Page 34 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

The roar of engines filled the air as we pulled into the racing arena, lining up on the asphalt. The vibrations from the track reverberated through my chest. Bright lights gleamedabove our heads, illuminating sleek cars that were already having some fun of their own.

I signaled Rafayel through my window, and he pulled on his racing gloves.

“You sure you’re up for this? I wouldn’t want you blaming your car when you lose.” The excitement in his voice came over the radio.

I smirked, adjusting in the cockpit of my car. The interior smelled of leather and fuel, a sharp blend that always sent a thrill through me. “Don’t worry about me. Just try to keep up.”

The starting lights flashed, and I gripped the steering wheel.

Anticipation coiled in my chest.

The moment the green light blazed, I slammed my foot on the accelerator, and like a bullet, the car shot forward, the force pinning me back against the seat.

The track was a blur of flashing lights and roaring machines. Each curve demanded accurate swerves and nerve. I caught glimpses of Rafayel’s car in my side mirrors.

Holy frigging shi—

His car darted forward like a shark through water.

Now, I was impressed. AndI wasn’t easily impressed.

“Not bad for someone who claims to be the best,” I laughed into the radio.

A deep, dangerously arousing chuckle came through the speakers. “Don’t get cocky, Leonya. The race isn’t over yet.”

I grinned, taking the next turn with a sharp flick of the wheel. The tires screeched, and the back end of the car slid dangerously close to the barrier. My heart might have as well leaped from my throat, but I recovered just in time. The rush sent a jolt through me, and my hands were shaky on the wheel.

“Close one.” Rafayel’s voice crackled through the radio again, and I thought I heard a hint of worry in the mix of amusement. “You sure you’ve got this?”

I peeked at the mirror again, horrified when I spotted him gaining on me. I needed a boost to get out of this spot.

“Worry about yourself.”

The next stretch was a straightaway, and I pushed my car to its limit, watching the speedometer needle climb higher.

Rafayel pulled up beside me. With his car close enough, I could almost see the cocky smirk I knew he was wearing. Arrogant piece of—

“Let’s see how you handle this.” His car nudged ahead.

I wasn’t going to lie; Rafayel drove well and was better competition than all the Prix runners-up. I wasn’t expecting him to be this skilled on the track. Like some other things I believed about him, I thought he was exaggerating when he told me about his racing experience.

I refused to back down, and my competitive side blazed. The final stretch loomed ahead with a series of tight curves leading to the finish line.

Rafayel and I took the turns in near unison, our cars dangerously close to colliding.

“Better hold on.” I maneuvered my car through the last curve.

And in the final seconds, I floored the gas, my heart thumping in rhythm with the screaming engine as I surged forward. The finish line blurred past, and the realization hit me—I’d won.

I fucking won!

By a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

This conquest felt bigger, more significant than the exhilaration that flooded my veins after I emerged tops at theGrand Prix. Like I’d proved my value to someone worth proving it to.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” came his voice tinged with disbelief through the radio.

I laughed loud enough to let him feel the burn of my victory. “What’s the matter? Not used to losing?”

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