After flattening Brixton and his Eteon squad, Leon slid into the driver's seat.
A new car, a new style—but his handling was the same. Still a manual transmission, still built for a racer's instincts. With the right upshifts and downshifts, he could squeeze out every ounce of speed.
"Sit tight. Seatbelts on," Leon reminded the two women.
His driving wasn't for the faint of heart. Without belts, a single drift could toss them out the window.
Hattie Shaw and Elena understood.
The task was insane: reaching New York in just a few hours. That meant holding speeds of at least 450 km/h, and doing it for nearly ten hours straight. Any mistake, and the car would flip, shatter, burn.
If anyone else suggested such a thing, they'd refuse on the spot. But after what they had just seen Leon do to Brixton? They believed him.
Maybe he meant dropping them at an airport, arranging a private jet. Or pulling strings with some underground connections to get them flown out. Surely he didn't mean actually driving all the way.
Naïve thoughts.
They buckled up, smiles of misplaced relief tugging at their lips.
The doors shut. Leon slammed the accelerator. The Diomas Nilo roared.
The sound was violent—far more feral than the previous nuclear-powered ride.
Elena's eyes widened. The earlier car had sounded like a predator, sleek and deadly. But this? This was a lion's roar—full of authority and raw power. This wasn't just a supercar. This was a king among beasts.
On the road, it would be unmatched.
"You have so many of these cars?" Elena asked, eyes sparkling with childlike curiosity. To her, Leon looked rich beyond reason. Why run a shabby garage at all? Why not a luxury dealership, or a worldwide franchise?
Leon smirked. "I've got a warehouse full of them. Prototypes. Unreleased exclusives. Cars only I own."
If someone joined his team, he'd even gift them one. He had enough in "storage" for an army.
And it wasn't boasting. With his system's garage, Leon could summon the world's most advanced machines at will—materials, technology, speed no market could even touch. Cars worth billions each, if they could even be bought.
Which they couldn't.
In the global market, you couldn't buy Leon's rides at any price. Even if you tried, unless you brought thirty billion to the table, it was a nonstarter.
Elena leaned forward, eyes bright. "Next time… could I see them? Even just a look?"
She loved cars. Not fancy handbags, not jewelry—cars. The thought of touching one of these ultimate machines made her heart race.
Leon shook his head, grinning mysteriously. "No can do. Trade secret."
Her shoulders sagged in disappointment—until Leon added, "But… if you join my crew, I'll give you one."
Elena's head snapped up. "Really?"
"Of course. When Letty joined, I gave her a Medusa hypercar—better performance than a Hennessey Venom. She lives next door. Ask her yourself when we're back."
"Then I'm in!" Elena's voice trembled with excitement. All her worries evaporated. She bounced in her seat like a kid promised candy.
Leon laughed, genuinely amused. Beautiful women in his team? A dream come true.
Hattie, quiet until now, finally spoke. "If I get cured… could I join too?"
She wasn't asking lightly. Something in her gut told her she'd be safer, freer, by Leon's side than as a spy constantly walking the knife's edge. No more schemes, no more backstabbing. Just horsepower, asphalt, and loyalty.
Leon flicked his eyes to her through the rearview mirror. "And your job as an agent?"
Her expression hardened. "The moment I went on the run with the virus, they erased me. Deleted my entire CIA file. I don't exist to them anymore."
She bit down the bitterness. They had thrown her to the wolves, disavowed her, just to protect themselves.
Leon nodded slowly. "When this mission's done… I'll welcome you."
She was no ordinary recruit. Trained in combat, firearms, driving, tactics—Hattie Shaw was elite. Adding her would double his crew's strength. He could send them to underground races, tournaments, money circuits. It would ease his own burden—no longer just him making all the money and fighting all the battles.
The three of them chatted as the Diomas Nilo tore through streets.
The car was a spectacle. Its futuristic design turned every head. Cameras flashed, phones came out, and Twitter feeds exploded.
A small-town street suddenly became a red-carpet event. The people cheered, thrilled to spot a car like this.
None of them knew the truth. That this machine wasn't just for show. That it was about to cross 4,500 kilometers in under six hours.
If they did? Their smiles would vanish, replaced by shock.
~~----------------------
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