it feels."

There was a beat of silence.

You swallowed hard, pressing further into the wall as Matt's hand tightened slightly over your mouth. He was too still, like he was barely containing himself.

Hector exhaled sharply. "Look, I don't give a shit about your embers side, and you don't give a shit about my crimson side. But right now? That little rat is both our problems. So we put this enemy thing aside for one night—until I have him bleeding at my feet."

Your stomach twisted. You felt Matt tense even more, his breathing shallower now.

He was listening, but his reaction wasn't just fear. It was guilt.

Scarface clicked his tongue. "See, I don't like sharing. But since Matt's made a habit of pissing off everyone in this city, I suppose I can make an exception."

Hector grunted. "Glad we agree on something."

Their footsteps faded as they moved away, leaving only the distant hum of the city in their wake.

Matt still didn't move.

His hand was still covering your mouth, his body still pinning you in place. The streetlights cast flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the tension in his brow.

Then his gaze dropped—right to your lips.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he let his hand fall. Neither of you spoke. The air between you was electric, charged with something neither of you could name.

Finally, you exhaled, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What did you do?"

Matt's eyes flickered, something dark passing through them. He pushed off the wall, running a hand through his hair as he turned away. "It was—" He stopped, exhaling roughly. "It was something stupid. I wasn't thinking."

You stepped forward. "Matt—"

"It was when you were mad at me," he cut in, his voice quieter now. "I was so sad and so fucking hurt, I couldn't control myself. I was pissed. And I did something reckless."

Your stomach dropped.

"What did you do?" you repeated, firmer this time.

Matt hadn't moved. His hand was still braced against the wall beside your head, his body close—too close.

You could still feel the press of his palm from earlier, the ghost of his touch over your mouth when he'd silenced you.

But that wasn't what had your pulse hammering.

It was them.

Hector and Scarface. Two men who couldn't even be in the same neighborhood without bloodshed, and yet, you'd just heard them agree to work together.

To hunt Matt down.

And whatever Matt had done to make that happen? It had to be bad.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore how warm Matt felt against you, how the tension between you was more than just danger.

"What did you do?" you whispered.

Matt exhaled slowly, like he was really trying to think through how to explain this. Then he dropped his hand and stepped back, running a rough hand through his hair.

"I messed up."

"No kidding." Your voice came out sharp, but the fear curling in your gut made it impossible to be patient. "What kind of screw-up makes two men who hate each other decide they suddenly want to be best friends only to hunt you down?"

Matt let out a humorless laugh. "A big one."

"Matt." You stepped forward, forcing him to look at you. "Tell me."

His jaw worked, his teeth clenched so tight you thought he might crack them. Then, finally—

"I stole from Hector."

The words slammed into you like a punch.

Your stomach twisted. "You—" You cut yourself off, closing your eyes for half a second, trying to process. "You stole from Hector? Are you actually insane?"
Matt huffed a short, bitter laugh.

"Getting that a lot tonight."

"This isn't funny, Matt!" You shoved his shoulder, but he barely moved. "What the hell were you thinking?"

His expression flickered—guilt, frustration, something darker. "I wasn't."

"That's obvious."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue.
"How much?" you asked, already dreading the answer.

Matt hesitated. Then, without looking at you—

"Half a million."

Your breath stalled.

The world tilted.

"Tell me you're lying," you asked, your voice trembling.

He didn't say anything.

"Half a million dollars?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the disbelief in it might as well have been a scream. "You didn't just steal from him, Matt. You robbed him."

Matt didn't flinch. "Yeah."

Your heart was slamming against your ribs.

Half a million.

That wasn't just a 'screw-up.' That was suicidal.

Your mind spun, trying to put the pieces together.

"Hector doesn't keep that kind of cash lying around. He moves it fast—filters it through other hands." Your voice sharpened. "So tell me, Matt, how the hell did you get your hands on half a million dollars of his money?"

Matt shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. "...It wasn't cash."

Your stomach dropped again. "Matt."

"It was product."

Oh, shit.

Your breath caught in your throat. "You stole drugs?"

Matt nodded.

"Hector's drugs."

Another nod.

The world really felt like it was tilting now.

Hector wasn't just some low-level dealer—he ran Crimson territory. The man had half the city's supply under his control.

And Matt, being the reckless idiot that he was, had just waltzed in and taken it?

"Matt," you said, voice shaking, "where is it?"

He hesitated.

Oh no.

"Matt," you repeated, stepping closer, "tell me you still have it."

Another pause.

Then—

"I sold it."

Your lungs stopped working.

He didn't.

Oh, you were going to kill him.

"You sold Hector's drugs?"

"To Scarface."

Your entire body locked up.

"And then I didn't give him the drugs."

It felt like the ground had just vanished beneath your feet.

You stared at him, mouth open, unable to process what he'd just said. "So he basically lost half a million?"

"Yeah." Matt had stolen half a million dollars' worth of product from one of the most dangerous men in the city...

And sold it to his biggest rival.

Who didn't even receive the product.
"Matt," you whispered, your voice shaking, "you didn't just screw yourself over. You started a war."

Matt ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Yeah. Figured that out about five minutes ago."

Your head was spinning.

This wasn't just bad. This was disastrous.

Hector and Scarface had been at each other's throats for years—territory fights, blood in the streets, backstabbings and betrayals.

"Jesus