dark romance · psychological thriller · criminal underworld · dominant · suspense · trauma recovery · street gangs
The wind is a roar in my ears as I twist the throttle, the single beam of my headlight cutting a jagged path through the midnight gloom. The road is a blur of oil and grit, and the rhythmic thunder of five engines behind me is a countdown to a collision. I know exactly where I am—I've crossed the invisible border, the thin line separating my crew's territory from the enemy's. It was a reckless gamble, and now the adrenaline is a fever in my blood as they herd me toward the curb. My front tire loses its grip, carving a black streak into the asphalt, and I'm launched forward. That's when I see her. A phantom on the sidewalk, draped in rags, her hair a tangled web, limping with a heavy, labored gait. She flinches at the passing headlights, and my heart simply stops. *Elara.* Two years. Two…