Kianna's POV
The roar of the engines hit like a wall, the air vibrating with raw power as the bikes surged forward in a blur of chrome and smoke.
My heart slammed against my ribs, the crowd's cheers drowning out everything but the thunder of the race.
It's my first time seeing Mordred like this—helmet down, body hunched low over the handlebars, his black suit clinging to every muscle as he leaned into the turn.
Despite the doubt gnawing at my gut, and the suspicion that had kept me up half the night, I still couldn't tear my eyes away.
He was like a force cutting through the pack like a blade, tires screeching as he overtook the leader on the first straightaway.
The women in the stands screamed his name, waving signs scrawled with heart emojis and "Marry Me, Mordred!" in glittering paint.
He was a celebrity here, the king of this underground world, and they were ready to risk it all for a glance, a smile or a piece of him.
