By the time Steve Owen arrived at Monica's place, Becky—aka "Dumb Sweet Chick"—had already left. Owen was quite satisfied with her sense of tact. Yes, she was a good girl.
"Beautiful lady, care to go for a ride?"
Owen sat on the hood of the Camaro, a faint smile on his face, patting the car beneath him with a carefree air.
The angle, the lighting, the pose, the movement—everything was carefully planned. That's right, Owen was putting on a show for Monica. All those movies he had watched weren't for nothing. If he couldn't even pull off a stylish entrance, this amazing car would be wasted.
Monica fell right into the trap, covering her mouth in disbelief.
"Wow! Where did you get this?"
Seeing the sleek yet aggressive-looking Camaro, she gasped in excitement.
"It's a friend's. There's a race tonight, and he asked me to compete for him."
"An underground race?"
"Yep. Interested in coming along?"
"Can I?"
"Of course."
"Woo~~~"
Monica leaped into his arms, planting a sweet kiss on him. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, and Owen's hands naturally landed on her hips, feeling the firm, enticing curves. It left him more than a little excited.
Plan successful. Tonight might be a step forward.
This girl used to act all cold and distant, a classic ice queen, but after they got together, it was like she had transformed into a completely different person—passionate, fiery, like a flame that could melt him at any moment.
But Owen had only predicted the beginning, not the ending. Before he could fully process the moment, Monica had already jumped down, eagerly sliding into the passenger seat and buckling up her seatbelt.
"Uh… babe, how about we stop by your place first? I think we could…"
Owen tried to salvage the situation.
"Sweetheart, I can't wait any longer…"
Monica's face was full of excitement as she ran her hands over the car's luxurious interior. Clearly, what she couldn't wait for was different from what Owen had in mind.
"…Alright."
Owen sighed in defeat and walked around to the driver's seat.
Monica immediately leaned over for another kiss before Owen started the engine and pulled onto the road.
He deliberately drove fast, the V8 engine's growl reverberating through the streets. The car weaved through the roads as the night wind blew through Monica's hair, making her laugh in delight.
Nightfall
The underground race wasn't set within Los Angeles itself but at a location near Hollywood. The roads there were wide, and the space was big enough to accommodate all the cars.
When Owen arrived in the Camaro, the place was already packed.
Although tonight's race only involved four cars, the crowd was massive. These were all racing enthusiasts—some were just here for the thrill, but almost everyone had brought their own prized vehicles to show off.
Looking around, there were easily over a hundred cars of all makes and colors parked on either side. Their headlights lit up the entire area, and the custom paint jobs made the scene even more dazzling.
The cars ranged in value from a few thousand dollars to well over a hundred grand—Mitsubishi EVOs, Nissan Skylines, Toyota Supras, Koenigsegg CCXR Trevitas, Corvette Grand Sports, Lamborghini Murciélagos, Ferrari F35s, Porsche 918s…
Practically every major car model on the market could be found here, though most of them had been heavily modified beyond recognition.
Some cars looked fairly ordinary from the outside, but no one could tell what kind of beast was lurking under the hood.
A car that looked like a simple $5,000 street racer might actually have tens of thousands of dollars worth of modifications hidden inside.
As Owen slowly drove in, Max spotted him immediately.
After parking the car, Max walked over, looking a bit uneasy. "Boss, things don't look great tonight. That guy found out I hired you, so he went and got a pro driver to go up against you."
Owen was intrigued. "Oh? Who?"
"Dom…"
"Haha, him."
Dom—short for Dominic Toretto. The same guy who had helped Owen modify his car before. People just called him Dom because it was easier to say.
So it was him. Dom was famous in the racing scene, practically a legend. A lot of street racing fans idolized him, and every time he competed, whatever car parts he used would see a huge spike in sales. The fact that the opposing rich kid had managed to hire Dom must have cost a fortune.
"What car is he using? His Dodge Challenger?"
"Yeah."
Max looked worried—he had already lost hope of winning.
Owen patted his shoulder. "Relax. The result isn't set in stone yet. If this were a straight-line race, we'd have no chance. His quarter-mile monster would smoke everyone. But this is a circuit race—we still have a shot."
Max's lack of confidence was understandable—Dom's reputation was too overwhelming. He had never lost a race.
And his Dodge Challenger was just as famous. He and his late father, another racing enthusiast, had modified it together. The car was known for running a quarter-mile in just nine seconds—an absolute beast in drag races.
If this had been a straight-line race, Owen would have no choice but to admit defeat. Drag races were all about raw vehicle performance—who had the bigger engine, more torque, and faster acceleration. Driver skill didn't play a huge role.
But tonight's race was on a circuit—where there were not only straightaways but also turns. When it came to pure driving skill, Owen didn't think he was any worse than Dom. Now, it all depended on luck.
With the track ready, Owen pulled his Camaro up to the starting line. Across from him, on the other side of the road, was Dom—who gave him a casual wave upon seeing him.
Owen returned the gesture.
This was just a race, nothing personal. He had raced against Carlos plenty of times, and they still remained good friends—losing just meant handing over $2,000.
The passenger seat in underground races was rarely empty. Owen had expected Dom's co-driver to be Letty, his feisty girlfriend, but surprisingly, it wasn't her tonight. Instead, his sister Mia was sitting there—another beauty.
Owen's own passenger was Monica. She looked absolutely thrilled—this was clearly her first time experiencing something like this.
The crowd gathered around the track, growing more excited as the race was about to begin. Some of them recognized Owen and greeted him, to which he responded in kind.
There were also plenty of scantily clad women throwing flirtatious glances his way.
If this were the old days, Owen would've gladly accepted those looks, picked out a companion for the night, and maybe even ended the night with a little extra "friendly competition."
But now, with Monica around, all those perks were off the table.
One particularly bold girl strutted right up to him, completely ignoring Monica's presence. She grabbed Owen's hand and pressed it against her chest, whispering seductively, "Win this race, and I'm yours tonight…"
Owen awkwardly pulled his hand back.
Monica, however, reached into her jacket, pulled out a gun, and pointed it at the girl. "Bitch, take your filthy hands off, or I won't hesitate to break them."
The girl quickly backed away, clearly not expecting Monica to react so aggressively—let alone be armed.
Owen forced an awkward smile. This was just how things were in the underground racing scene. But he was genuinely worried that Monica might actually shoot someone in a moment of impulse. Then again… that gun wasn't her standard issue.
Which gave him a perfect excuse to change the subject.
"Uh… you switched guns?"
Monica huffed. "No. Ever since I got kidnapped last time, I always carry two now."
Owen broke into a cold sweat.
Just then, the crowd grew noisy. The third car had just arrived.
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